The cross river views are impressive, although Matti is singularly unmoved. The line of her pointing body follows the single minded track of her crystal brown gaze. She drops. And there, dead ahead, fixed in Matti’s unswerving look, is another of her brindle kind.

They recognize each other although they have never met. Their intent is mutual and clear. As this not so strange stranger draws close at the walk, Matti springs like a greyhound from the gate.

Was there ever a dog who, thus provoked, wouldn’t give chase? I doubt it. They wheel and swerve, this way and that, together like fish in a shoal. They hold nothing back. What began on the foreshore quickly proceeds to the depths of Ashfield flats.