The rain has poured out of the leaden sky for weeks now. More rain than anyone has seen in winter for years - well, they always say that. But it has certainly turned Tara Lodge's paddocks into a mud bath fit for Cleopatra and her whole army! And that translates into muddy gumboots, muddy paths, muddy clothing and of course, muddy dog. Very muddy dog, but at no time has he been muddier than the other day after a slight mishap in the boggiest paddock of all.

Les has developed a routine borne of rainy days and no grass growth, of feeding our cows two bales of hay each morning. They now expect it, and stand at attention along the nearest fence, waiting. The sound of the quad bike firing up brings a concert of bellowing and jostling for position, to be the first to grab the hay from the back of the trailer as it comes into the paddock.

Several days ago, Jake was in his usual position as Lord Mayor of the Hay, perched on top of the hay bales that were teetering on the trailer. This time, however, he seemed oblivious to the fact that Les had already undone the hay, ready for the "attack of the ravenous cows" as he pulled up in the paddock.

Jake, standing proudly with tail erect on the undone hay bale, came to grief unceremoniously as the hay tipped sideways when the trailer turned sharply into the next paddock. As the hay baled, so did Jake - in a beautiful somersault worthy of the upcoming Olympic Games diving team - "somersault in the pike position with a twist; degree of difficulty 7". Well executed Jake the Muss, but alas the entry was messy, to say the least!

Les and Max with Jake on the quad

He landed slap into the middle of a large mud puddle, much to the amusement of the watching cows who moo-ed loudly, and Les, who quickly stopped the bike to make sure he had survived. Indeed he had, but his pride and demeanor was in tatters. He fled to the house looking for sympathy from Liz. Straight in the door into the foyer where he slowed enough to shake hard, sending mud and cow poo flying up the light beige walls of the entry foyer. No sympathy to be had here - a loud yell came from Liz, which he interpreted to be a call of welcome and proceeded to scamper up the carpeted stairs, dropping mud and poo behind him.

Another much louder yell from Liz stopped him in his tracks. He realized that in fact, he was deeper in the poo than he had been in the paddock, so he turned tail (literally) and ran out, to find a warm hideaway to lick himself clean and gather his senses (well, that is a bit of an ask!)

Meanwhile, back in the house………………