Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Good humour is the health of the soul, sadness its poison .
One of the young workmen throws a tennis ball for Bob and Sophie. Somehow it hits Bob on the side of his face. Pandemonium ensues. Our brave family fellow howls then rushes across the lawn and disappears into the house with Sophie in hot pursuit. ' The font ' checks him to make sure he's fine. Amid a chorus of yelps and sobs Bob performs a dying dog routine that would make the Royal Shakespeare Company proud. Turns out the only thing damaged is his pride .
For fully ten minutes Bob sulks. Believe me there is nothing on God's earth like a sulking male PON. Finally he emerges from his pen. I'm ignored with a ' How could you have let this happen to ME ? ' turn of his head.
The young builder takes a more direct approach. He brings out a pack of biscuits. The briefest moment of aloofness and then the ice is broken. Bob, Sophie and the young builder are soon playing catch in the cherry orchard.
The two little angels almost fully grown. Their teething largely completed. Both of them have a newly discovered affinity for Palets bretons.