Head tilted to one side, the shaggy old English Sheepdog peers cheekily through
his mass of hair at the viewer. Perhaps he is contemplating doing something to the
two pots of red primroses perched precariously on the wooden chair beside him. Or
perhaps he is going to spin round and startle the seagull sitting on the windowsill
behind him. Through the window behind him some sheep, perhaps the ones he
should be looking after are loose on the green and are heading for the fishing boat
laden bay. Frantic pointing is going on, so perhaps he should go and round them up.