The Old Farmer and the Belgian lady set off in the venerable Ford Transit motor home at four am. There is much slamming of doors and laughter. The noise wakes the PONs who bid them farewell. The guardian angel that looks after octogenarian French travellers has a busy time ahead.
Bob and Sophie are out at seven. The sun is only now rising and there's the barest hint of warmth in the air. Today the little stream is half filled with clear water. Overnight there must have been a storm in the high mountains. Both PONs drink lustily. Bob tries to catch trout by waving a paw in the air and then bringing it down ineptly , with a splosh, in the water. He could do this all day. Generations of PONs have demonstrated their lack of aptitude at fishing. Intuitive proof that the spirit is eternal ... and hopeful.
Sophie is torn between wanting to play with her brother and getting her feet wet. She opts to explore the muddy bank.
There are fresh boar prints in the sand. The PONs get clipped onto their harnesses .
Home through the recently cut wheat fields.
We stop to stare at the donkeys. Then scurry along the lane for breakfast. Sophie seems to have developed a limp in a back leg these last few days. Doesn't stop her racing around but we'll have it checked out by the vet later today.