My darling dog Bess came to the end of her well lived life yesterday.
I tried to tell her many times, and I hope she knew:
I love you Bess.
She’s buried where we often used to walk her, above Glossop, where the pine trees catch the wind that sweeps across the moor and a single tree stands alone amongst the reeds.
I’d be happy to visit her with anyone who wanted to make the trip out to Glossop and up the hill, to spend a few minutes with her.
