Sunday, March 8, 2015
Fat, happy bees.
Out at first light. The mountains, still snow covered, shimmering blue in the distance. There are a few patches of frost in the valley but up here on the ridge the warm air is filled with the sound of fat happy bees drowning in pollen. A herd of deer watch us from the edge of the woodland. Bob heads off after the scent of a fox. He's called back and put on his lead. He accepts this restriction on his freedom with resigned good grace. By the shallow ford where the roman road crosses the stream he tries his hand at fishing. I sit on the grass bank and laugh. Wet, but unbothered, he comes to join me. One of those special '' this boy done good " moments. It goes without saying the fish have been undisturbed by his efforts.
After breakfast Bob and his sister head out into the garden.They catch sight of a squirrel and that, as they say, is that. Life lived at ear flapping high speed.
When you're two years old could there be any better start to a day ?
A quiet Sunday morning in deepest France profonde. Events in the life of a dog and its owner that are too unimportant for a diary but too important to be completely forgotten.