Playing chicken

Reba playing chicken, or the chickens playing chicken, not sure which.

Tonight's training was a very cross country run with Berners, a hazardous venture at the best of times as Berners like to run close to their owner, so close in fact that that every footfall is a potential Decker Budd moment. Ripley is the worst, she times her paw strike to cause maximum imbalance in yours truly who is less than graceful at speed without a near miss every other step.
So tonight's jaunt went something like, run, stumble, trip, wade through lake ocean very large puddle that proved to be near knee depth, avoid collie at gate, persuade Berners to follow through woodland, run past walker with spaniel, run back past walker with spaniel to retrieve Ripley who is running from spaniel, run into branch across path not there last time, staunch flow of blood from nose, recover from trip caused by Berner keen to get closer, trip over log that you knew was there but still got you, wade back through lake, return to cottage change Ripley for Spotty, decide that cross country in the dark with dog was a risk too far, change route to road run, avoid being hit by car driven by Mr Magoo who failed to note 130 lumens head torch, fluorescent materials built into running kit and dog harness, settle heart rate and enjoy a canter along the country lanes before wading through lake for a final time before tea and medals.

Its just over two weeks before I run from Knighton to Kington dressed as a pantomime animal.