Viking funeral

When I took Islay out for her evening walk, there was a woman sitting on the wall by the Cheesemarket, where Shepherd's put their outside tables. She was looking quite intense - not staring at anything, but looking off into the distance as if she was thinking hard. I thought Islay would pass by, but she made a bee-line for the lady, wagging her tail, and leaning against her, as the lady scratched her tummy.
We got talking, and she said she had lived in Hay, years ago, but now lived in Kent. She had come back so she could scatter her father's ashes; the rest of the family were in the pub, but she'd slipped away for a bit of quiet time. Her father had owned the first ever canoeing centre on the River Wye - and he'd wanted a Viking funeral. They couldn't quite manage that, but they'd managed the next best thing, floating his ashes downstream in a little boat, "and he's still floating," she said.
She went away quite cheered up by Islay's attentions.
Sometimes I think I'm only here to look after Islay, so she can make people happy.