Sunday, November 13, 2016
Sophie is awake at six. She starts licking her paws while singing loudly to herself. A contented mixture of modulating whines and whistles. Enough to rouse the deepest sleeper. Soon after an early rising foreigner and a very fluffy small dog in a harness can be seen ambling slowly along the lane in the half light. This morning Sophie does 40 yards out and 40 yards back almost unaided. There is a moment of excitement when a cat is seen. Were it not for the fact that Angus manages to grab the handle on her harness she would be off at high speed after it. There is much frustrated whimpering. Sophie is not an easy patient.
By the time we return from our saunter Bob is ready to head off on a long walk. He has a joy overload as we head out of the front door. This morning we turn right, pass the chateau ( christening the fire hydrant as we go ) and head across the fields to the old pigeonnier on the brow of the hill.
Male dog and owner stop for a while and look towards the mountains. Today the peaks are shrouded in cloud. Strings of white mist cling to the valley floors. Up here on top of the ridge its clear and calm. The way a Sunday morning should be. While we sit and put the world to rights ( Bob is an excellent listener ) the overnight flights from the East Coast to Rome and Athens come barreling towards us - contrails streaming out behind them.
The family fellow finds a large pile of horse manure. He has three mouthfuls. He would demolish it entirely were it not for the fact that he's actively ' encouraged ' in the direction of home.
Sophie is waiting for us at The Rickety Old Farmhouse. She smells her brothers breath. The diva is not at all happy that her brother has enjoyed such a wonderful culinary gift . She lets out a rather impolite growl. Bob, sensibly, ignores her.
Sunday morning. A record of those little things that mark out our life with dogs.
This will be visible in the sky tomorrow :