It was a strong anti-emetic . Wilf lifted from the back of the car and laid , still dozing , on his bed . He sleeps soundly. Quite immovable . After breakfast we call the vet . It's a national holiday in France . We'd forgotten. The surgery closed . Open again tomorrow. An emergency vet we don't know available in a town forty kilometres away . No thanks .
By lunchtime Wilf seems better. Weak, but better. The amazing ' not so quickly ' miracle dog. A small meal of kibbles and shredded chicken eaten with enthusiasm . Amid much laughter he even manages to christen the peonies . In the late afternoon a slow walk, more a plod, across the village green to the war memorial. Those big paws sinking into the long grass. A deep sleep in the orchard until midnight. Wind rustling his fur. What determination. What zest for life. We go to bed hopeful. That roller coaster of emotions that comes with an old dog .