Reached an age.....

Nothing like two lively dogs to get your day started. Bob sits on Sophie's side of the car. There is a 'discussion'. She gets out. He gets out.

They are loaded back into the car. Bob again settles down in his sisters space. Sophie complains. 'Complains' in the Sophie sense being an understatement.

The old adage ' third time lucky ' holds true. Everyone sits in their allotted spot. Happiness and silence return to The Rickety Old Farmhouse.

In the afternoon we go to inspect the damage done to the kiln. It doesn't take Inspector Clouseau to work out this is the work of bored pre-teens. A few broken bricks and the iron bars on the grille at the back bent out of shape.

In the supermarket the aisles blocked by staff restocking the shelves. When I say blocked I mean completely blocked. Angus points out the dangers of this situation to a young man. He gets a less than friendly look in return. However, the shelf stacker does clear a path so that shoppers can walk along the aisle. Angus has reached an age where he voices his grumpiness. The Victor Meldrew syndrome.

The Irish 'Easter' mannequin still holds pride of place in the aisles.

Just another of those quiet days in deepest, deepest France profonde.

Vandals.

Cloudy today. Bob races ahead to the end of the ridge and then turns to make sure that I'm following on.

The rest of the world may have celebrated St.Patricks Day last week. Not here . The supermarket has put out a mannequin in a bodice, green felt hat and black tights. Special offer beer completes the tableau. What this says about the French view of the Irish doesn't bear thinking about.

The Lindt Easter bunnies are out in force.

Sophie is in fine form.

As is her brother.

In the village the 16th century pottery kiln has been vandalized. Some of the bricks have been broken and the metal grille in front of the oven bent backwards. The gendarmes have been called. The villagers are in shock. In the UK a few broken bricks and a bent grille would signal pre-adolescents at work. The lady with the purple hat ( only recently recovered from her moment with the swaying Jesus ) wonders if it might be terrorists. She has been listening to the horrible morning news updates from Brussels. The mayor reassures her.

The last sentence

A bright and sunny start to the day.

The resident expert on the Radio France breakfast show informs his listeners that much of the United Kingdom is governed by Sharia law. Terrorists are ''untroubled by the police ". This piece of nonsense makes Angus bite his tongue . Twenty miles separate the two countries but what a twenty miles it is.

Bob is untroubled by world affairs and gives me his happy look.

In the supermarket we find something very unusual between the plantains and the peppers.  The lady at the cash desk curtly informs me '' We are very adventurous with our cooking here in this country ". Angus can't help but think that most denizens of deepest France profonde would run a mile from a Ghanaian Igname. He keeps this thought to himself.

At the bakers we buy an Orange Pistache for 'The Font' and a trois chocolats for me. The PONZ get given some flaky pastry. Their tails thwack against the counter.

Back at home Bob liberates 'lamb on a rope'. Sophie is oblivious to this development. When she does discover what's happened there is a 'howling'.

So starts a quiet Monday morning with two happy and healthy dogs.

Sometimes I'm glad that the NYRB is there to provide adult insight. I enjoyed the article until the final sentence :http://www.nybooks.com/daily/2016/03/17/what-we-now-know-2016-presidential-election/?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=NYR%20Palestine%20Fugger%20moral%20pyschology&utm_content=NYR%20Palestine%20Fugger%20moral%20pyschology+CID_4301787975eae04ec7343122577f9fdc&utm_source=Newsletter&utm_term=2016%20What%20We%20Now%20Know

Feet off the ground.

Sophie finds 'lamb-on-a-rope' in the laurel hedge. She exudes ( or should that be radiates ? ) happiness.

The new 'dog friendly' cafe is busy. The waiter shakes my hand. A sign that we've crossed the threshold and have become regulars. Bob settles down in front of my chair. Sophie behind it. I get a coffee. They share a bowl of water. People wander by, ignore me, but talk to the dogs.

Outside the newsagent a poster for Ici Paris magazine sporting a sombre photo of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and informing us that they are in the process of divorcing. The National Enquirers French counterpart.

With the advent of warmer weather Bob is on guard from sunrise to sunset . He now has three places to stand. His stump seat at the front gate. The wooden garden table. And now the low wall round the swimming pool. All our PONs have been climbers - Bob however is the champion for getting his feet off the ground . Must be a breed thing.

Luxuriantly.

Bob sits on his stump seat looking ferocious. Or at least an approximation of ferocious.

Sophie has rolled, luxuriantly, in a liquid cow pat. She has been bathed, reluctantly and thoroughly. 

In the supermarket dried 'Trumpet of Death' mushrooms make an appearance.

The old soldiers brave the chill winds for their Algerian War commemoration. They then head into the village hall for a reviving glass of wine. They're still there at 4:20 when we return from our afternoon walk. We meet the district nurse wheeling the Very Old Farmer back home across the village green. He tickles Bobs ear. Sophie , uncertain of the wheelchair, hides behind my knee.

Just another quiet day with dogs in deepest, deepest France profonde.

Medals will shine.

An overcast start to the day. It threatens to rain. Sophie appraises the weather before heading out of the front door. Her impatient brother waits in the shadows.

A busy morning for the mayor. Workmen arrive to install a new sign on the tarmac outside the church. A list of 'must see' things in the village and a map showing the whereabouts of the Holy Well, the 16th century pottery kiln and the roman road. Passing pilgrims will find it invaluable.

The mayor hangs out the three little flags on the war memorial. It's the anniversary of the end of the Algerian War in 1953. All the local farmers, or those of a certain age, served in Algiers as teenagers so for them it is a big day. 

The Old Farmer loads his stainless steel tea urn into a wheel barrow and rolls it across to the village hall. Tomorrow, he and twenty or so of his old comrades will line up in front of the war memorial in their blazers, berets and grey trousers for a commemoration. Medals will shine. The mayor will say some inaudible words and the Marseillaise will be sung. After wards they will all retire to the village hall for a glass or two or three of home made wine. Madame Bay and the ladies of the Beautiful Bye ways Committee will serve cassoulet.

We buy more Gariguette. Not quite as sweet as they should be but not bad considering they're being harvested a full month early.

Tarocco oranges from Italy. Another seasonal delight. The morning juice literally tasting of sunshine.

We've reached that stage of the year when summer is fast approaching.

Remarkable sounds.

Some dogs are quiet dogs. Other dogs aren't. Bob rarely barks but he does make some remarkable sounds.

This morning he's particularly communicative. A medley of whines, moans and grunts. There are also facial contortions. I think he may be telling me to get a move on.

When his his sister wants something she is rather more direct in her communication. She screams.

Off to the supermarket. This morning amid the exotic fruits a new arrival - 'The Sweet Passion Fruit Straw'. This is something that appears to be exactly what it says on the packet. A passion fruit that you stick a straw into. We are none the wiser. 

Two interesting articles. 

This struck me as a very fair obituary. She was as small as a sparrow but as fearsome as an eagle. http://www.economist.com/news/obituary/21694453-driving-force-behind-ronald-reagans-presidency-was-94-nancy-reagan-americas-first-lady

The old phrase - Pride comes before a fall  - seems to have held true here.

http://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2016/03/marco-rubio-2016-campaign-drop-out-213736

Brutalist architecture.

Day 2 of warm Spring weather. We park in the centre of the little market town. Today is an easy parking day. The PONs are harnessed up and leap down expectantly. Previous generations of PONs had a farm to run around, farmhands to pester, tractors to bark at. This generation have a quieter life. They have us. They seem  unperturbed by the lack of excitement.

The Post Office has been remodeled. It does not mesh sensitively with the unrestored half of the building. Perhaps if it hadn't been painted white the renovation wouldn't have stood out quite so starkly ?

We wander on down to the canal. Bob loves the canal. He can sprint in a straight line until he's almost out of sight. Then he sprints back. The closer he is to the edge , the happier. Sophie is more of a stop/start sprinter. She gets easily diverted by the scents along the wall.

Home. It's a day for dozing in the garden. Sophie sleeps on the newly planted lavenders. I try to explain that they're not cushions. She looks at me blankly.

Fresh green beans with the dinner kibbles. How's that for a GREAT day ?

Rump in - Nose out.

A change in the weather. The temperature rising. Shirt sleeve weather for the morning walk. Spring has arrived.

Bob takes up his RINO position at the front door . Rump in - Nose out.  No one can enter the house without this sheepdogs knowledge and approval. He thinks he looks ferocious. 

Bob can spend all day like this. Elemental herding. It's in his DNA. Every half an hour or so he'll shoot up and out in chase of a blackbird or one of those invisible things only dogs see.

Sometime his sister joins him. At other times she patrols the laurel hedge in search of moles but mostly she guards the kitchen.

Those routines too unimportant for a diary but which shape a dog owners day.

An embarrassing story : http://www.cbc.ca/beta/news/canada/newfoundland-labrador/jailed-saint-john-s-british-ashes-ketamine-border-services-1.3488751

I yelp because I can.

For their owners it's just another Monday morning.

For the PONs it's the start of the most exciting day ever.

Bob and Sophie's morning begins at high speed and accelerates from there.

This morning we walk down to the locks on the canal. Sophie yelps with delight.

Then it's off to the bakers for the breakfast croissants. Slivers of choux pastry are dispensed to the angelic duo. This cements their belief that today is the best day ever. The bakers wife tries to sell me another chocolate coated Barbie. Amazingly, the last one has been sold.

A trois chocolats for me and a Rhum Baba for 'The Font' .

Angus continues to plough through the mayors document stash. Most of the documents are in Occitane. The French language having made a relatively recent appearance in village life.