Bob is keen to get the day started. He nudges the back of my knee with his nose to reinforce the message.
His sister has just woken from a deep sleep .... and it shows.
Harnesses are put on. Sophie heads in, Bob heads out. Pre-walk chaos. Some semblance of order is finally restored and we head off along the lane.
The Old Farmer is out early to get the silver Peugeot estate ready for its bi-annual inspection. '' I bought it in 1978. Cars were cars in those days ". The Belgian lady has invested in 'leggings' for him. These keep his knees and his hips warm. Today he is wearing a red and black plaid shirt, voluminous knee length shorts , also in red, made of some shiny artificial fibre and lime green 'leggings'. Open toed sandals complete the sartorial ensemble.
It's dry this morning although another week of wind and rain is forecast. At the market the butcher greets the PONs. He puts some small slices of roast veal from the 'plat du jour' counter in the palm of his hands. Sophie sits, tail sweeping across the floor, doing her angel dog routine. For the PONs the slivers of cooked meat provide an epoch defining start to the day. Bob does his ' I had died and gone to heaven ' soft shoe shuffle.
The bakers counter decidedly below par in terms of offerings. The Monday morning baked goods feeling.
The first peaches of the year in the greengrocers ..
... and possibly the first aubergines although neither Angus nor the PONs are keen on aubergines so they might have been on sale for months and we wouldn't have noticed.
So starts the best day ever in a small village in deepest, deepest France profonde.