Out early with Bob. Twice in the last month we've found that the greengrocer is out of oranges. Today, there's a fresh consignment from Australia. It's unusual to see Australian oranges in the northern hemisphere. Wherever oranges usually come from at this time of year ( South Africa ? ) must be having a problem with their harvest.
Redcurrants make an appearance. A harbinger of winter and jam making season.
Sophie is being acclimatized to the little courtyard. She hates it. An unremitting chorus of ' Why would you want to put me here ? '. She does her glum routine. The gardeners are due later today to lay the turf. Whether they'll show up is another matter. I've set up a table and chairs in a corner of the courtyard so that Sophie can remain the centre of attention.
In the evening the diva is carried onto the grass by the peony border. The peony border is her venue of choice for a moment of 'detente' as it offers both privacy and proximity to the safety of the house.
So starts a dog centric week in deepest, deepest France profonde. A record of those 'little' things too unimportant for a diary but too important to go completely unrecorded.
There is a small courtyard on the side of the house that faces the lane. The gardeners will come early next week to shovel away the gravel and replace it with soft turf. This enclosed, quiet, space will become the divas 'recuperation' zone. A spot where she can see the comings and goings from her cage. Interestingly she's been able to haul herself to her feet, unsteady but unaided, twice today.
Sophie, furious at her enforced idleness, eats through the bottom of her bed. She chews the foam rubber then spits it out with a loud 'thwah' sound. I've said it before, I'll say it again. She is not a placid patient.
Bob and Angus go in search of a replacement bed. The man who designs the seats on the Volkswagen Sportsvan 'Loonj' must double up designing dog bed covers. They are all hideous.
When did dog beds become so expensive ?
There is something deeply disturbing about the arrangement in the lobby of the garden centre. Bob and his master stop to look at it but move quickly on.
At the greengrocers an American import. We have absolutely no idea what it is.
They've laid a lot of it in.
Pumpkins are more popular with the locals.
Just one of those warm September days in deepest, deepest France profonde when nothing happens.
Here's an interesting and unusual article on how intelligent fish are :
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The little Skoda is cleaned before being traded in. The front seats still carry the remains of the insulating foam that Angus inadvertently sprayed through the front window. 'The Font' notices that at some stage someone has joined up two 'splats' with a smiley face.
At the garage Angus is offered a coffee. Bob is given a bowl of water. '' You're on your own ? " asks the dealer surprised that 'The Font' isn't here to savour the moment. '' Sadly " I reply without alluding to the fact that cars don't rank high on 'The Fonts' to do list.
Passport checked, utility bills photocopied, we are ushered into the ' Delivery Room '. At one end four overalled mechanics are standing in a line alongside two secretaries in micro skirts. The young ladies pointedly ignore the mechanics. All try, with varying degrees of success, to hide their boredom. The lady from the reception desk arrives. She's wearing black leggings that stop below the knee, improbably high red high heels and what appears to be a heavily accessorized pink nylon fur jacket. There is a gold chain round her left ankle. '' I'm late " she says unapologetically to no one in particular. The manager claps his hands and makes a little speech. '' As the only Volkswagen dealership in the department we view all our customers as family. We applaud your excellent choice in becoming the owner of a beautiful Volkswagen Sportsvan Loonj ". At the word '' Loonj " the youngest mechanic whips off the tarpaulin to reveal the ever so slightly dented vehicle beneath.
There was a time when the salesman would hand you the keys and off you'd go. Those days are gone. Now the proud new owner is expected to say something to affirm their lifestyle choice. '' How lovely " says Angus. The receptionist totters forward, opens the passenger door, waves her arm with a theatrical flourish and points inside. A routine she's clearly done many times before. Angus feels duty bound to look at the interior. The inside of the Loonj is primarily black plastic with seats in a grey and white plaid with what appear to be lightning flashes running across them. The ambience is decidedly unlounge like. Maybe the Germans do have a sense of humour.
'' What luxury " adds Angus with what he hopes is a convincing tone of voice. This implausible observation seems to satisfy everyone. Bob leaps in the back. A run through of the various knobs and dials and we're on our way home. Except we're not. Angus turns the key in the ignition, the dashboard lights up and an annoying bell chimes. The car goes into the service bay for an hour and a half to sort out a problem with the 'Park Assist'. '' These things happen " says the dealer with a Gallic shrug of the shoulders. Angus makes it very clear they don't. While we wait Bob gets his revenge by christening three Golfs on the forecourt. The 'Loonj' needs a replacement part they don't have in stock. After a 'discussion' we get a demonstrator to take us home. We'll return on Monday. When we come to turn on the demonstrators ignition a sign comes on saying the battery is flat. Another, third, car is hastily supplied. What are the chances of that ? Bad luck or a sign that our relationship with the dealer is going to be a frosty one ?
Am I alone in thinking the world gets odder ? Is this another sign I've turned into my father ?
Sophie spends an hour and a half in the garden. We wait for some movement, any movement, but are disappointed.
Bob stands on his stump seat. He watches the demonic eight year old tike heading back home from the school bus. The demonic tike is clearly not enjoying being back at school. He drags his satchel along the tarmac behind him.
Soft gentle sun. Sophie spends her afternoon getting some warmth on those little limbs. Leaves fall from the plane trees and drift gently down. She finds this intriguing.
Big brother guards. Angus has a glass of wine to lower his blood pressure. Sophie 'moves'. Everyone is happy.
So passes another day in deepest, deepest France profonde. Things too unimportant for a diary but too important to go completely unrecorded.
Bob stands on his stump seat and watches the morning rush hour. The perennially late school secretary breaking the speed limit in her little Renault , the lady with the beehive hairdo brushing the hair of her two five year old boys as she drives by five minutes after classes have started and the cleaning lady at the German billionaires chateau in her Peugeot. The itinerant Spanish melon pickers also drive by - later than usual. They are all greeted with a bark.
Sophie is deposited in a quiet spot in the garden. A spot where she can feel free to do whatever she feels the need to do. An hour or two away from her pen in the fresh air.
No doubting it. The family diva is glum. She will however get better.
Sophie is brought in out of the sunshine. Big brother guards her. Bob is taking this whole affair seriously which is an interesting insight into canine sibling psychology.
Today is the day when the new car is due to be delivered. The garage phones to say that I'll need to bring three utility bills, my passport and a certificate from the bank saying that I'm who I say I am. This bureaucracy is presumably to prevent crazed money laundering Jihadists from buying cars. It is improbable that a crazed money laundering Jihadist would buy a Volkswagen Sportsvan Loonj with a metallic dog grille.
This may come in useful :http://bigthink.com/philip-perry/want-more-hours-in-the-day-heres-how-to-thrive-on-as-little-as-two-hours-sleep-per-night
A new dog routine in the morning. Beds picked up, blankets put in the washer, floors mopped, the patient transferred outside for fresh air. Big brother monitors it all closely. Today, after a late night with the princess, we sleep in until ten to seven. At this point Bob arrives to let us know that we're running behind schedule. Nothing like a large cold wet nose pressed against your ear to get you out of bed quickly.
Sophie sits in a pen on the grass outside the front door. She prefers to sit. She also barks at each tractor or car that passes along the lane. So much for the new pain killers making her more relaxed.
Thank you for your comments yesterday. The patient isn't suffering from constipation. She just can't get herself comfortable. Boy dogs plumbing is, in this respect, easier. Nature, thankfully, finally runs its course.
When it all gets too much Bob takes refuge in the comfort of the back of the dog car.
He gets taken to the electrical store. We see these ...
... which on closer examination have gained ( or lost ) something in the translation.
At the supermarket a tee shirt. Angus thinks how interesting it is that the somewhat classical word ' minion ' should make it onto a tee shirt retailing for $3.00. When we get home 'The Font' informs him that the word minion has been made famous by Kevin the Minion , an animated science fiction character.
The man from the Volkswagen garage phones . '' Bonjour M'Ongoose. There's a problem with your Loonj ". Try as Angus might to understand the man his comment makes absolutely no sense. I ask him to repeat what he's said. He repeats himself, then faced with bemused silence at the other end of the line repeats himself twice more. Turns out he's saying the particular model of car we've bought is a 'Lounge'. The mechanics have prepared it for delivery and parked it out in the forecourt. This is where the garage gardener with his chain saw finds it. Instead of having it moved the gardener works around it. A branch falls on the 'Loonj'. '' Don't worry M'Ongoose. Not much damage. Just a scratch and a small dent. No more than ten centimetres ".
Angus will pick up the damaged 'Loonj' on Friday. It will then go back to the garage the week after for a post delivery paint and panel job.
'' The Font" can't help but think that becoming proud owners of a Volkswagen Sportsvan 'Loonj' with a dent and a scratch marks this as a dog car from the outset.
Advice sought from those who have had female dogs with double back leg ligament tears.
If there is no strength in the back legs how do you get a female dog to stoop ? Sophie widdled in her pen last night but no sign of poops.
We're holding her rear end with a towel but she doesn't seem keen to have a bowel movement. She tries then collapses on the ground. This is both upsetting and presumably unhealthy.
We've tried ten times today but no luck.
Warm bed baths don't seem to trigger any reflex
Thoughts please.
Bob is being really rather grown up. He knows there's a problem with his sister but is leaving it to us to sort out. He is the beneficiary of long walks and serious Mano a Mano conversations.
Sophie heads off to the hospital in Toulouse for an X-ray on the other leg. The specialist doesn't bother with the X-ray. '' Clear as day the ligament has completely gone " he says matter of factly. No power in either leg. She can sit but she can't stand. It can safely be said that she is not a 'good' patient. We feel much better now we know what the problem is. Fears of spinal injuries have been dispelled.
New pain killers prescribed. One operation on Tuesday a second operation two months later on the other leg. Four months of enforced idleness await her. What awaits her owners is something rather different.
These harnesses have been ordered and dispatched from Yorkshire. They can't get here a moment too soon. We'll think about the exercise contraption with wheels after the operation(s). : https://www.dogmobile-online.com/product/dogharness
A small metal grilled pen is set up inside the front door for the patient. A place she can monitor the comings and goings without being bothered by her oaf of a brother.
We return home from shopping. As we open the front door the 'diva', who has been sound asleep in her pen, leaps with joy. In fact she's so overjoyed at being reunited after all of an hours absence that she tries to do a backwards somersault. Sophie has never been one to hide her emotions. Two seconds is all it takes to put her full weight on her good knee and damage the ligament. So much for keeping her in an enclosed space. One of those ' What are the chances of that ? ' days.
A trip to the vets follows. An appointment for a further x-ray hastily scheduled at 4:30 this afternoon to see what the damage is. We're praying it's just a bad strain but she is in pain, crying and can't use her back legs to stand so I fear it is a ligament issue. The inability to stand generates a new wave of ' things that need to be considered '.
The specialist surgeon still can't schedule an operation until a week today. Our local vet is trying to see what he can come up with as an alternative.
Bob, the ever worrying big brother, knows that something is wrong. He has slept close to Sophie's cage all night.
I fear this second development on Sophie's knee makes this option impossible : http://www.whole-dog-journal.com/issues/13_2/features/Dog-Surgery-Alternatives_16198-1.html
