We leave the house via the back door, turn left down our gable end, turn right on to the street, then right again up the cobbled track behind the houses. In years gone by, these cobbles were the base for the tram lines which connected our village to our local 'big' town. Unfortunately all that remain are the stones while the rails have probably rusted away at the bottom of the North Sea.
We follow the old tram lines as they pass the allotments and old garages, do the CV19 two (metre) step as we come up to a fellow dog walker. We nod and grin and share a grimace and walk on.
Moss knows this route, knows the secret path between the high hedges, she forges on ahead and waits for us at the little gate at the end. We don our gloves to open all gates - being careful is being wise.
Peering over the top ; checking for stock in the field. We spot Bob, the resident native breed pony, he is too busy grazing to even look up as we walk by. The field drops down to the stream with a narrow footbridge. We cross over and then up and over the stile. Moss stands waiting at the dog gate and shoots through as soon as she can.
We walk back up a short sharp hill side where the 'fairy trees' with their exposed roots and secret nooks and crannies grow. At the top we turned right, down along the track, keeping our eyes open for lambs.
And we are not disappointed.
Time to return, so we call in a grinning dog, slip her lead on and walk down the road back into the village - we have done our government advised one hour's exercise - but it was so much more than an hour's walk. It was fresh air, it was blue skies and scudding clouds, it was lambs and lapwings, curlews and crows playing on the breeze. It was long distant views and lovely.
It was just lovely.