Last night, I lay by the fire within Kemo Sabe’s arms, and fell asleep as she rubbed my chest. My eyes rolled with delight as unconsiousness overtook me: I have missed her so much. We all have. And she has missed the pleasure of relaxing with us, too. The last ten days, with Ten Blankets so terribly ill, have forced us to pull together even more than we usually do. Everyone is tired out and perturbed, our tummies in a constant tumble. Routines have been more than usually disrupted and the one which has so far always held fast – the morning run – yesterday went out the window as well after there was a pre-dawn escape into a frosty unknown which meant absolutely nothing to any of us but left us all disorientated. We are resourceful and cheery beasts, however, and take each day as it comes, our confidence shining as bright as this morning’s sun. Somewhere in land from here she watched the dawn rise over a hospital roof while we walked on a different stretch of sand and, inevitably, the light returned and, with it, our path became clear once again. Only the day before, on a calm and balmy morning for November, in the jolly breakers rolling on to the beach as we ran we spied within them a comic bull seal, rolling like a log on his back, his flippers grasped in fun in front of him like a sea lion, playing the tide for laughs. All unlooked for and unexpected, his self-conscious happiness brought a day of dullness to life, reminding us that round the corner the road’s direction is its own business, and that dogs are not the only creatures without maps. We tried to film it but without success but we post the result, nevertheless. Trust me, the seal is there in the surf but the quality of the camera means it’s impossible to make it out. This seems quite metaphorical to me.