The cold snap has arrived. PON weather. Loic, the heavily bifocaled gardener, tells me it will last three days
For lunch we go the new 'American' restaurant in the shopping centre. They do salads, which 'The Font' likes. The salad is a great success. Angus's burger less so. The meat comes 'bleu', the fries are of the reheated variety , there is a strangely runny cheddar sauce . The accompanying glass of red wine is borderline drinkable. The replacement of the burger bun with a brioche is perhaps a Frenchification too far.
Out with Bob at 6.30 this morning. A dead badger on the road. Probably some driver rushing through the village in the small hours gave it a glancing blow. The body quite untouched, the face peaceful. Each night Sophie has rushed through the orchard to bark at this snuffling presence on the other side of the fence. A well worn path from the sett marking where parents and cubs have set off on their nightly search for food.
Indoors for a pair of gardening gloves. He's heavy. 15 kilos ? I carry him into a field and put him down by a gorse hedge on a carpet of bog myrtle and wild orchids. Strange the things you notice. A fitting place for this old neighbour. Bob who has sniffed the body and somehow understood that it's dead and nonthreatening watches me, tail down, in silent and calm fascination. This canine understanding of life I find interesting.
Those little things about life with dogs too inconsequential for a diary but too important to go completely unrecorded.
A morning spent 'talking' with the representative of the rental car company about 'The Fonts' travel problem. He sends me a picture of the sign at the car park. '' How stupid do you have to be to miss that ? ". Angus points out that in the dark,in a Force eight storm, an unlit sign may not stand out. '' You're an idiot " says the man. Except he doesn't quite say that. French customer service is one of the mysteries of the modern world.
Bob and 'The Font' head off for a long power walk round the lake.
Sophie and Angus have a gentle stroll round the village. Sophie is in a 'smell every flower glare at every bird' mood. We are out for a long time but make little progress.
As dusk settles we head upstairs for a game of touch rugby. Sophie grabs the ball and retreats to the kitchen where Chicken Korma is being prepared. In the absence of a ball Bob turns his hand to rug surfing.
It has been a great day although the man at the rental car company may not agree.
First light. Bob again takes up his position on the stump seat .
Sophie soon gets bored and heads off to the kitchen.
A chill wind this morning. Sometimes it's good to have a big brother to snuggle up to.
Cannelloni for lunch and then the rediscovery of Lamb on a Rope.
'The Font' returns. There is an emotional reunion.
Bob radiates happiness.
The two PONs sleep the happy uninterrupted sleep of sheepdogs who have found the errant lamb.
No doubting it. This was the best day ever.
A quiet day.
Bob sits on his stump seat waiting for 'The Fonts' return.
Sophie is happy to sit in the kitchen ...
.... and in the barn while I stack logs.
Bob finally joins his sister in the important task of staring at their master.
The new television arrives. The delivery man insists on carrying it to the front door. Bob observes him from the vantage point of his stump seat but makes no attempt to become involved in the proceedings. Sophie sniffs the box in the hope that it might contain sausages. She's disappointed.
A high tide, a car park by the edge of the ocean, an abnormally strong onshore wind and a rental Peugeot 308 with an aversion to salt water combine to derail 'The Fonts' travel plans. '' Didn't you see the flood warning signs at the entrance to the parking lot ? " I ask. ' What warning signs ? ' comes the reply.
Bob and his full flock should be reunited this evening.
Sophie is quite oblivious to the fact that part of the flock has gone AWOL. Bob, however, is distraught. He won't eat. He won't drink. He starts his morning sitting on the stump seat staring out forlornly onto the lane.
A lengthy walk across the fields and a lengthy mano a mano and he finds his composure.
In the afternoon it clouds over. We set off in the car for an adventure.
We see a van for travelling clowns.This I notice is paid for by the regional government. Austerity still a word unknown to the French. Bob christens the tyres.
We walk down the driveway of a hotel that promises an unusual welcome. How intriguing. Has it lost or gained something in translation ?
This morning Bob is up, in the dark, at six thirty and on his stump seat. Sophie is with me in the kitchen.
Cold this morning. The weather forecast, which is notable for its unreliability, says there will be gale force winds and a possibility that temperatures may drop to - 1 tonight. This may kill of the deer ticks which continue to thrive in the warm damp weather.
'The Font' heads off from the local airport to Brittany. You know it's going to be a small plane when there are more check-in and security staff than there are passengers.
A fire engine with six cheerful firemen follows the aircraft out onto the runway. After it's taken off the fire engine races at top speed from one end of the tarmac to the other, lights flashing, klaxon blaring. I've never seen the like. This is presumably done after each of the four daily flights. A sort of perk of the job for the boys. With so few flights a day they have to get their practice in somehow.
Bob and Sophie seem to intuitively know that the standard of cuisine will decline.
The ten year old Sony television is showing its age. The picture is fine but the speakers now sound as though they're muffled in a thick layer of cotton wool. Bob and Sophie are left to guard the back of the car while I go in search of a replacement. An attractive young lady explains the relative benefits of 3D, HED, 4K and a variety of other acronyms. I'm none the wiser. '' Don't worry ! My dad finds it confusing too and he's only forty five ". She says this with what is presumably well intentioned kindness.
Bob spends his afternoon sitting on his stump seat at the front gate waiting for his lost sheep to return. He is not happy that part of his flock has wandered. He's still there when it gets dark and has to be encouraged inside.
The builders substituted cheaper, bright orange, roof tiles for the ones specified. The sub-standard tiles are taken off the village hall roof and stacked at the side of the churchyard. New ones are delivered. The mayor informs me that the substitute tiles were ' clearly Spanish '.
A barrier has gone up in front of the Salle des Fetes door. This is to stop the hunters from using it for their weekly gathering. Thanks to a combination of the roof being tile less and a week of constant torrential rain the floor is now awash with a couple of inches of water.
A flashing sign that says 'Joyeuses Fetes' has been installed in the village hall window. An electric cable runs from the wall socket to the sign, through the water.
Bob finds the new barrier intriguing. He christens it carefully.
This morning Sophie is sporting her 'Lenin' beard look.
In the supermarket concourse a retired gentleman settles down on a bench. He is accompanied by a small grey dog of indeterminate pedigree. Every so often the dog, all five pounds of it, leaps to its feet and races towards an unsuspecting shopper snarling and growling like a thing possessed. The shoppers glare.The unconcerned gentleman says ' Calm down Thibault. Calm down '. Thibault seems to have an aversion to female shoppers in trousers. Everyone else he ignores. The gentleman looks as if he does this every day. A way of meeting people ?
Those little things in life too unimportant for a diary but somehow too important to go completely unrecorded.
Bob refuses to drink from the water bowls around the house. For him only ditch water or water at the bottom of an old flowerpot will do. 'The Font' hopes that this is a phase that will quickly pass.
We return from an hours pre-breakfast walk. Owner is keen to have a cup of coffee. Male dog has other ideas. '' I've only just got up . How about throwing the Furry Fox ? "
Mid-morning the female diva regains control of her toy. Despite attempts by her brother to participate in the fun she retains control of it all day. From time to time we hear Bob being told off in theatrical terms. Sophie is no shrinking violet; more a shrieking violet.
Today the duo celebrate their third birthday. It seems only yesterday they arrived. The dogs master wonders at what stage in his life the years got shorter and shrank into fortnights.
Another of those 'the dawn came up like thunder' mornings. The sky surreally bright. It must be something to do with El Nino. Colours you'd expect to see in Mauritania , not southern France.
The PONs return from their early morning walk in fine fettle. Bob settles down and stares at me as if to say ' and what are we going to do now ? '
In the dress makers window a small hand written sign : " The Fairy's are sad. Man is without pity ". No indication of what this might mean . Is it a comment on the first anniversary of the Charlie Hebdo attack ?
Bob and Sophie introduce themselves to the petanque players in the garden by the river. The petanque players ignore them. This doesn't seem to bother the PONs who are eyeing up a discarded sandwich.
On our way home Bob does his best to de-threat the trees on the river bank. Too many even for a PON boy. His sister skips along ahead of him. Every so often she turns and yelps at him to get a move on. It's been a great day.
On our morning walk Bob sees a red squirrel. The squirrel seems unconcerned.
In the park by the river the pollarded Plane trees are throwing off new branches as if it's spring. A geometrically beautiful sight. It's a most unwintry 16 degrees today.
The depressive bakers wife asks me how many cakes I want. '' Two for lunch today and two for tomorrow ". ' It's hardly worth your coming in ' she replies. Difficult to say whether this is French humour or what she's really thinking. From her unsmiling demeanour I'd opt for the latter.
The Grand Marnier sponge proves to be delicious.
A sign for a missing child in the window of the hat shop. On closer inspection the girl went missing 20 years ago. If there's one thing worse than the death of child it must be the disappearance of one. Love of course never gives up.
It rains. The market square deserted. Bob and Sophie stop to drink at length from every puddle.
The PON's go with 'The Font' to drop the rubbish off at the bins. Bob has a joy overload. He does his soft shoe shuffle and shows his overbite. Sophie howls in anticipation. Only dog owners can understand that a trip to the bins in the car is a moment of high adventure.
For Bob and Sophie it has been the best day ever. Puddles and bins.
