First light. Bob and Sophie get harnessed up. We go outside. Before I can lock the front door Bob decides to go back inside . Sophie follows. Sophie comes back outside. Bob rushes round the house looking for 'the font' . Bob is finally coaxed into the courtyard and into the back of the car. He then leaps out of the car in hot pursuit of a blackbird. The offer of a kibble and he clambers back in. Why the simple act of getting out of the house should generate so much daily excitement remains a mystery of dog ownership.
Our morning routine. To the Cafe for an illicit half croissant, a visit to the bakers, a detour to the strawberry farm for two tubs of fresh gariguettes. A walk by the stream where Bob displays his inept fishing skills. Finally, a quick tour of the village. Very Old Farmer, Old Widow,Old Farmer, municipal workman on the tractor - all greeted. By nine the little angels are exhausted.
Home. This morning the two of them decide to sleep on the creaky wooden staircase. A previous generation of PON's did the same thing. Elder, ever watchful, brother dozing on the higher step. Younger sibling snoring, indecorously, on the step below. Can they sense that their predecessors slept in this same spot ? Perhaps all dog owners have this sense of deja vu ?
'The font' heads off to London . "Would you like to come along ? We could go to the ballet ". Angus wonders aloud what the troops would have thought if they were told that in a hundred years time their valour would be the subject of a creative dance routine. '' I'll take that as a no " says 'the font'.
Angus choses wine for Easter lunch. With no one to hurry him along there's plenty of time to linger over this most important of tasks. The PON duo wait behind the counter with the wine merchant while Angus gets the car and loads it up at the front door. Bob looks disappointed there are no sausages.
Madame Bay shows up. It's hot and she's draped in white chiffon. A poster girl for net curtains. There's been a power cut at the Bay residence and the saintly septuagenarian, plus two grandchildren, has popped round to make sure Angus is managing on his own. In reality she's come to watch her favourite daytime soap - Diagnosis Murder. Programme over she announces '' Well I don't have all day to hang around ". She shepherds the grandchildren into the gold metallic 'Wild Child' voiturette and vanishes.
'The font' enjoys the ballet. Angus opens a bottle of Pomerol. The PON's chase pigeons. Madame Bay has had her daily dose of Dick van Dyke. Everyone is happy.
Three cans of baked beans, four cans of Dr.Peppers and a dozen or so bags of jelly beans make an appearance in the 'exotic foods' section of the supermarket. Deepest France profonde can now supply the strange culinary cravings of any foreign tourists who make it here for the Easter holidays.
Bob and Sophie chase squirrels, scamper after blackbirds and guard against passing pilgrims. At four in the afternoon they come inside for their kibbles and a snooze. Batteries recharged they're back out again at four thirty.
In the evening they stealthily creep upstairs and eat the non-slip underlay on three of the rugs that line the hallway. Sophie , who has a piece of foam dangling from her jaw, would have us believe it was solely Bob's idea.
The PON duo disappear out of the front door. Bob heads off to the orchard in pursuit of blackbirds. Sophie disappears into the clump of wild irises by the gate. When she reappears it's clear from the mud on her nose and paws that she's been 'improving' the garden.
Every French shop has one. A retired employee who comes in to 'help' out. At the lawn tractor dealership we meet Gilbert. He asks if I need any help. I tell him I'm just looking. This is a mistake. The next ten minutes are filled with his potted life history. The bottom line is that the youngsters ( he points to a man in overalls who must be at least sixty five ) don't know anything about lawn tractors. Gilbert then fills me in on the finer points of mechanised grass cutting. Discerning that I'm foreign he repeats his sales patter. Where possible he uses visual aids to make sure I've understood.
Gilbert finally stops talking to Angus and starts talking to Bob and Sophie. He does this without any hint of embarrassment. They sit and look at him hoping their may be sausage. Life, when you're a one year old PON, is full of unexpected wonders.
First light. Sophie is at the front door keen to get her day started. Overhead, as we set out along the lane, the rising sun catches the first flight of the day from Paris to Toulouse. For a moment the contrails behind the engines glow scarlet. Little do the bleary eyed businessmen on board realize how beautiful their journey is.
Signs of summer. Piles of fresh radishes at the market. The Moroccan man reappears with his olives and flat bread. He laughs and tells me his loaves are still a euro a piece. '' Will you take ten today ? ". Bob and Sophie dawdle at the sausage stall. They would happily spend their day there. Despite their best efforts they are ignored. It seems the sausage man in his beret and stripped shirt is not a dog lover. Or at least he's not a dog lover who's inclined to hand out free samples. We head off to the cafe under the arcades and the surety of a half croissant.
Over the weekend the weather has turned from Spring into high Summer. Cloudless skies, the mountains bathed in brilliant sunshine,woodpeckers at the bird feeder.75 degrees by late morning. 80 plus in the afternoon.
Today we're up early to avoid the heat. Bob comes with me to the market. We order our usual Salers and Tome de Savoie from the cheese lady. We add some Tome Fermiere ( much better than the Reblochon or St.Nectaire she tells me ) and a pungent sheeps milk Pyramide for 'the font'. Bob is given tiny slivers of each. The cheese lady is either a good saleswoman or a dog lover. Perhaps both. Bob gives her his best ' I love you ' look . His tail rotates at high speed - a sure sign the boy is happy. Bob's ever waving tail , it must be said, is one of the worlds natural wonders.
Shopping done dog and owner sit at the outdoor cafe watching the early morning shoppers. Bob slurps noisily from the bowl of water the waiters brought him . He then lets out a long contented sigh. The start of a new week in deepest, deepest France profonde.
6th April 2013.
We collect two wide eyed, petrified, pups from the farmers wife. A shy little sister who hid under her brother.
6th April 2014.
Two self confident family PON's. 24/7 laughter generators.
I wander downstairs, pick up the car keys and there, unbidden, are the two PON's. Sophie lets out a yelp of delight as we head out of the front door. '' Croissant time ! "
At the hardware store all the plastic Easter animals have gone except for two terrifying luminescent pugs, one purple lamb and a small lime green rabbit that some might find adorable.There's no accounting for taste.
Owner and PON's look at garden tractors. Time to replace the 'gem' that the previous residents of The Rickety Old Farmhouse sold us at a vastly inflated price. Angus looks at the sticker and decides we'll come back again next week. Thankfully, Bob waits until we're outside in the car park before he does his tyre christening routine.
10 pm. The PON duo find the two hedgehogs that were 'exiled' the night before. How did the hedgehogs find their way back ? Where is the hole in the fence ? From the noise Sophie makes it can be assumed that she has discovered that hedgehogs have spines. Drama and Sophie go together.
The irrigation 'engineer' shows up to repair the blue bomb like device that hides in the basement. He drives a Peugeot Bipper Tepee. This is a vehicle that is even less likely to get a joyriders heart racing than the Skoda.
The 'engineer' spends an hour arc welding. A bang with a wrench and voila ! the pressure gauge shoots to the right and stays there. Angus asks if the needle should be firmly stuck in the area marked out in red. The 'engineer' shrugs his shoulders and leaves. From having no pressure we now seem to have an irrigation device that packs enough energy to wipe out several city blocks.
No sign of the hyperactive mole. Bob and Sophie race round the field boundaries until they fall into an exhausted sleep. In the afternoon Bob goes fishing, ineptly, in the stream while Sophie heads off to her dressage class. Sophie is now quite happy to let the man who runs the dressage classes take her for a walk. Happy, that is, as long as she can see the reassuring figure of 'the font' out of the corner of her eye.
On our 10 pm walk we find a large toad and two hedgehogs. Hedgehogs warrant high pitched squeals of delight. Toads merely get yelps.The hedgehogs are taken across the lane and released in the cow field. The toad is introduced to the drainage ditch. 'The font' wonders why we've been out so long.
In the morning we turn of the central heating. In the afternoon an unexpected storm comes thundering in from the Bay of Biscay. The temperatures plummet. The heating is turned back on.
Sophie finds a baseball cap. She eats it. She shares her joy by scattering shredded portions of it around the house.
The hyperactive mole is cornered. Unsure of what to do next the PON duo look at it. Sophie howls, Bob yelps. The mole sensibly freezes. Alerted by the din, Angus rescues the little creature which is carried down to the side of the stream. It scurries into the undergrowth at high speed.
A delivery man shows up. '' I've got a dozen tractor tyres here. Are they for you ? ". I assure him they're not. '' Are you sure ? ''. I again assure him that they're not. He looks disappointed. After ten minutes of fevered searching he finds 'the fonts' asafoetida and fresh curry leaves from London. '' I must get a better system " he says cheerily.
Bob and Sophie have chicken curry with their kibbles. Bob gives us his 'life just keeps getting better and better' look.
Overnight a strong southerly wind. This morning the windscreen caked in sand blown up from the Sahara. The PON duo wait while I find a hosepipe to wash down the car. Sophie, who has been impatiently shifting her weight from one leg to the other, finally let's out her village wakening '' Get a move on ! There's a croissant at the cafe " yelp.
Time to get the garden in order. Bob and Sophie alternate between watching and helping. Watching is less stressful. During the day they flatten a mallow bush and shred a peony. The mallow was excusable. Bob saw a squirrel run into it. He gave chase. His sister followed him. The mallow suffered. The squirrel looked on from the top of an oak tree.
Blue Tits have monopolised the bird feeder over the winter. Now they're joined by Bull Finches,Gold Finches and Red Starts. The Blue Tits have learnt to differentiate between a PON and a cat. The newcomers haven't. They scatter when the duo approach. Sophie, who is suffering from a frightful hair day ( it's the wind ) , finds this most satisfying.
A Parisian antique dealer and his wife have opened a new restaurant in the little market town. We wait a week in order to let the kitchen 'settle down' . 'The font', who is an adventurous eater, has razor clam followed by riz de veau. Boiled flotsam and grilled offal. Angus, who is not an adventurous eater, has foie gras and tuna. The black and silver flock wallpaper in the dining room is very busy. The same cannot be said for the staff . After a leisurely three and a half hours we leave. A man in a flat cap bids us an effusive farewell. We're not sure if he's the chef or a slightly inebriated diner.
Bob and Sophie are in fine form. Lives conducted at high speed. They seem to know the words ' treat, lunch, breakfast, dinner, croissants, and chews ' in every language under the sun. No, or No !!! , as it's more frequently used, is the one word that completely flumoxes them.
