The cold has gone. We wake to a mild and windy morning. All the leaves that Loic the gardener blew off the lawn have blown back. Bob stands by the door waiting for his harness to be put on. He squeals with delight ( a thing he does every morning ) when the door is opened. You'd think that his enthusiasm might have eased off after doing the same thing for four years. Not a bit of it. Dogs live their lives lost in a world of wonder and pending adventure.
The family fellow gets into the car on his third attempt. Attempt #1 was interrupted by the arrival of a blackbird on the lawn. Attempt #2 by a leaf fluttering down from the gutters. There are no distractions the third time round.
The chairs have been put out on the square. The cafe owners hopeful that the temperatures will rise and the crowds flock into town. We take a table outside. Bob gets brought a bowl of water and a biscuit.
The butcher is selling chicken and truffles en croute. We buy two. Bob gets a sliver of roast lamb. The family fellow emits one of his 'I has died and gone to heaven' sighs.
Six little cakes from the trendy bakers complete our shopping. Bob gets given croissant crumbs. His tail thwack-thwack- thwacks against the side of the display counter. The blonde young lady comes round and kisses him on top of his head.
In the village the mayor and the man in the day-glo yellow jacket are setting up trestle tables in the Salle des Fetes. This afternoon is the award of prizes to the winners of the beautiful gardens competition. A selection of the mayors wife's dried root vegetable arrangements have already been unloaded from the back of his car and sit, unguarded, in the middle of the petanque court.
So starts a Sunday morning in a France as far away from the bright lights of Paris as it's possible to get.
Here's something on dog flu : https://www.urmc.rochester.edu/research/blog/january-2017/scientists-develop-new-flu-vaccines-for-man%E2%80%99s-best.aspx