Dog
Frosted grass crunches beneath the boots of Peter Sayle as he walks. The rolling hills of the Peak District stretch into the distance, covered by a freezing mist in the early morning sunshine. A chain link lead dangles from Peter's leather gloved hand. Peter catches his breath and places two fingers into his mouth. A loud whistle fills the air before being swallowed by the silence of the hillside. He waits. A bounding shadow heads through the haze towards him at speed before stopping abruptly. A slobber covered tennis ball is dropped at his feet by panting black labrador, Chester. "Right, one more and that's your lot, understood?" Chester gazes at Peter giving him a little whine. "Good". Peter collects the sodden ball and launches it once more into the mist followed by a rapid Chester. Another loud whistle pierces the silence of the Peaks, disappearing. Peter waits. Nothing. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Peter strides across the frosted ground, stopping only