Sunday morning, post breakfast . I point out to Bob that he has yogurt on his chin.
Not a compelling look.
This problem is soon remedied.
Sophie also has yogurt on her chin but is happy to leave it that way.
We receive a text informing us that The Old Farmer and his companion have made it safely to Belarus.
Sometimes, when your oaf of a brother falls asleep and blocks the front door, the only way for a girl to get into the garden is by clambering right over him.
This annoys him no end.
Isn't life wonderful ?
Sometimes, even a family princess needs the reassurance ...
... that only a tickle and a cuddle can provide.
Particularly when an oaf of a brother refuses to let you play with your new toy.
The last of the ( nearly ) hundred degree days. The itinerant Spanish melon pickers are hard at work. Three trucks move in parallel along the rows of cantaloupes. The melon pickers throw the fruit into the back of the trucks. When they're full the trucks disappear and the pickers settle down. Not many Brits or French would be happy doing this vital but unexciting job.
Off to the airport to collect Americans . The PONs no longer come with us to the airport. After the terrorist attack in Nice the car park has been re- arranged. Three rows of large, impenetrable, concrete barriers and a slew of security gates now separate the airport arrivals hall from the public.
To compensate for being left alone a new toy is bought from the ' essential goods for the journey ' shop. The 'indestructible' dog toy lasts for all of three minutes before Sophie removes its nose and the squeaker.
'Indestructible' clearly has a different meaning in French.
Sophie looks extremely pleased with her handiwork.
Bob is uncertain what to make of the arrival of this unruly flock.
Initial reticence is overcome by a lengthy bout of Throw the Furry Fox followed by some touch rugby.
It's still dark as we set off on our morning excursion. Today it's just Bob and Angus. Sophie is heading to the vets after being lured into the back of the car with the promise of a sliver of croissant. She leaps in with the grace and agility of a ballerina.
The mountains shrouded in cloud but across the horizon there's an ever widening band of salmon pink. A sure sign that it's going to be another hot day. We sit on the storm drain and watch the sun rise. Bob keeps a wary eye open in case the donkeys get frisky.
We wave at the builder in his lilac metallic pickup, the farmer in his white Renault van and the young garagiste on his motorbike. They are followed by the itinerant Spanish melon pickers in a small convoy of SEAT vans. The melon pickers drive through the village very slowly as if they have too many points on their license and can't afford to get any more. The Spanish melon pickers don't wave at us. They clearly consider anyone having a lengthy conversation with a dog while danging their legs over the side of a drainage ditch to be 'peculiar'.
We return home to find The Font and Sophie already there. Sophie's limp has miraculously disappeared. In the surgery she does everything she can to display the amazing suppleness of her back leg. '' Dogs and children " says the vet.
Sophie celebrates her return by hunting for badger poo in the field beyond the orchard. She starts to limp ever so slightly.
Why do French newsagents always have a smell that is quite unlike newsagents anywhere else ?
The Old Farmer and the Belgian lady set off in the venerable Ford Transit motor home at four am. There is much slamming of doors and laughter. The noise wakes the PONs who bid them farewell. The guardian angel that looks after octogenarian French travellers has a busy time ahead.
Bob and Sophie are out at seven. The sun is only now rising and there's the barest hint of warmth in the air. Today the little stream is half filled with clear water. Overnight there must have been a storm in the high mountains. Both PONs drink lustily. Bob tries to catch trout by waving a paw in the air and then bringing it down ineptly , with a splosh, in the water. He could do this all day. Generations of PONs have demonstrated their lack of aptitude at fishing. Intuitive proof that the spirit is eternal ... and hopeful.
Sophie is torn between wanting to play with her brother and getting her feet wet. She opts to explore the muddy bank.
There are fresh boar prints in the sand. The PONs get clipped onto their harnesses .
Home through the recently cut wheat fields.
We stop to stare at the donkeys. Then scurry along the lane for breakfast. Sophie seems to have developed a limp in a back leg these last few days. Doesn't stop her racing around but we'll have it checked out by the vet later today.
Monday morning and the PONs are warming up for a day full of adventure and excitement. Bob is ready to guard against passing pilgrims and his sister is dreaming of finding 'pungent' delights in the drainage ditches.
Autumn making its approach known. The front door step covered with fallen leaves from the plane trees .
The grass on the village green, despite Bobs best efforts, shriveled and parched.
The butcher shouts out ' Bonjour M'Ongoose. Today, we have Scottish Ongoose beef . Specially for you. Look at the marbleing '. He chuckles at his wit. At 45 Euros a kilo I thank him and pass on. The PONs are very keen on the butchers. They sit and stare at the counter in silence. They wear that canine '' one day " look.
Only two early rising pilgrims this morning. They are confronted by a savage beast with a heavily gummed 'lamb' in its mouth. The beast emits a terrifying growl. This is absorbed by the heavily gummed lamb and emerges as a muted wheeze. The pilgrims laugh.
Sophie liberates 'lamb' and brings it indoors.
So begins the best day ever in deepest, deepest France profonde.
The Old Farmers insurance certificate didn't arrive in the post on Saturday. It is expected in the post today. He and the Belgian lady are now planning to set off at four am tomorrow.
Not every day you hear Greensleeves in these surroundings : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8yslQ3MtroQ
Two days in Berlin with the Americans and Angus returns home exhausted. He's arranged a hectic round of meetings with members of parliament and government advisers.
Tours of the Bundestag and the new government quarter. Trips to museums, visits to art galleries.
At the Hotel Adlon a dog that we think might be a PON but is a cross between a Border Collie and an Australian Cattle Dog (?). The Americans learn that dog owners will start up a conversation at the drop of a hat.
Architectural visits to the French Embassy by the Brandenburg Gate ( bland ), the American Embassy ( like a Hyatt in a St.Louis business park ) and the British Embassy ( won't age well ).
One of Angus's favourite pieces of architecture - a modern church in the western part of town. On a sunny day like this the windows glow.
On the facade of Goerings Air Ministry a cermaic mosaic put up by the Communists in 1952. This portrayal of a workers paradise a rare surviving example of its type.
A fascist era painting in the National Museum. We stand and discuss it for twenty minutes. All of human life is there.
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This dog is attracting attention in Spain :
A hot, sunny, near cloudless day. The PONs race down the hill towards the shade of the trees and the cool stream. Bob attempts to catch the young trout. In this he fails miserably but comically. He ends up soaked. His sister sits on the bank and glares at dragon flies and an audacious black, white and red woodpecker that taps away at the branches of an old oak. She occasionally emits a high pitched squeak of irritation. PONese for ' how dare that bird carry on working ? '.
Bob has dried out by the time we've made it back up the hill. He does however have that 'dragged through a hedge backwards ' look.
After breakfast there is time to catch a few z's on the wooden garden table.
Then there's a chance to catch a few more by the front door.
No Rickety Old Farmhouse is complete without a guardian sheepdog. A sign that all is well with the universe.
There's something about the atmosphere of this house that tells me there's been many generations of dogs who've snored away contentedly on the front doorstep.
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The remaining American has fitted 'The Fonts' spare phone with an app that translates French into Russian, Polish and Latvian. The Old Farmer will take this with him to type in whatever commend he wants - ' two beers please ' - and have it instantly translated onto the screen.
The Old Farmer and the Belgian lady now plan to set off at 4 am on Sunday morning. There has been a delay with the insurance on the venerable Ford Transit motor home. The insurance certificate is due to arrive in today's lunchtime post.
Angus returns...
from a hot ..
and busy ..
Berlin.
The male PON suffers from a joy overload.
The female PON greets the wanderer with an unmistakable '' And where do you think you've been ? " stare.
'The Font' goes to a local village for a coffee and a long walk with the PONs . One of those forgotten places where an old medieval tower slowly crumbles to dust under the sun and the gardens grow wild and the only sound is the hum of happy bees.
In the church the sunbeams filtering through the stained glass have to contend with spiders webs. You rarely see cobwebs on stained glass windows.
Being a French village nothing happens without the village dog seeing it .
