Di dum di dum di dum di dum. This is daisy scuttling sideways. She has always enjoyed a slight veer to the left. Little crab, I call her. Prancing pony. Strange to say but I am irritated by this performance. I try to isolate a step. Search out the source of the trouble. Don’t you want me to lift up my head? asks Daisy. Don’t you want me to stir the dust in the ring? Di dum. No, I say. This does not belong to you. You should be gliding unseen through the depths of the forest. It is our beats and measures that should follow yours. If we are lucky, we might catch a glimpse of them, early one morning, through the mist. Daisy trots about in agreement. Then she seems to straighten her course, and is gone.