There is something about the high places in the world that stirs the imagination. I remember as a child I would look out of the car window as we rode along, gazing up at the Cotswold hills that formed the terrain of my youth. My eyes would trace the outline…

Rumo bounds down the riverbank before tentatively sploshing into the cool water that runs and tumbles over the pebbles and rocks of the river bed. Through the translucent liquid I can see his paws splay out, attempting to find purchase on the slippery, algae-tinged floor. I imagine this is quite…