When we moved here, Norton came with us. Norton was a rescued foxie-jack russell cross. He was grumpy, hated kids, went berserk if you touched his feet. He was 2 when we took him in, and we had him with us for 17plus years. He was devoted to me, but was starting to slow down and slept a lot. We were worried how he would go in new, unfamiliar surroundings, but took on a new lease of life when we moved here. He was starting to fade again when we brought in a new dog, Bertie. Bertie infuriated Norton and he again perked up and had another couple of good years.

Norton was a shocking scrounger. When we lived in Melbourne and took him for a walk, he would often find treasure...a dropped sandwich, a packet of chips, a dead bird...all sorts of rubbish, offal and waste. And from that moment on, every time we went for a walk we would have to detour past the place where he found that item, just in case there was something there again.

Two nights ago I took our dogs for the after dinner walk. The night time walk is always exciting for them. There is often the scent trail of a fox to follow, there are sleepy cattle to annoy and wombats to circuit. The dogs know their way about, we mostly follow a similar route so they roam on an elastic invisible leash, crossing back and forth and checking in with me as we progress. I usually take a torch, not so much for guidance....I know pretty much every pothole and bump in the paddocks...but use it like a spotlight. You can spot a fox or cat 200 metres away, as their eyes intensely reflect the light.

But sometimes I don't use the torch at all. Like two nights ago. As we walked in the dark a shooting star appeared ahead of me, and then travelled over and above me and burned out towards the edge of the horizon behind me. Astonishing. I have seen maybe 5 shooting stars in my lifetime, this was the best.

So last night when we went out, I kept looking up at the sky, hoping to see another shooting star.

Just like Norton.