Curled tightly in the mulch, a hedgehog

Crewe Green, Cheshire No wonder the spines of this tiny mammal keep most predators away; it's like touching surgical needles

Although the air is mild for the time of year, the sky is iron-blue, threatening another downpour. It is wet and muddy under foot, slippery too. Charcoal and murky-brown, dead leaves clot the woodland path. There is the breath of tannin; I can almost taste it. Two grey squirrels chase each other over rotten logs, then dash up a tree strangled by ivy. A blackbird skitters into some bushes. I call my jack russell, Roob, who is loitering behind, sniffing new scents; this isn't our usual walk. She doesn't appear.

I retrace my steps, calling again, scanning through perished bracken and withered nettles. I smell ghostly flowers and wizened rosehips. There are tangled brambles, bitter-black berries and bare trees. A gust of wind rattles their branches; they creak and moan in protest. Then I hear her, growling at something near a holly bush.