Mid-afternoon. The two cows in the field across the lane manage to get out of their enclosure.The old widow, broom in hand, noisily shoos them away from the rose bushes that sprawl along her garden wall. Hugo, the bad tempered Maltese, growls from the garden of the house by the crossroads. For a while the cows wander contentedly back and forth before settling down to graze in the middle of the village green.Then they notice the floral displays in front of the church. Short work made of the geraniums. The white heather in our roadside pots follows. The cows pause for a while, resting their heads on the courtyard gates, contentedly sniffing the freshly cut grass beyond.
Bob and Sophie look at these two enormous beasts in amazement. '' Blimey ! They're big dogs ". Bob takes up his leader of the pack position, front and forward , Sophie behind. A defensive pose slightly spoilt by the soft toy Bob clutches in his mouth. To the sound of not so ferocious barking the cows saunter off down the ox track to drink at the stream . It is there that the 'bad' farmer and his youngest son intercept them and guide them home .
Bob and Sophie settle down for a post excitement sleep. Both of them kick and squeak as they dream. Can anything beat the adventures of puppyhood ? In the evening they've recovered and there's time and energy enough to chase moles. Excitement - deepest France profonde style.