Turn your back for a moment and Sophie will be off chasing something. This morning it was a small fluttery thing in a bay tree. I'd bent down to tie a loose shoe lace - my eyes distracted for three seconds at the most - and she'd leapt up and was racing across the grass after her prey. Thankfully, the little angel was apprehended before she could get too far . Sophie is a maximum security patient.
On Tuesday she goes to the specialists to have her leg X-rayed and get a date for the second leg to be operated on. We're hoping for a date in early November. This would mean we'd have a largely ambulatory diva for Christmas
Big brother keeps a watchful eye on his sister from a sensible distance. His concern for her is palpable - which is interesting canine psychology. We think it unlikely that Sophie would display this level of devotion if it was her brother who was laid up.
At the moment she can sit out in the fresh air with a blanket draped over her shaved legs. There is a certain mournful Dickensian look to her sitting on the grass. Soon it's going to be too cold for her to be out for more than an hour in the afternoon.
Bob is steered through the market at high speed. The Chinese clothes seller glares at us. We don't want any repetition of the male PON christening the display of ladies jeans ...
... or the Moroccan mans display of woven baskets. We've never seen the Moroccan man sell a basket. The display always seems to remain the same. A de-threating of his products with Eau de Bob wouldn't make them any more attractive.
So passes another of those days with a nightmare patient and her affable brother in deepest, deepest France profonde.