I open the shutters to let cool air into the house . Within seconds Bob is awake, up the stairs and by my side. A cold nose pressed against my leg. That '' What have you got planned for today ? " inquisitiveness etched on his face.
Satisfied nothing exciting is happening he follows me to the kitchen. The face now wearing the " Did you say sausages ? " look.
Sophie is waiting for us on the wooden table by the pool. A great place to check on builders, electricians,passing pilgrims or cats. With a humphhh and a thud her brother leaps on the table beside her. She ignores him.
Bob finds it much easier on the paws if you follow the tracks of the combine harvester down across the recently harvested wheat fields. Sophie hasn't got the hang of this. Faced with tall stalks she expects to be rescued. We get the diva in a wheat field routine.
Still hot. The sort of day to sit and listen to the crickets, the frogs in the village pond and the sound of two PON siblings fighting over a furry fox. Routine with dogs. The vastness in the smallness of a summer Wednesday morning in deepest , deepest France profonde.