No act of kindness, however small, is wasted.

Saturday night. Some 'out of towners' have booked the salle des fetes . It turns out to be a 'rave'. Two hundred cars from Toulouse filling the square and the surrounding streets. At midnight a group of revellers clamber over the Rickety Old Farmhouse's gate and start to uproot the box hedge. ( Why ? )

Bob lets out that unmistakable PON  'my packs in danger ' roar. How such a noise can emanate from such a small dog one of natures mysteries. Angus opens the bedroom window and tells the uninvited guests exactly where to go. By the time he's made it downstairs ( bare feet but a blue towelling dressing gown ) they've gone.

This morning over breakfast much laughter as to whether the sight of Angus in a dressing gown or the sound of a PON in full voice is the more frightening.

After Wilf I'd never thought we'd have another dog brave enough to become a family fellow. I was wrong. This morning guard dog Bob is promoted from family boy to family fellow in training. His tail wags ( to the right )  thirteen to the dozen. 

Beware lest you lose the substance by grasping at the shadow.

Eight on a frosty Sunday morning. Most sensible God fearing villagers are still tucked up safe and warm in bed. By contrast the dog rearing villagers are up and about. Or, to be more precise, the dog rearing villager is up and about. Bob has been ready to go for an hour. He sits by the side of the breakfast table and stares at me in silent reproach. Nothing like a cold frosty December morning to appeal to a PON boy.

While I head off across the fields with Bob, 'the font' takes Sophie for a power walk round the lake. After the incident with the fisherman and the fish in the bucket Bob is still persona non grata when it comes to walks round the lake. Sophie is not a power walk dog. She likes to stop every five minutes to look at the ducks or sit wistfully watching the waves on the water. The reed beds a source of limitless delight. Bob can do a circuit of the lake in thirty minutes. With Sophie it's an hour if you're lucky.

Bob and Angus are just finishing their second cup of coffee by the time Sophie and 'the font' make it to the cafe under the arcades. Our time has not been wasted. The waitress has slipped Bob some croissant scraps. He beams.

Beware lest you lose the substance by grasping at the straw.

Back to London for a night to talk to men in dark suits. The grande dame says '' How wonderful. We can travel together " .  Angus who is usually the first off the plane,  resigns himself to spending an hour at the luggage carousel waiting for hat boxes.

Bob and Sophie continue to enjoy life to the full. Wayward pilgrims , beware !

A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety.

More rain. Not that Bob and Sophie are bothered. Sophie, delighted that a new day has started,  leaps up into the back of the car.  Bob , a bit of a sleepy head, has to be lifted in. A trip to the bakers then the cafe under the arcades for the mandatory croissant slivers . Neither of them seems to be perturbed by the 9.00 am church bells. At the newsagent two little old ladies and a bald Belgian man in a white jacket stop to say hello. You can never be alone when travelling with dogs.   When the little angels get home they gnaw my remaining slipper then go out to dig along the hedgerow by the cherry orchard. 

For those of you heading off to work on a Monday morning  a little something to make you smile. A video that has, justifiably, gone viral . It gets wild at the 2:30 point.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-50GjySwew