Season of mists and bla bla bla

How I hated that poem when I was younger.  It seemed to push aside the still-perfectly-good summer and be rushing needlessly ahead, without acknowledging that a *proper* autumn wasn't about sun on hazelnuts, but about wild winds and crunchy leaves and frost and bonfires.   The poem has grown on me a bit since, but I still think 'close bosom-friend of the maturing sun' is an utterly ludicrous line. 
( And a little more wittering, with some butterflies.  )

Why do I have sighthounds, again...?

( The Training of the Brythen (sometime known as 'OI YOU!' ) )

Edited on 18th Sept to add: took Brythen to vet about mild colitis issues, and weighed him - he now weighs 27kg (up from 24kg at adoption) and looks all over bigger.