Flames of wrath

There can't be many more stomach churning thoughts as you crest the brow of the final hill on your drive home from work than thinking your house, and all you love, is on fire. This thought was mine as I looked over my right shoulder towards Rock HQ. A huge pall of smoke rising from where I was heading. Surely not, but Hazels speed increased as the last mile progressed, so did my view of the inferno, massive flames rising, it must be the stables. Had I not had to do an emergency stop at the top of the lane because of this little sheep lying dead on the track I might have thought I had hit her in my haste to get home. But no, it seems another reckless motorbike has ripped through our world killing Bella. In the yard my beautiful and oh so patient wife was stood watching the smoke blowing our way. My pulse settled a bit but I realised I was shaking as I got out of the car, a mixture of adrenaline and relief. Our patch, aside from Bella, was intact. Concerned neighbours and observers from across the valley phoned the fire brigade. They duly arrived closely followed by the police. Steve the electrician phoned to see if we were ok, and to tell Tracey that I was heading up the track at turbo speed. Its good to know people care enough to check on us. Pity no one saw who killed Bella.

The fire was another gorse clearance by the militia, they should if they do it properly warn all concerned first. As it was less that 50 yards from our stable it would seem only courteous.

Day 19 30 30 level 10 sprint 14 km (Rumours, Fleetwood Mac)