Thursday, February 9, 2012
Minus twelve at night. Minus six during the day. The snow turned to ice under cloudless blue skies .
Into the little market town in the big 4x4. ' The font ' carries a shopping list . Bottled water for the district nurse, diapers for the young mother , milk for the old widow, and chocolate for the very old farmer. A journey that usually takes ten minutes takes forever . The impassable ' S ' bend traversed at a stately five miles an hour . The Land Rover justifies it purchase price .
Wilf gets taken to the cafe under the arcades. The beer and absinthe crowd notable by their absence . Too cold for them to be out . The family fellow gratefully receives half a croissant.
A bad night with Wilf. Up and out every forty five minutes . This morning he's lying wrapped in a blanket, trembling constantly . The cold ? The absence of pain killers ? The inner mischief ? A journey with an old, blind, dog is all about change. Sometimes its painful. Sometimes its beautiful. But most of the time it's both . He though, never , ever, complains .