When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

The fence round the compost heap has been reinforced. So far, so good. While I'm hammering in new posts the PON duo keep themselves occupied by playing with the mesh pool cover . Sophie builds a nest in it and dozes. Bob wraps himself up in the elasticated  ropes. Later in the morning they turn their attention to the freshly turfed area by the garden gate. This has now been thoroughly and deeply excavated. 

The electricians arrive. Unannounced. There was a time when Bob and Sophie would supervise workmen. Now, at the grand old age of nine months, they want to become intimately involved in everything they do.  Sophie clambers into the back of their van and has to be removed. Twice. Bob shows an unhealthy interest in the fuse box. The little angels are finally exiled to the downstairs kitchen where they protest against being put in solitary confinement.

A plaque is attached to the front of the war memorial by four men in blue boiler suits. The mayors wife spends two hours in the late afternoon covering the newly installed plaque with a white linen sheet. It's a bit windy so a brown plastic trough full of multi-coloured pansies is used to weigh the sheet down and stop it blowing away. The tout ensemble will be unveiled by ' the general from Paris ' during Sundays grand ceremony.

Those who danced were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.

 

Adolescence. A time when you wonder if your puppies have learnt anything. "Stop, sit, stay " .  All words to be ignored. '' Come here ! " a joke.  At seven months old life is for chasing birds, barking at tractors and driving your owners to distraction. 

This morning, brim full of energy, we take the car down to the old roman road and saunter through the sunflower fields to the stream. Wonderful scents in the hedgerows, dragon flies to be leapt at, a herd of cows to be studied from behind the safety of a fence post. The cow pats along the track an irresistible delight. Today the two little darlings decide to drink while lying flat out in the stream . A new trick.  The first '' Oh Bob ! " and " Oh Sophie ! " of the day.

The PON's are still damp but at least have stopped dripping by the time we make it to the cafe under the arcades. No sign of that adolescent petulance when it comes to their illicit half croissant. They sit at my feet, silent studies in perfect behaviour, staring beatifically up at the waitress. She coos. They look cherubic. Little does she know .