Last week the weather was hot and sunny. This week it's chill and wet. We put the heating back on. At least the wisteria by the front door seems to be enjoying the change.
The ground has become waterlogged with the constant rain. Bob likes waterlogged ground. He can drink from the drainage ditches on our morning walk. He will not, however, walk along the road that leads to the old widows house. The new grit that is being laid hurts his paws.
I spend ten minutes writing the morning blog. Sophie comes to join me. She brings with her a yogurt pot. This she throws at my feet three times. I stop and explain to her that the carton won't refill itself. She gives me an accusatory look that says '' Call yourself a dog owner ! ".
Finally, they are saddled up and loaded into the back of the car. Bob takes up position on 'his' side so there are no diva like outbursts from his sister.
7.30 am and I've already laughed aloud half a dozen times. That, in its essence, is what dog ownership is all about.
This also made me chuckle. Being driven by the 95 year old husband of the Queen of England must be one of the most unexpected risks an American President can face : http://blogs.ft.com/photo-diary/2016/04/catching-a-ride-with-prince-philip/?siteedition=uk#recommended-h-504911461352770100
In the garden store the unusual sight of dog being wheeled around the aisles on a trolley. The dog seems very content.
It rains heavily. The PONs see this as the perfect reason to spend the day in the garden. Physics lesson #1 : A PON can absorb its own body weight in water.
The floor of the hallway disappears under a mass of water absorbing towels and blankets. The angelic duo are 'invited' into the kitchen.
Bob follows the preparation of chicken curry with great interest. His sister is toweled dry and finally loses the water logged look.
The Old Farmer Returns from his trip to Avignon. He brings us a kilo of tripe. 'The Font' expresses what ( to the uninitiated ) might pass for delight.
And I hope I'm still speaking French this well if I make it to 90 :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZR7pP7wzqQ
A day for the PONs monthly ear plucking and cleaning. Sophie pretends to object but relishes being the centre of attention. Bob suffers in stoic big brotherly silence. Afterwards they get given a slice of carrot as recompense.
The weather has changed. From hot and cloudless to windy and overcast. In fact very windy. The swarming bees have disappeared. The PONs chase blackbirds. It goes without saying the blackbirds are untroubled.
During the night the wild boar have been digging up the grass verges along the lane with their tusks. Bob is kept on his harness for his mid-morning walk. Too many local dogs have taken on the wild boars and lost.
White asparagus at $6.50 a kilo now cheaper than the green asparagus at $7.00
Fresh peas make an appearance. A pain to shuck but the taste is worth it. Sophie adores fresh peas. Bob thinks they're a lot of bother.
Another quiet day in deepest, deepest France profonde.
And here a reminder that Scottish island life requires multi-tasking : http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/04/20/one-man-and-his-jobs-keep-a-tiny-orkney-island-going/
Humans may think seven am is early but for two healthy Polish Lowland Sheepdogs it's not. There's a garden to patrol, an orchard to guard, blackbirds to chase and a laurel hedge to explore. All of this before breakfast !
We have two local papers. In our absence the less conservative of the two has written an article about the 'swaying Jesus'. This is along the lines of those National Enquirer stories about miraculous visions that appear in cinnamon rolls at Denny's. The little lady in the purple hat is quoted as saying the statue 'spoke' to her. A stricter editorial policy might have settled for 'creaked' rather than 'spoke'. A small but constant trickle of the overly devout and the merely curious now stop and park by the churchyard.
As the sun sets Angus appears in the garden with a bottle of St.Estephe and two glasses. ' The bees are busy tonight ' says Angus. " That noise must be a tractor " says 'The Font' before adding " Inside! Quick! It's a swarm ". It is. Thousands of them.They head in a dense black cloud up the hill and settle as a thick blanket on the sun warmed bricks above the terrace. Bob and Sophie, who are napping, are ordered inside. For once they do as they're told.
That was "interesting" says 'The Font' as if escaping from swarming bees is something that we do every day. So ends another 24 hours in deepest, deepest France profonde. ''
Sophie rushes out into the courtyard , throws her head back and announces that it's time to get the day started. I tell her to be quiet but she stares back at me with a look that says ' I'm full of energy, there are blackbirds to chase, we'll soon be going to the bakers and you expect me to be quiet ? '. Angus hopes the villagers share Sophie's enthusiasm for the new day. When you have dogs there is no such thing as just another day. There is only boundless adventure.
Bob and his master set off for a long walk along the lane and down the hill.
At the field by the crossroads the pregnant cows are coming to term. As we pass, one hour old calf, unsteady on his feet, is being carefully cleaned by the proud new mother. Yesterday there were three new arrivals. This morning a total of seven. This is nature at its most hopeful. Two of the cows, clearly exhausted, are lying on their sides asleep. The others maintain a watchful eye as we pass.
In the supermarket foyer we pass this deeply unhappy little fellow. He sits waiting, trembling all over, for his mistress.
If dogs could only talk he'd be reciting the lines
" yours is the light by which my spirit's born
yours is the darkness of my soul's return
- you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars "
The dog folk amongst the shoppers stop and talk to him. There is however no substitute for his family.
This wonderful ornament makes an appearance in the supermarket garden products aisle. The French love for gnomes is alive and well.
The things you see when you travel with dogs on a Tuesday morning in deepest, deepest France profonde.
A quiet day at home. In between thunderstorms we cut the grass and do battle with the rampant daisies.
What for us is a quiet day is for the PONs a day made in heaven.
No visitors. A chance to chase the lawn tractor. Their owners undivided attention. Tickles. Throw the Furry Fox. Chicken and rice with gravy. Mischief. More tickles. Bob discovers if you leap on the peonies the petals come off.
Some days are just the best days ever.
A quiet Sunday morning. The only sounds the bees working in the wisteria over the front door and the frogs in the village pond. Bob decides to add a throaty good morning woof to the mix. No church organ could match the enthusiastic joyfulness of a PON boys Sunday start the day woof. Sophie's tail wags twenty to the dozen.
The Old Farmer wanders across the lane to tell us that he's driving to Avignon for four or five days. It's the tenth anniversary of the accident that killed his wife, youngest daughter and German Shepherd. He's going back to the scene for the first time since it happened. He then intends to have an expensive meal and get drunk. We are getting to admire The Old Farmer and his attitude to life.
He tells us that wisteria flowers dusted in flour and fried are delicious.
At the bakers a difficult choice.
Some potatoes from the glum man in the beret .
In the greengrocers the first of the Crimean tomatoes.
This is the impractical colour of the carpets in the new car. Hard enough to keep clean if the driver or passenger has dirty feet. Impossible if you are carrying PONs with perma-muddy paws and who knows what covered snouts. Dog owners cars don't age gracefully. They age suddenly.
Seen in Warwicks book shop in La Jolla. A John Muir book I'd never heard of.
This fellow in Laguna Beach was just about as handsome as they come..... and knew it.
After the disaster with the enormous slab sided Chevrolet Yukon rental car on our trip to Charleston, Angus asked for a small 4 door sedan. This is what he got.
First prize in the airline lounge hall of infamy goes to these chairs in San Francisco. Impossible to sit on for more than five seconds without falling off.
Angus is up early to take the car down to the garage to have the warning light seen to. The Old Farmers Christmas decorations are lighting up the sky when he sets off. The Land Rover mechanic is less than helpful. '' We're fully booked. You'll need to make an appointment ". Nothing but nothing will induce him to come into the forecourt and cast judgment on the seriousness, or otherwise, of the alarming dashboard display.
The Volvo dealers are untroubled by the orange light. '' These things happen " says the young salesman.
I'm led into a bare room with two tinted glass walls, one solid wall and a wall taken up with a sliding door. In the centre stands a car covered in a white silk sheet from which the bottom of the tyres stick out. The room suddenly fills with garage people. Four men in blue overalls and three likely lads in red. The likely lads talk animatedly to two micro skirted receptionists who ignore them with coquettish disdain. A few moments later they are joined by three men in suits and a man in a slightly too close fitting blue checked blazer. The blazered man turns out to be the sales manager. He shakes Angus's hand in an overly friendly way as if we're long lost and suddenly reunited friends.
A speech follows. I catch the words ' Inspired by Nature '. Mr.Blazer presents me with a small leather bound box which opens to reveal two key fobs. At this very moment one of the micro skirted young ladies steps forward and whips off the white sheet to reveal the Volvo beneath. All eyes turn towards Angus. Some form of response is clearly expected. ' Wonderful ' I say. Then, with all eyes still focused on me, add ' simply wonderful '. This seems to satisfy them. The mechanics clap half heartedly. Angus stands there in a state somewhere between bemusement and embarrassment. An hours tutorial on using the various computers follows.
Car buying today has to be a lifestyle choice. This strange Druidic ritual is my initiation into the special world of Volvo ownership. I can't see this modern day rite of passage catching on in Scotland.
The PONs are completely disinterested in the car. Sophie sniffs three of the wheels but can't be bothered to sniff the fourth. Bob doesn't even show this minimal level of interest. 'The Font' discovers that the Volvo has light beige carpets and no rubber mats. A call is made to the dealership to provide some PON proof protective coverings asap.
In the afternoon the PONs play ' Throw the Furry Fox ', chase blackbirds and bark at three portly lycra clad bicyclists. There is spaghetti for dinner.
All in all not a bad day. It is just as well Bob and Sophie did not accompany me to the 'unveiling'. There may have been a diva moment . Sophie doesn't do clapping.
Mid-morning. Three white vans process along the lane. Monsieur Bay and a group of retired gendarmes have come to shoot down the Asiatic Hornets nest. They fire sixteen shots. They miss. " Difficult conditions " says Monsieur Bay cryptically, by way of explanation. It's sunny, cloudless and calm. Angus can't help but think that the safest place to be is in front of the retired gendarmes guns. He keeps this thought to himself. The firemen and non-retired gendarmes will be here to deal with the Hornets on Saturday.
An e-mail arrives from the Volvo garage to say that our 'beautiful' new car will ready for collection on Thursday morning. This comes as something of a surprise as the last thing we heard from the dealer was that it would be delivered sometime in May.
Money is hastily transferred and the old car cleaned out. The boot carpet is indelibly permeated with Wilfs white hair.
As I work Bob and Sophie provide 'encouragement' from the shade of the lawn. When they get bored providing encouragement they savage each other.
The Range Rover has gone for nine years without a single mechanical problem. As I head back home from the car wash an orange dashboard light comes on. 'See a mechanic' says the display with cost laden nonchalance. Great timing.
This morning Angus will head off early to the Range Rover Service Department to find out what the problem is and ( hopefully ) have it fixed. He will then take the recalcitrant car along to the Volvo garage and trade it in. It all sounds so simple.
Bob and Sophie will not participate in the hand over.
Some days you just know are going to take an unexpected turn.
Bob digs. The mud on the nose gives it away.
Sophie sits on the recently planted rosemary. Rosemary is tough .... but not that tough.
By mid-morning The Rickety Old Farmhouse once again has a forward line of defence in the shape of a male PON.
The warm sunshine means that the forward line of defence sometimes closes his eyes ... just for a moment. The sounds of snoring should not be interpreted as a lack of vigilance.
There is something elementally right about a Rickety Old Farmhouse and two very happy sheepdogs.
In our absence an Asiatic Hornets nest has been spotted high up in a tree alongside the old Roman fort. The mayor tells me that there are 60 pregnant female Hornets on the loose. Angus isn't sure that Hornets get pregnant. Nor is he sure that they will be flying around this early in the year. He thinks of pointing this out but doesn't. Why let facts get in the way of a good village crisis ? The police and fire brigade have been called. This latest development should rival the ( still ) swaying Jesus in terms of high village drama.
http://www.connexionfrance.com/Asian-hornet-frelons-killed-16365-view-article.html
While we've been away the grass has grown and the peonies have come out into full bloom. In fact we've been away so long they're just starting to pass their prime.
Bob is in fine form. He spends his day in what might poetically be described as joy overload mode. He runs, he dances, he shows his overbite. At the kennels he was so excited to see us he jumped up and biffed me on the nose hard enough to cause a nose bleed. This made our departure from the kennels even more theatrical than usual.
Sophie usually gives us the cold shoulder after a trip to the kennels. This time the delight at seeing us has made her forget to sulk.
Both dogs have gloriously silky coats. We take this as a good sign.
Tomorrow, if it's dry, they will get a bath, a trim and a grooming.
Whoever knew that American English does not differentiate between curb and kerb ? You can never get too old to learn something new.
A five hour delay in California due to technical problems and a missed connection in London means that the reunion with Bob and Sophie has been delayed. After a shower, a change of clothes and some strong coffee their jet lagged owners will be collecting them later this morning.
Normal service at The Rickety Old Farmhouse will be resumed tomorrow.
