Monday, June 19, 2017
A telling aside.
Bob wakes early and sticks a wet nose in my ear. He then pokes the bedside table. It rocks ever so slightly, one leg making a highly satisfying thunk-thunk noise on the floor. He does this five times before remembering that the bedroom is out of bounds. He leaves - tail banging against the wardrobe doors in the dressing room.
The usual morning pandemonium. The PONs hurtle out of the door and check the garden for c-a-t-s. After ten minutes they return. Bob has his harness put on. Sophie shrieks to let me know that's she should have hers put on first. 'No chance of forgetting you' I find myself saying aloud.
Into the little market town. The PONs walk past the bandstand ( which Bob christens ) , alongside the church and into the town square.
There are a group of pilgrims resting in the shade.
The cafe was recently written up in the New York Times. The author described it as one of the best cafes in France. He clearly didn't try the coffee. We take a table inside out of the sun. The PONs settle on the floor and the barman brings them over a bowl of water . He also brings over two of those tiny, tasteless little biscuits the French have with their coffee. These are received with two almost inaudible whimpers of delight.
Back at home we take a brief detour to see the calves. No births overnight but Thursdays new arrivals are already growing quickly.
The joiner stops his car to say 'Bonjour' and to let me know that less than half the villagers bothered to turn out to vote in Sundays parliamentary elections. An unusual development in a village where the turnout is usually 100%. 'What's the point ? ' he adds in what may, or may not be, a telling aside.
Seven thirty on a Monday morning and the PONs have already had an exciting day.