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The following morning dawned in a blaze of colours, the fields beyond the vicarage garden were bathed in dusky pinks and flame red. I padded downstairs, the morning light glowing through the frosted panes in the front door. As I reached the bottom stair, my ears pricked up there was a faint rustling sound coming from the front garden. I froze as a figure appeared at the front door. As I was still standing at the foot of the stairs, the figure knocked loudly on the door, I crept slowly to the door and opened it.

'Oh, Father Francis, you look awful!' Said Anna.

'Thanks!' I replied, 'Is there any reason you're calling on me so early in the morning?'

'I just wanted to see how you were after yesterday.' She replied.

'I'm just fine,' I replied, 'I was just going to make my breakfast, would you like to stop in for a coffee?'

'Yes please, no one quite makes coffee like you!'

I stood aside to let her in through the door, she brought in a fresh smell with her, smell that I had always associated with early mornings: of cut grass, fresh rain and somehow the smell of it being cool. As I turned I realised that I did indeed look particularly lived-in, the two around my face all messed up and one ear inside out; I hurriedly flipped my ear the right way out with one paw whilst trying to make myself look presentable with the other. We walked through to the kitchen and I began to busy myself with making the coffee. Behind me a chair creaked as Anna settled into it, I turned around and noticed how the tabby markings around Anna's eyes made her face look wider than it really was.

'Um, sugar? I can't remember.' I said with a laugh.

Anna smiled at me and shook her head, 'No, I've never had sugar in my coffee, you've lived here for nearly half a year and you still can't remember how I like my coffee?'

I shook my head at my forgetfulness and lined up a pair of mugs on the worktop. As the coffee machine hissed and bubbled into life I drew my chair up to the table and sat down. I rested my paws on the table and stared for a moment at my claws and then nervously cleared my throat.

'I'm glad you called by actually.' I said, 'There's something I'd like to ask you.'

'Oh, what's that then?' Replied Anna, a certain caginess entering her voice.

'It's about what happened yesterday evening. You see, that fox and that bear were just there to deliver a letter to me from Arthur Oxfold. He has invited me for lunch today, I thought that his family didn't normally want to have much to do with the Church, is that right?'

'No, they normally don't have anything to do with the Church, but they always send us a large donation at around Christmas.'

'I thought so, I wasn't expecting an invitation from him at all.' I said.

'It is nice, though,' Anna said, 'normally Arthur Oxfold wouldn't even think of inviting the vicar for lunch.'

'Yes, so you said. He wrote in his letter, that had something that he wanted to say to me.'

Anna's ears flattened themselves against her skull, her eyes darted nervously to and fro.

'Did he say what he wanted to speak about?' Asked Anna.

'No,' I replied, 'It just seems strange that he would send me an invitation to lunch in such a peculiar manner.'

'Oh, he's just posh - they're all like that!'

At that I saw how the slow twitching of Anna's tail stopped. I think she hadn't even realised that she looked so nervous.

The coffee machine interrupted us by giving out a loud bloop noise. I stood up and busied myself with pouring out the coffee.

'I wonder,' Said Anna quietly, 'What did the diocese say about our village? You know, what information did you get about us?'

I turned back to the table, a coffee mug in each paw, as I offered one to Anna I answered: 'Not much. The Bishop said that the village has been without a vicar for years and that old Father Alfred couldn't keep travelling over here. I thought that country parish would be very good for me.'

'Really? The bishop didn't say anything else about us?'

I drank a little of my coffee and looked at Anna quizzically.

'No,' I said, 'You know how he is!'

We both exchanged smiles at this, as our bishop, an old German Shepherd called George, was known across the diocese as being the soul of brevity.

'Anyway,' Said Anna, 'I've got to go, the school is getting a new teacher today and I must go and meet.'

Anna emptied her coffee in a single draft, kissed me lightly on the cheek and hurried out of the house. She was gone in a flash. I stared after her, until now she had never done anything like this. I knew that we were close friends, but she was always very formal. I touched my cheek lightly with a paw and asked myself what it could mean.

I shook my head, in order to concentrate on the day ahead. I went into my study and picked up my prayer book. As usual I walked through the slowly waking village. From a distant field I heard the drowning of a tractor. All around me windows and doors were being opened because (although it was early) the day was already quite warm and promised to get warmer. Ahead of me life church, the early morning sun bathing the tower with a golden light.

My tail began to wag as I entered churchyard, the anticipation of going into a space hallowed by centuries of faithful prayer building and clearing my mind of distractions. Inside, the coolness of the building was refreshing. I felt the history of the church, that long life that had been filled through-and-through with prayer. I loved the early mornings in the church because the Great East Window was always glorious with colour. The church was orientated perfectly to the east and the sunlight flowed directly through the window. I stopped and had to wonder acts the beauty of the summer morning. Behind me there was a quiet click as the church door swung shut.

I sat down in my pew, opened my book and flipped through it to the correct page for that morning's prayer, my claws making a light scratching sound against the elderly paper. Once I had got everything ready, I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. I luxuriated in the smells of the church: I smelt the faint perfume of old incense; the earthy mask of old stone; the flat scent of old books - just everything that took me back to my childhood.

I remembered my mother, how she always sat on my right hand side in church. She always made sure that I was comfortable on the hard pew. As a pup I would often play with her tail, but she would always gently bring me back to the reality of service, to the beauty of it. My mother would always point out to me the most beautiful objects in the church and explain the meanings of the highly rehearsed actions at the altar. My earliest memory of my father was how he stood before the altar: in my memory he was always surrounded by a cloud of incense. He was a pure breed Labrador, his coat was shining black and he always seemed very far away. My mother on the other paw I always remember as being very close to me, how her fur would tickle my cheek and how she would cock her head to one side during readings and sermons.

I slowly returned from my memories. I came back into the church. I made a start with my morning prayer and I was aware that this prayer time was filled with fond memories of my parents from first word to final Amen.

The rest of the morning simply flew past. I busied myself with the usual stuff, the paperwork and letters that naturally grow on a priest's desk like weeds in a garden. At around midday I was working on preparing my sermon when suddenly the little clock on my desk began to strike twelve. I was so engrossed in my preparation that I barked in surprise at the clock. The time had simply gone past too fast! I hurried around the house in order to find my neat and to make myself presentable before meeting the Lord of the Manor. I had to rush, as I would have to walk a fair way to reach Oxfold Hall. The hall was about forty-five minutes' walk from my vicarage, so I set a brisk pace as I headed out into the street.

Half an hour later I arrived at the heads of the sweeping drive that led to Oxfold Hall. In the distance, nestled in a fold in the hills, I could just make out the rooves of the Hall. Ahead of me the drive wound its way through landscaped meadows, on each side grew ancient oak trees that offered welcome shade from the heat of the day. The fine gravel crunched and scattered beneath my paws as I made my way down the drive. As the drive wound through the grounds, I could make out a formal garden that lay on the gentle slope of the hill leading away from the Hall to the river, the box pushes marking out complicated geometrical designs.

At last, I was granted my first proper view of the hall: I noticed that it was made from the same honey -coloured stone as the parish church. The hall reared over me its height taking me by surprise, far above me I could make out a line of battlements that made the building look forbidding and bleak; in spite of the warm colour of the stone work. As I got nearer, I could see figures working on a large car, one of the figures straightened up and I realised it was the fox who had spoken to me yesterday. The fox glanced up the drive, then nudged his companion and pointed at me. His companion didn't extricate himself from under the bonnet of the car, but clearly the fox had received a mission to go and meet me as he started to stride up the drive towards me.

'Ah, Vicar!' The fox called, 'Good of you to come! The boss is waiting for you in the drawing room. If you'd follow me, I'll show you where to go.'

I nodded, and followed behind him. I hadn't realised before, but his accident betrayed him as a city fox - someone like me who wasn't truly a country dweller. I hurried along behind him as we entered the Hall, but I was surprised by the opulent decoration of the entrance hall of the building. It was fully panelled in dark oak wood, with ancient portraits of the family line of the Oxfolds. My guide has not realised that I'd stopped so I had to scurry across the polished wood floor to catch him up. He ushered me through the door in the manner of an old retainer. Standing in one of the grand bay windows was the famous Arthur Oxfold, he was looking out over the formal garden so all I could see of him was his hulking silhouette. I realised that the gossip in the village had been true he was quite the largest Highland bull I had ever seen, his horns stretching almost twice as wide as his shoulders. Behind me there was a quiet cough and click as the door closed. Oxfold turned and strode vigorously towards me, a hoof outstretched.

'Ah, Vicar! Or should I say Father?' He boomed, 'I'm no longer sure how to address a cleric. You see, we haven't had one in such a long time.'

'I'm not fussed really,' I said, 'Just call me whatever you feel is correct.'

'Good, good. Now, vicar how are you settling in? How's the house? I family had it built, you see.'

'I'm settling in really very well,' I replied, 'The vicarage is really very lovely. I'm told that it is something of a rare privilege for the parish priest to be invited for lunch here.'

At this, Oxfold burst out laughing, he shot me a sharp glance and gestured to me to take a seat. I lowered myself gingerly into one of the huge leather backed chairs, horribly aware that my cassock wouldn't allow me to easily curl my tail around. I had to settle instead uncomfortably sit on it. Oxford threw himself into his chair and then wriggled around to free the end of his tail which he had caught between the cushion and the seatback. Once he had freed it he settled back and started to tap his hooves together.

I was very uncomfortable in his laser-like stare, it took a considerable effort me to keep my ears from flattening against my head. The tension was broken by the re-appearance of the young fox, this time carefully balancing a large tray of decanters and glasses. He padded across the polished floor and onto the carpet to stand next to Oxfold.

'Drinks!' Exclaimed Oxfold, 'What's your poison?'

'Well, I don't usually drink during the day.' I said, rather taken aback.

'Indulge me, Vicar please. How about a Sherry, that barely counts as drinking!'

'I suppose; I could have a small whisky. I'm afraid I'm not the stereotypical vicar when it comes to that, I'm no good at Sherry parties!'

'Very good!' Boomed Oxfold with a laugh, 'I can't stand that muck myself, I just keep it because it's expected.'

Oxfold inclined his head towards the fox who set the tray down and poured two very generous measures of whisky from a decanter. The fox placed the two glasses on the table that stood between me and Oxfold, placed the tray on the sideboard and left.

'Help yourself! I think you will find this to be a very fine malt indeed. It's made by the Scottish branch of my family, twenty-one years old if it's a day!'

I poured a little water into my whisky and took an experimental sip. It was indeed excellent, a beautiful Speyside malt with glorious hints of honey and orange. I glanced over at my host, and raise my glass to him. An expansive smile spread across his face and he lifted his glass in return a moment later, another door opened and the brown bear who had been with the fox the previous day entered.

'Lunch is served.' He rumbled, his accent betraying his local roots.

'Excellent!' Said Oxfold, gesturing to me to stand and follow him through to the dining room. I followed after him in to get another cavernous wood-panelled room. Instead of a table large enough to seats and entire rugby team, there was a small finally carved dining table that looked rather out of place in the centre of the room.