tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15542646103057788742024-03-05T06:10:35.995+01:00Wilf the PON discovers France.Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.comBlogger920125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-88672330886051173212012-05-19T07:51:00.000+02:002019-06-27T19:15:15.078+02:00And so farewell .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">And now the Wilf the PON blog comes to an end.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A special thank you to all those who commented yesterday . The dog blog world is a place of great kindness and high civility.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Madame Bay arrive<span style="font-size: large;">s</span> to say goodbye to Wilf. She's just too late. The vet is getting into his car as she comes through the gate. Our old housekeeper inform<span style="font-size: large;">s</span> us, eyes brimming with tears, that she suffer<span style="font-size: large;">s</span> from allergies. '' Very bad allergies ". <span style="font-size: large;">We agree </span>that the pollen count <span style="font-size: large;">is</span> very high this year. Dabbing her eyes Madame Bay says <i>adieu</i> to 'her boy', tousles his head one last time and quickly le<span style="font-size: large;">aves</span>. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At the cafe under the arcades the waitress ask<span style="font-size: large;">s</span> after Wilf. When I t<span style="font-size: large;">ell</span> her there's no more need for a half croissant she too bursts into tears. Seeing her rush tearfully inside a Dutch couple at a table by the window glare at me as if I<span style="font-size: large;">'m</span> some sort of monster .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the afternoon <span style="font-size: large;">one of </span>the young<span style="font-size: large;"> vet</span>s stop<span style="font-size: large;">s</span> by with <span style="font-size: large;">some flowers and a card</span>. On it a <span style="font-size: large;">quot</span>e addressed to the PONs : " <i>We are not saints but we have kept our appointment . How many people can say as much</i> ? ". A sweet thought and a <span style="font-size: large;">fine</span> epitaph.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The family fellow finally sleeping next to his brother on top of the ridge. The old floor tiles from the barn laid above him. Last night a huge <span style="font-size: large;">lightning </span>storm. As the thunder roar<span style="font-size: large;">s</span> and the rain pelt<span style="font-size: large;">s</span> down ' the font ' turn<span style="font-size: large;">s</span> to me and sa<span style="font-size: large;">ys</span> " Wilfs warm and safe". </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This morning a trip to the vets with a case of champagne. Without their kindness this blog would have run a shorter course.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now we have family and friends to see. France to explore . A trip to Maine and Nantucket next month. Then to India. A school for blind girls and a saintly woman who runs a home for stray dogs in Delhi. Maybe California in the early fall. A Cost Centre graduation. A full house through the summer . Then, perhaps next Spring,two more PON brothers ?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We'll carry on blogging, less frequently and on different subjects at a new blog <b>www.thericketyoldfarmhouse.blogspot.com</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And so , with thanks and best wishes to all who've followed Wilf through his ups and downs, farewell .</span></div>
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<br />Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com149tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-90477325405894986222012-05-18T09:53:00.002+02:002019-06-27T19:19:31.782+02:00To the very end .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">A rough night. This morning Wilfs body uncooperative. Gums pale, legs leaden. Not defeated but the will to fight finally gone. He pulls himself out into the garden<span style="font-size: large;">, <span style="font-size: large;">s</span></span>ettling<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>in the shade of the orchard<span style="font-size: large;">. H</span>is favoured spot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Familiar, comforting sounds. The frogs in the village pond, Finches, Redstarts, Cicadas, the squabbling sparrows. I sit by him. He lets out a long ' I'm oh so tired ' sigh. <span style="font-size: large;">Wrapped in his blanket, h</span>ead buried deep into my lap, back leg sticking out at that comical angle that's always made us laugh. An overgrown puppy. <span style="font-size: large;">F</span>ur warm to the touch in the morning sun.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">There on the cool grass a</span> last chance for dog and master to talk. A look that says so much. '' Is this it ? Will it hurt ? We had good times didn't we ? Do you remember that seal on the beach ? ". He falls asleep then wakes with a start, body tense. '' You'll stay with me ? ". ' To the very end ' I find myself replying aloud. Of this one thing he can be sure. A conversation dog people will understand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The morning air powerful with the scent of roses and sage. He can't keep water down. Kidneys failing. Far away over the mountains, lightning, and a distant baritone of thunder. The senior vet arrives. Wilfs tail wags. An old friend come to see him. A quick check. A nod of the head. The injection. A gentle 'Adieu' as the needle goes in. A half yawn.'The Font' cradles him. Suddenly the years flare up and are gone ; quicker than a minute . '' Good boy " said to deaf ears.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Wilfs journey completed with dignity. Laughter to the end. All dogs, all people, should go like this. Gently. Unafraid. Loved . Respected. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Give me a couple of hours and he'll lie next to his brother, on top of the ridge, sheltered by the old oak trees. A view to the mountains . A spot where the house lights linger at night. A good place for a family hero.</span> </div>
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Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com219tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-18692565641982702962012-05-17T07:45:00.000+02:002012-05-17T07:45:20.903+02:00Spending all he can .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Angus comes back to France leaving ' the font ' and family to follow on later . To say Wilf was happy to see me would be an understatement . Ten minutes of sitting cross legged in the courtyard with a PON in my lap .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A very tough night . Later today I'll have to decide whether it was the interruption to his routine or a repeat of last weeks flare up . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Time is free , but it's priceless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You can't own it , but you can use it.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You can't keep it , but you can spend it .</span></span><br />
<br />Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-80031123058899633812012-05-16T06:54:00.000+02:002012-05-16T06:54:26.781+02:00In good hands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We have to be in London today . Wilf has been left in good hands </span></span>. <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The house stocked with chicken , coconut ice cream and tuna. </span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-25644623155328555732012-05-15T07:33:00.003+02:002012-05-15T08:18:22.437+02:00Only in France .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lunch over Wilf is loaded into the back of the car . A slightly uncertain ' am I off to the vet ? ' look on his face . The vet gives Wilf a full hour of his time . Lots of tickles . The outcome ? Things just slowly shuting down . He doesn't know how ill he is , so he doesn't worry .There's no pain , so no need for pain killers . Restart the Cortisone to ease the breathing and the arthritis . Last weeks flare-up caught in time . One of those things with cancer - ' a candle sputters as it burns ' .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The vet thinks he's happy . Not, the wild, coming to terms with living happiness of a puppy . More like being wrapped in warm cotton wool . A shrinking world of misty edges. Love, trust and routine marking its boundaries. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The vet quotes a line:"Il est vrai que lui aussi doit avoir sa petite chronique" *. Over dinner ' the font ' comments that only in France could a vet quote Beckett and somehow get it right. Absolutely, life affirmingly , beautifully , right . I have to agree. It goes without saying that Wilf does too .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">* " It is right that he too should have his little chronicle, his memories, his reason, and be able to recognize the good in the bad, the bad in the worst, and so grow gently old down all the unchanging days, and die one day like any other day, only shorter ".</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-50902390823659677962012-05-14T07:41:00.000+02:002012-05-14T21:05:49.453+02:00The laughter still flowing .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">For Wilf another day spent dozing in the shade of the cherry trees. Salmon for lunch and chicken for dinner . In fact two helpings of chicken for dinner. A walk to the stream .He falls asleep with his head resting on ' the fonts ' foot . A little coconut ice cream as a treat before he settles down for the night . He hears the fridge door open and is miraculously standing in the middle of the kitchen floor. Sprightly and beaming .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">His breathing rougher this morning . He can't find his way to his food or the water bowl as easily as he did before last weeks scare. ' The font ' will take him to the vet today to have his lungs checked and make sure there's no pain. There's something deeply right about this unhurried journey but we want to be certain his days remain gentle. Difficult to say who's happier about this extended farewell . Dog or owner .</span></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The laughter still flowing .</span></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A small canine triumph .</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-7842530188969467622012-05-13T07:36:00.000+02:002012-05-13T07:48:02.987+02:00The giant paella dish .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Saturday night. The Saints Day dinner. Sainte Rolende. One of the lesser known saints . Farmers, their wives, tractors, small white vans , chairs , blankets, dogs and toddlers scattered haphazardly across the village green . In the midst of it all a fire with Willy's giant paella bubbling merrily away . We are introduced to Willy . A jovial man who inherited the giant paella dish from his father . '' Two metres forty in diameter and weighs ninety three kilos " . Angus unsure of how to respond to the proud owner of a giant paella dish makes an ' I'm amazed ' whistling noise. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Wilf settles down next to ' the font ' . The other dogs come to say hello but quickly leave him alone . Canine understanding . Wilf discovers he likes seafood paella. A clear " why did you never tell me about squid ? " look on his face . Protracted lip smacking, then a sigh, then it's time to fall asleep .We leave when the old farmer starts to play the accordion . '' Going so soon ? " shouts Madame Bay .</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This morning the procession leaves the church at six thirty . Wilf asleep at the foot of the stairs . When I open the door the sunlight falls on him. His fur glows . A great way to start a Sunday in France Profonde . </span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-11478287296622739612012-05-13T06:58:00.003+02:002012-05-13T07:00:54.721+02:00A walk in the country.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The old fellow may have bought his ticket . His bags may be packed . But he's in no rush to get to the station .</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-82682141928029809242012-05-12T07:06:00.000+02:002012-05-12T07:09:30.258+02:00The secret to a long, happy, life .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A day for dozing in the garden . After roast chicken and coconut ice cream we manage a late evening walk to the war memorial and fire hydrant. Wilfs attitude to life ? " Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday ".</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-37042165971534505452012-05-11T07:34:00.000+02:002012-05-11T07:39:04.755+02:00As it should be .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the church the Saints statue is taken down from its niche and given its annual dusting. Across the lane , in the village hall , the lady with the beehive hairdo and the silver Ford Mondeo is setting up tables. Outside her husband and the man in the yellow day-glo yellow jacket are stacking logs. The mayor, the mayors wife , and the ever efficient town hall secretary are inspecting the oleanders in the churchyard. " The snow didn't do them any good " says the mayor. For emphasis , or possibly to help foreigners who might not understand the finer points of gardening , Madame Mayor points towards a shrivelled, clearly dead, bush. '' No good at all " she adds for good measure. We nod .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Wilf spends his day sleeping. The old fellow happily oblivious to the preparations for the village Saints Day . He used to get up at six for the morning croissant run . Now he sleeps 'til nine . A quick breakfast of softened kibbles and chicken followed by a leisurely saunter in search of pigeon guano. The obligatory christening of the fire hydrant . Then there's time for a morning doze in the garden followed by an afternoon doze in the hallway . He joins ' the font ' in the kitchen before a pre-bedtime nap in the orchard . Exactly the way things should be .</span></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Gentle drifting . </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Old PONs instinctively know : " time is too slow for those who wait , too swift for those who fear , too long for those who grieve , too short for those who rejoice , but for those who love , time is eternity ".</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-1672500491190753832012-05-10T08:01:00.001+02:002012-05-10T09:18:10.076+02:00PON tenacity .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Angus is ready. ' The font ' is ready. The vet is ready. Everyone is ready apart from Wilf . He has other ideas . PON tenacity. Wilful by name ; Wilful by nature .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To everyones surprise the family fellow has a great day. Not a good day , a great day. It's hot. He lies on his back on the cool grass of the cherry orchard, snoring. Paws pointed skywards. The sun warming those old limbs and driving out the arthritis. At one point he wanders, unsteadily, to the stream for a drink. Even better. He starts to eat again. Three small meals of kibbles ( soaked in water now to make them softer ) and chicken. Dog and food , miraculously , remain united. The vet stops by just as Wilf is christening the peonies. '' No problems with those kidneys " he says with a laugh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A quick check . No pain . The kind vet ( sometimes I think he prefers animals to humans ) suggests we let things drift. The prognosis : It won't be long. '' A candle gives off the most beautiful light as it burns down ". French country common sense. From now on no more Cortisone or Previcox. Just the insulin twice a day and , a new treatment , Gaviscon three times a day to deal with the inflamed stomach. As he goes the vet gives me his home number . '' I'm around when he needs me ''. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There's a family of sparrows nesting in the laurel hedge. A dozen young. Argumentative and playful. Wilf settles down to sleep again while they flit and sing and play on the grass around him. New life and old in harmony .</span></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Another sunny , bone warming , day is forecast .</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-28028124560243394662012-05-09T07:49:00.001+02:002012-05-09T08:49:37.377+02:00Not so quickly !<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">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 . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">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 .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This morning ' the font ' has to head back to London. So many arrangements to make, people to see , certificates to get signed . Wilf wanders out to the peonies, returns and promptly brings up yesterdays food . All of it . He looks crestfallen. I'll call the vet this morning.</span></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'd really like to put off the moment, that moment , until ' the font ' gets back on the first flight tomorrow. If I can't ...</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-30860186076947895982012-05-08T06:48:00.002+02:002012-08-08T21:16:04.424+02:00And when we arrive at the end of our journey ?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">To the vets. The cancer returning. Wilfs given an injection. This morning I'd expected to find him asleep but somehow the old fellows summoned up the strength to stand by the front door. That comical ' come on , let's get going ' impatience. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Back bowed, legs stiff, head down, he moves off towards the church. A walk done a thousand times before. A familiar , comforting, routine. Village green, war memorial, pond. The fire hydrant christened with a half stumbling cock of the leg. A look of male determination etched on his face. I chuckle and give encouragement. The precision of a champion.He shuffles playfully through the leaves. The slow, crinkly, sound of mischief .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We pause by the stream. Water rippling over pebbles, a distant cuckoo, chattering finches, sunlight. Frogs. Lots and lots of noisy frogs. There's no need to hurry today. A fact unspoken but understood. Some days are special. Today is special . He lies in the long grass holding his head high , slowly sniffing the air, as if to fix this moment firmly, forever, in place .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">' The font ', back from the airport, joins us. Wilf dissolves into a fluffy ball of stump wagging joy. He ambles happily back home. By the pond he stumbles. I pick him up and carry this old friend towards the gate. It won't be long now. A gentle, oh so gentle, gathering in of the light . There again Wilf has never been one to be hurried . </span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-9432345923005062872012-05-07T07:41:00.001+02:002012-05-07T10:08:29.291+02:00Coincidence ?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The second round of the Presidential elections. Seven thirty and there's already half a dozen tractors parked around the war memorial. Early rising farmers waiting to vote . At quarter to eight the mayor arrives to open up the town hall. He looks flustered , trademark pork pie hat pushed back on his head . He can't find the front door key. A farmer lends him his mobile phone. Five minutes later Madame Mayor arrives in the very old Renault without hubcaps. She's brought the keys, a plate of honey croissants, and her eight year old granddaughter. The sleepy child still in pink pyjamas. On the dot of eight the blinds in the town hall are raised and the polling station officially opens. Madame Mayor offers the unwary a honey croissant . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the afternoon a brief but violent hail storm blows down from the mountains. For a few minutes the house and village carpeted in an inch of sparkling white. As the hail beats against the roof Wilf wanders into the library . He settles down across my feet . That look all dog owners know . '' Don't think I'm frightened. I've just come in to guard you " . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">'The fonts' away . One of lifes inevitable duties . In the small hours Wilf wakes and lets out one loud howl . Not a bark, a howl . Three twenty exactly . I go downstairs by which time the phone is ringing . Coincidence? </span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-66701871485771162802012-05-06T07:33:00.000+02:002012-05-06T07:44:02.247+02:00A poem that catches the joy of a sunny Sunday morning .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ4nhyphenhyphennyDFlh-y6N7jAqnw1dPFT5EPy-2e_qJ4oZG9cSVxlorw0uDbW1uzUqATRg9beey0GSNCA3mtdSI5ntnAtMDevF-5L8cKSJd0yH_8zD-iXB9PTF2dXXNg7vVTF3Eryiidn66gXAM/s1600/04+May+2012+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ4nhyphenhyphennyDFlh-y6N7jAqnw1dPFT5EPy-2e_qJ4oZG9cSVxlorw0uDbW1uzUqATRg9beey0GSNCA3mtdSI5ntnAtMDevF-5L8cKSJd0yH_8zD-iXB9PTF2dXXNg7vVTF3Eryiidn66gXAM/s320/04+May+2012+014.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Dogs at Live Oak Beach , Santa Cruz</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As if there could be a world</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of absolute innocence</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In which we forget ourselves</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The owners throw sticks</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And half-bald tennis balls</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Toward the surf</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And the happy dogs leap after them</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As if catapulted -</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Black dogs, tan dogs ,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tubes of glorious muscle -</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pursuing pleasure</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">More than obedience</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They race , skid to a halt in the sand ,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes they'll plunge straight into</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The foaming breakers</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Like diving birds , letting the green turbluence</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Toss them , until they snap and sink</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Teeth into floating wood</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then bound back to their owners</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shining wet , with passionate speed</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For nothing ,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For absolutely nothing but joy .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>By Alicia Ostriker.</b></span></div>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-89647515776353650322012-05-05T07:44:00.002+02:002012-05-05T12:24:03.669+02:00The escape route .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Summer has arrived . The melon farmers busy setting out row upon row of plastic polytunnels . In the neighbouring village Oliver , the old labrador, can be found on the family doorstep , dreaming. Patiently waiting , as he does every day , for his masters return . I wave at the old widow. She opens the window and waves back . Oliver gets up and moves into the shade. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here on top of the ridge the arrival of good , but not too hot , weather marks the peak pilgrimage season. At first light thirty or so pensioners from St.Etienne walk briskly past the front gate. A chorus of bonjours. The laughter of comfortable kinship. They're followed soon after by a Slovak accountant and his wife, also an accountant , on horseback . They stop at the church, dismount , and lift down a small fluffy dog. It too is going on pilgrimage. It's home for the journey a blanket lined wicker basket behind the wifes saddle. The small fluffy dog rushes over to christen the hedge around the war memorial . It flies across the grass , delighted with the humble scale of its adventure .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the afternoon three Australian twenty somethings stop and ask for directions . They're following the escape route their pilot grandfather took after he was shot down in 1942. Almost seventy years to the day. The plan is to find a path across the top of the Pyrenees and walk , as their grandfather did, into Spain . Angus wishes them good luck . For a moment he toys with adding a middle aged " you'll need it " . Then he thinks better of it . When you're twenty all things are possible . Grandad proved it .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Wilf spends his day asleep in the courtyard . He can't be bothered barking at the strangers wandering by , but from time to time he makes a half hearted growling noise . Just enough to let us know he's still guarding his flock and the house .</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-51714348978935552082012-05-04T07:37:00.004+02:002012-05-04T10:16:50.557+02:00Dignified .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Around three it clouds over and the air suddenly develops a sharp edge. We set off to the rugby ground at three fifteen. Angus wears a Harris Tweed jacket against the chill. Bobble hat in the right pocket , a chew in the left . Wilf warm and snug in the back of the old Volkswagen. We find a quiet corner and park. Through the turnstile and up a short flight of steps to an end of row seat . Wilf settles down, snorts and presses his flank very firmly and very purposefully against my left leg. Large black nose and two paws jutting out into the space between the rows. Whenever the local farmers leap,cheering, to their feet , Angus , mindful of his slumbering friend, remains seated.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At half time another of our little routines. Sharing a hot dog in the parking lot. Wilf makes a comical Hannibal Lecter sound. Smacking his lips theatrically as each small piece of meat is gently taken, then swallowed. At the end of the match the young fireman playing at scrum half wanders over and asks how Monsieur Vilfee is getting on . '' He'll carry on running until he hits a brick wall " I reply. We both laugh . Wilf has his hair tousled .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The old fellows finally slowing . A big change this week . A gentle drifting . A sweet confusion . His appetite going . This morning no interest in his half croissant when it's offered . A first for this gourmand dog . Last night he wanders out of the door and settles down to sleep in the long grass under the cherry trees . I pick him up at ten and carry him ,still asleep, back into the house . Just the way things should be . Dignified and happy .</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-48421942288543357812012-05-03T07:39:00.002+02:002012-05-03T17:40:09.284+02:00The sick aspidistra.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">A trip to the barbers. Wilf makes his way to a spot on the linoleum between the chair and the sick looking aspidistra . It's unclear whether the aspidistras sickness is due to lack of light, lack of water , or the small mountain of cigarette butts that can be seen rising from its wicker pot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">The ' salon ' full . Four ageing residents of the old folks home squeezed tightly onto the sofa. Two more leaning against the wall , another sprawled in the armchair. Each morning after breakfast they gather here to read the barbers copy of the local newspaper and put the world to rights. Angus shakes hands with all of them .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">While the clippers hum the conversation flows. Madame DuBois, the primary school teacher has bought a Korean car . '' She'll regret it. Fiddly thing . Not made for our roads ". A synchronised tut of disapproval. A gentleman in a well worn suit with eggs stains on the lapels informs us that Jacques the farmer has had his lettuce crop ruined by the rain . Leaf rot. '' What's happened to his endives ? " Silence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Angus is asked what sort of dog Wilf is. Polish ! The word repeated slowly . Po-lo-nais . They look at their feet . More silence . '' Didn't Claude marry a Polish girl when he came back from Algeria ? ". ' No. She wasn't Polish she was Belgian . Or was it Dutch ? ' .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Through it all Wilf snores contentedly away. An occasional trumpet of wind . Quite audible in the confined reaches of the barber shop. No one seems to notice. €17 , including tip, handed over , Wilf and owner get into their British four wheel drive and depart . As we pass I can almost hear them saying '' fiddly thing. Not made for our roads ".</span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-48458122834946120262012-05-02T07:49:00.003+02:002012-05-02T18:50:44.379+02:00Wilf and the Yeti .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Off with Wilf to the bright lights of the big city . We're going to look at a new car . With 140,000 miles on the clock the little old Volkswagen is beginning to develop niggles . The chrome strip around one of the windows fell off yesterday . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The showroom more like a cathedral than a place to buy a car . 20 foot ceilings , huge plate glass windows. Angus the only customer . Three salesmen approach him .The smallest 4x4 given the unlikely name of a Yeti . Could I see myself driving a Yeti ? This one a Yeti ' Tour de France ' . Angus looks at the price .He asks if they have a more basic model. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Through it all Wilf sits ,contentedly, by the front door. A young woman, the receptionist, stops to talk to him . Out of the corner of his eye Angus sees the door open .Wilf trots in followed by his new friend. Angus prays, fervently, oh so fervently, that Wilf doesn't do what he usually does when confronted by a forest of tyres. In this case a forest of fresh, pristine - expensive - tyres .Dog and master quickly leave . Tyres unchristened . Angus promises to think about the Yeti. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On the way home wild asparagus at the market . We buy a kilo . Asparagus risotto for lunch and enough left over for asparagus ravioli .Wilf loves ravioli. </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After lunch he settles down , plays briefly with a new toy ' the font ' has bought him , and is soon sound asleep. A smile on his face that says he's dreaming of a forest of tyres .</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-13389072529470448042012-05-01T07:51:00.001+02:002012-05-01T07:54:28.726+02:00The law won .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Wilf is once again lifted, bed and all, into the back of the old Volkswagen. He sleeps soundly all the way to Toulouse airport . The first flight from London is late . Why is it all first flights seem to run late ? The old fellow trots happily across the car park and into the arrivals hall. He knows he's en route to the airport cafe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">While we wait there's time enough to share the crusts from two slices of buttered toast . At the third time of asking the evidently tired waitress brings him a bowl of water. When I get up to pay I notice she's charged us for a full bottle of Evian. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">' The font ' appears at the table . No doubting where dog and owner would be found . Wilf is rendered speechless by this miraculous appearance . That trademark soft shoe shuffle of delight accompanied by the manic stump wagging . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Home to find Madame Bay hard at work . The village green echoing to the sound of the 60's classic " I fought the law and the law won ". Or, to be more precise, "Ey fort ze lor an ze lor un " . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Brunhilda the German billionaires dog is back for the May Day holiday .She's sitting outside the town hall . She barks at Wilf. He ignores her . She rushes over, runs round him first this way, then that . He ignores her . She stretches out, head and paws down in that tell tale ' let's play ' mode. All to no avail.<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Wilf carries on, head down, blind to her blandishments .</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4aHVCTDF1h1RA2PDycO8QibC699bv9zCHJSdMaxZjfGUQ_tiCX16quD2D46WlXKq-m6uuO6UsjST3sK_XZx5eSaDJePxXj-ddWXtxcarwCKQxULZrZrbnGFoyV4KdOYzT_c3hMo3qpQ/s1600/29+April+2012+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4aHVCTDF1h1RA2PDycO8QibC699bv9zCHJSdMaxZjfGUQ_tiCX16quD2D46WlXKq-m6uuO6UsjST3sK_XZx5eSaDJePxXj-ddWXtxcarwCKQxULZrZrbnGFoyV4KdOYzT_c3hMo3qpQ/s400/29+April+2012+011.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4-r27B9Abbyr5fmEdd9t4qVog3KFMh9dinL7NZ2QPcNpN2Sqn9p4svFoMl4u3LMnl04Aj5HFoihH8yflUsoEktuk66p49EZTsK3x1F_Laf7siDpRZgLC_EfRK3QmKeUEG4IZW2QPlls/s1600/29+April+2012+045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4-r27B9Abbyr5fmEdd9t4qVog3KFMh9dinL7NZ2QPcNpN2Sqn9p4svFoMl4u3LMnl04Aj5HFoihH8yflUsoEktuk66p49EZTsK3x1F_Laf7siDpRZgLC_EfRK3QmKeUEG4IZW2QPlls/s400/29+April+2012+045.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-34506210019730001332012-04-30T07:55:00.001+02:002012-04-30T07:55:26.471+02:00Wally .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">A day outside in the garden . A dozen Kiftsgate roses to plant. No noise bar the never ending squabbling between finches, wrens and sparrows as they battle over the fresh grain in the bird feeder . While I heel in the roses , the old PON dozes on the soft grass under the cherry trees. On his back, snoring away , feet pointed skywards . We've got to the stage where he's sleeping twenty , maybe more , hours a day . That sheepdog mentality that just won't quit .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Angus cooks a steak for dinner . Wilf follows events with interest . As the smoke builds up in the kitchen he finally retreats outside to the terrace . <i>Cuisine a l'Angus</i> clearly not favoured by this gourmand canine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sunset . A slow, gentle, stroll along the lane. At the crossroads a hand painted sign has been put up to lure passing motorists . " May 12th , Village Saints Day , Wally's Giant Paella " . Above the village hall another , similar , sign . In this one Wally's Giant Paella has mysteriously become Willy's Giant Paella. </span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-7123242924440273442012-04-29T07:32:00.004+02:002012-04-29T21:22:55.431+02:00Seldom dissatisfied .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Four thirty in the morning . ' The font ' on the first flight to London . The car finally packed , engine running , waiting outside the front door. Wilf remains immovable. Completely uncoaxable . All the usual words - ' Breakfast, croissant, treats ! ' - ignored . The old fellows firmly wrapped in his pre-dawn ' cloak of invisibility ' . In the end he's picked up, bed and all , and deposited in the back of the car .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">At the airport Angus stops off at the cafe . Early morning travellers scurrying through the car park on their way to the check-in desks pass a small dishevelled polar bear and a strange foreigner. They're sharing a croissant . Old PON's know : " A dog owns nothing , yet is seldom dissatisfied ''.</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-78211841316673051772012-04-28T07:14:00.014+02:002012-04-28T11:30:16.711+02:00A large canine contingent .<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeYvJMTU0RZFCgVAfV9vFV_I33qpPZLI5iDOqYgtPBvdZs3ziRIWvoBNHIxR_6IN5rNNkpDP5MzoNHZuXxFrV34W2Rsh0dLIW00o-X0A5EKUk2o9V9RxQB7Hh-802GVaRw-VYVS0DK4U/s1600/25+April+2012+016.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeYvJMTU0RZFCgVAfV9vFV_I33qpPZLI5iDOqYgtPBvdZs3ziRIWvoBNHIxR_6IN5rNNkpDP5MzoNHZuXxFrV34W2Rsh0dLIW00o-X0A5EKUk2o9V9RxQB7Hh-802GVaRw-VYVS0DK4U/s400/25+April+2012+016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5736317118548761330" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMerHpMWPI7CQkm4Z6ycP0Fv3O1VfaZEynNMdnN135KwEWtTDlwJQ4WFS3u9s9cZk2uCmPw6xdX6wfXp3hj_O_JIfLt8wbFfeXs373nzMIVzpljW2Ilh7lFE_7QXfsdzhFZNPRAv95y20/s1600/25+April+2012+015.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMerHpMWPI7CQkm4Z6ycP0Fv3O1VfaZEynNMdnN135KwEWtTDlwJQ4WFS3u9s9cZk2uCmPw6xdX6wfXp3hj_O_JIfLt8wbFfeXs373nzMIVzpljW2Ilh7lFE_7QXfsdzhFZNPRAv95y20/s400/25+April+2012+015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5736317107959110978" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQoehIakCpW1DtQbzgEosE6h0XccWhyphenhyphen_7hdYo6xBWJT69R2czgwMgP4_wZbwluXIfQhyphenhyphenPGOV9rE_aFbsb4NqvvdN48UviZ0VBc26twfQRdsK-yyhFzEwzqmWvuvF9DEyJmcfCpS7SP74Y/s1600/25+April+2012+012.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQoehIakCpW1DtQbzgEosE6h0XccWhyphenhyphen_7hdYo6xBWJT69R2czgwMgP4_wZbwluXIfQhyphenhyphenPGOV9rE_aFbsb4NqvvdN48UviZ0VBc26twfQRdsK-yyhFzEwzqmWvuvF9DEyJmcfCpS7SP74Y/s400/25+April+2012+012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5736317088139954114" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgQgY1xPCCg1R6gU0yA8w8j45XfAXT6g0hjMdNT7c9VO4UAfen6EpUBEM6K4rxxUGcyxSk6Duh8TGN7fNrgg4ew1qd7LYcI3gvvLlOYHuRyiCDSjbyIxYF92-eRbs_eSZB8zlT_UV7x8/s1600/25+April+2012+025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgQgY1xPCCg1R6gU0yA8w8j45XfAXT6g0hjMdNT7c9VO4UAfen6EpUBEM6K4rxxUGcyxSk6Duh8TGN7fNrgg4ew1qd7LYcI3gvvLlOYHuRyiCDSjbyIxYF92-eRbs_eSZB8zlT_UV7x8/s400/25+April+2012+025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5736317123772543858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Friday night . Wilf and ' The Font ' head across the village green . The monthly Beautiful Byeways Committee meeting . A large canine contingent . Three Jack Russells, a Yorkie, and two fidgety Pointers . Wilf ignores the Jack Russells, settles at ' the fonts ' feet and sensibly falls asleep . </span><br style="font-family:arial;"><br style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Half an hour late, the proceedings begin .The mayor , pork pie hat on the table in front of him , announces he has joined the cash and carry . Cost €35 . Ice Cream can now be served at the Annual Pottery Fair . The deputy mayoress ,who does ' something ' with Airbus, and is therefore assumed to be a business guru , interjects to say that the €35 is for a full years membership . '' All are welcome to use it " she adds magnanimously .</span><br style="font-family:arial;"><br style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Item 2. The brunette with the beehive hairdo and the silver Ford Mondeo announces that the ' ladies ' will be making a giant paella for the Saints Day lunch .'The Font ' makes the mistake of asking what's needed to make a giant paella. ' A big dish ' comes the deadpan reply . " The Font " makes a mental note to phrase questions more carefully in future .</span><br style="font-family:arial;"><br style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The mayor and the farmer with the red face and the swollen nose argue about whether alcohol should be served. The summer before we arrived there was an incident with the very old farmer, a half bottle of unattended armagnac ,and the village pond . The fire brigade had to be called. '' Now, surely , no one wants a repetition of that " the mayor says with a semblance of finality . </span><br style="font-family:arial;"><br style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Wilf trots home . A hint of prawn curry added to his kibbles . Come ten o'clock he settles down by the front door and is still there, snoring happily away when I come downstairs this morning . Old dog knowledge . '' My strength is as the strength of ten , because my heart is pure " .</span><br style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-10991917876681202412012-04-27T05:21:00.007+02:002012-09-23T18:38:02.908+02:00Mighty forces .<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fSOFlQ80oJVWua76fT4JbhDyNpwJ8J6S0ccLVKegVKY3IM1hlKveVhfssny-GD2x-nb0O8j2mTEnrNrcGNn3VWQS2iHrA4WOcTfDI9Bd25uplJOa1uuINVYcgGkRjmzhgdSlJg6-n44/s1600/25+April+2012+008.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735917322692764146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fSOFlQ80oJVWua76fT4JbhDyNpwJ8J6S0ccLVKegVKY3IM1hlKveVhfssny-GD2x-nb0O8j2mTEnrNrcGNn3VWQS2iHrA4WOcTfDI9Bd25uplJOa1uuINVYcgGkRjmzhgdSlJg6-n44/s400/25+April+2012+008.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 299px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikm_xOXIAvrijgYAe3msvNC3TjyyU3nrdLsEG2rGnLFGB_qkR-MlOmnsf9a8U8L6dQ98B7YRtaEp19GOGweyiRM_hevLnhWBtZvPlsSphd8Vf13kQPjhymYojjbejnsl5PUSVURIYSa_Y/s1600/25+April+2012+005.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735917317098243298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikm_xOXIAvrijgYAe3msvNC3TjyyU3nrdLsEG2rGnLFGB_qkR-MlOmnsf9a8U8L6dQ98B7YRtaEp19GOGweyiRM_hevLnhWBtZvPlsSphd8Vf13kQPjhymYojjbejnsl5PUSVURIYSa_Y/s400/25+April+2012+005.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 299px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeNuseZV9u7eFGe1xnI2Y2dSBB4A22ecnG6ut6w9U3dbwSXJ9_o0L-b-TtfntolwhFph8Npfv8_V8df9DrOaEAgzIKn0-ntXrPzB-YwtI-Xe9zmTZ8iMycTgbTq3eH_WMlk1quPRrShXk/s1600/25+April+2012+001.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735917299011773394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeNuseZV9u7eFGe1xnI2Y2dSBB4A22ecnG6ut6w9U3dbwSXJ9_o0L-b-TtfntolwhFph8Npfv8_V8df9DrOaEAgzIKn0-ntXrPzB-YwtI-Xe9zmTZ8iMycTgbTq3eH_WMlk1quPRrShXk/s400/25+April+2012+001.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 299px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi68KZ6DK9hZNUyJSMRTJVikktGRbXTwz8KnrglYhKoUZZ1mYEnsQsr0Khvmaa7MZHNvRKHYFHc5HtGTN09q5-wa7cS-PzmYkk9QJX2BZNDKnOpo6pokxLoHx6map4RYk92piRB74vq294/s1600/25+April+2012+009.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735917341878852370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi68KZ6DK9hZNUyJSMRTJVikktGRbXTwz8KnrglYhKoUZZ1mYEnsQsr0Khvmaa7MZHNvRKHYFHc5HtGTN09q5-wa7cS-PzmYkk9QJX2BZNDKnOpo6pokxLoHx6map4RYk92piRB74vq294/s400/25+April+2012+009.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 299px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Wilfs daily routine. Conversation with the waitress. Illicit half croissant. Christening of the box hedge around the war memorial. Home for a morning doze. Lunchtime bark at the post lady. A nap in the back of the car while ' the font ' goes shopping . Afternoon walk by the stream . Forty winks on the terrace before dinner . Snuggled up asleep by ten .<br /><br />He 's getting smaller . The muscle around his shoulders almost gone . This week the bloods returned . Starting to stumble as he walks . We check his eyes and gums. We worry . He thinks this ridiculous. What's the point ? He gets on with enjoying life . The capacity to generate laughter burning as bright as ever . Somehow dogs know better than humans - "Be bold - and mighty forces will come to your aid ".</span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554264610305778874.post-60984481176768493892012-04-26T07:03:00.014+02:002012-04-26T11:18:28.155+02:00Unusual .<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPT6o3PIg-lq85Mo1j85vvWXr1KsnQ0eIF3TvzTaaZ9gZQOB_DFI5fpvAnC8Ht4T4RJatEaW2fZfLVD_XNVng4iDosZ1ZrRQ0_iblFTlnoNyCJtZhCNcEfVojbZz6nWlcAiXrEQZIcO8/s1600/25+April+2012+022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPT6o3PIg-lq85Mo1j85vvWXr1KsnQ0eIF3TvzTaaZ9gZQOB_DFI5fpvAnC8Ht4T4RJatEaW2fZfLVD_XNVng4iDosZ1ZrRQ0_iblFTlnoNyCJtZhCNcEfVojbZz6nWlcAiXrEQZIcO8/s400/25+April+2012+022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735572553100484274" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_d74YD1lFcPOt8wTEqkwJYD_hsfS7MfzeEg8ijph-oGIgwAbML5g6gJCEhqTlgnt_lmq9z1teH5gPo3DzMF5aQWiIYNPwy6XBoMyIOSMssWV1JmxPwYvQx6O7tlBO1-_xgcyeqYMv1s/s1600/25+April+2012+020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_d74YD1lFcPOt8wTEqkwJYD_hsfS7MfzeEg8ijph-oGIgwAbML5g6gJCEhqTlgnt_lmq9z1teH5gPo3DzMF5aQWiIYNPwy6XBoMyIOSMssWV1JmxPwYvQx6O7tlBO1-_xgcyeqYMv1s/s400/25+April+2012+020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735572545864794658" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPk8HSlMFVJE0CiZoaP_G_TJIPfqGzz6yUVtVjzq964_2oHz_vO9SWfh5LtDcUOQeAYGGNgHQDxq7xhS09wAAxW3yG-zflHNn0CulLz8OthTEfxJGUAfss2W5wc6Ub1e4kfwy9OWGO5Y/s1600/25+April+2012+014.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPk8HSlMFVJE0CiZoaP_G_TJIPfqGzz6yUVtVjzq964_2oHz_vO9SWfh5LtDcUOQeAYGGNgHQDxq7xhS09wAAxW3yG-zflHNn0CulLz8OthTEfxJGUAfss2W5wc6Ub1e4kfwy9OWGO5Y/s400/25+April+2012+014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735572537317487202" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSjHqyNBMiqLCLNot59jo82owTDQxcpiD8mji7g_HU-2NmTcSb6hy2Cy3NZ0h1onif2Fnwhg9uZRUA6dcg-kPX_-XQl4WxDGVaNRf_J1jkxp1VxOsSmxZciv6dAo9inGBmL7m3k6_wYXs/s1600/25+April+2012+010.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSjHqyNBMiqLCLNot59jo82owTDQxcpiD8mji7g_HU-2NmTcSb6hy2Cy3NZ0h1onif2Fnwhg9uZRUA6dcg-kPX_-XQl4WxDGVaNRf_J1jkxp1VxOsSmxZciv6dAo9inGBmL7m3k6_wYXs/s400/25+April+2012+010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735572529332657314" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Nbi1LtmoHWi5iuhoR1r6tdsPzpot8_mugGD5-tgdbV2Y4QtbfyNGqXrJ9WDEwIEX5a1zLHPdkEIf-gjVXUhCNenPlpMIjXrmOvfxLIOTu8aIFdDiBlMtuzxq2qN_SfUtEtwuvHtGYw8/s1600/25+April+2012+024.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Nbi1LtmoHWi5iuhoR1r6tdsPzpot8_mugGD5-tgdbV2Y4QtbfyNGqXrJ9WDEwIEX5a1zLHPdkEIf-gjVXUhCNenPlpMIjXrmOvfxLIOTu8aIFdDiBlMtuzxq2qN_SfUtEtwuvHtGYw8/s400/25+April+2012+024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735572564168897874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">A busy day for Wilf. Trips with ' the font ' to the picture framers, the curtain store and the fishmongers . The cheese lady lets him try a piece of particularly runny Camembert . Wilf licks his nose , does a little soft shoe shuffle and decides he must be in heaven . </span><br style="font-family:arial;"><br style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Six o'clock . It stops raining . Blue sky briefly breaking into our monochrome world . A quick walk by the stream then Wilf and Angus head off to the rugby ground . The local team playing a group of farmers from somewhere near Toulouse . A late kick off. The visitors coach has taken the wrong turning off the motorway . While we wait Angus and Wilf share a hot dog from the stand in the car park . Angus wonders what could possibly have gone into the hot dog to give it such an unusual flavour . Wilf, by contrast , has that " Oh, the bliss of this glorious taste " look on his face .<br /><br />The local team win 70-12. An outcome , in its own way, as unusual as the taste of the hotdog . Through it all Wilf snores contentedly , on his back , at my feet . Dreams of camembert and hot dog ? Maybe coconut ice cream ?<br /></span></span>Angushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13905037014736070475noreply@blogger.com17