The best day of the year.

New Year morning. The top of the ridge glowing in the winter sunshine ; the valley frost coated and cold. Bob and Sophie opt for the fork in the road that takes us down into the mist. Hares and deer everywhere. Glorious weather for following scents. Bob walks by my side. Sophie lingers in the hedgerows. Every so often there's a furious " Wait ! How could you leave a poor maiden so ? " howling. We stop and talk to the horse in the paddock behind the church while Sophie catches up with us. The poor old thing is left out in all weathers without a coat. Sophie no longer hides behind my legs when I stroke him. Tomorrow he'll get some carrots.

Home. We're still the first up and about. The angelic duo savage each other then charge around the garden in search of  'something' . The invisible 'something' is always chased at top speed and with suitable sound effects. 

The Very Old Farmer didn't join us last night but was taken a glass of champagne and some lobster. These he devoured as if he'd never had a major stomach operation. Two more glasses were sent round. They were also devoured. No call from his son.

In the middle of breakfast Bob lets us know we have a visitor. By the time I get to the gate there's no one to be seen. In the letter box a note on a scrap of paper from the Very Old Farmer *.

After breakfast Bob is back at the front door in best Maitre D' mode. His Mr.Geniality look. ''Installez vous". This morning there are few folks around for him to welcome. This doesn't stop him living in hope that some will show up. Sophie digs.

And so a new and exciting year starts in deepest, deepest France profonde.  The PON's clearly think it's the best day of the year. They'll think the same about tomorrow and the day after. The wisdom of dogs.

* Loosely translated - "Life is a battle and to win you must always be ready to charge at the first sound of sabre rattling " . Quite apt coming from the VOF.