At last ! Rain. Not a lot but some. Our first in seven weeks.
The PONs jump into the car. They wear that mildly concerned ' Here it comes ! Watch out for my tail ! ' look as the door is closed.
The baker hasn't had a great year with his Buche de Noel. The remaining stock has been sliced into sixths and sold off as individual portions. '' People just don't celebrate any more ". He said the same thing last year. And the year before.
By the time we get back to The Rickety Old Farmhouse the rain has stopped. In the grass along the lane the wild orchids have started to bloom - two, possibly three, months early. Angus's innate Presbyterianism tells him a blast of arctic winter air will arrive any minute now.
Bob entertains himself by leaping over the box hedges with Furry Fox. His idea of leaping means ploughing straight through.This may explain why our box hedges have dog shaped gaps in them.
So passes another day with happy dogs in deepest, deepest France profonde.
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