Wilf the PON discovers France.

Sunday morning .

2012-01-29T07:08:00.014+01:00

Out of the front gate and left along the lane. The clouds low - snow is forecast for tonight . A young calf has escaped from the safety of the barn and is standing , eyes wide, on the grass verge by the gate . It watches the two of us as we zig zag past . The lure of the rich grass overcoming fear .

We stop by the stream. On the other bank, barely ten feet away, a woodpecker works at a lichened stump. His black and white body crowned by a crimson plume. Only nature, or a two year old boy, capable of dreaming up a colour scheme this improbable.

Everywhere around scores of finches; green, blue,yellow, gold. Grubbing on the ground,climbing tree trunks, jostling noisily in the branches. A parliament of colour and movement .The males chests puffed out in bravado, the females glorying in a new day. The old fellows Sunday morning walk suddenly a journey of joy.

Wilf can't see but he listens. Head raised to sniff the air. Sensing the deer behind the elder copse. To the murmur of water and birdsong he falls asleep. Head resting contentedly on paws. Grateful owners of old dogs know that some walks are meant to be remembered long after they're done .

Groomed .

2012-01-28T07:01:00.005+01:00

Friday afternoon . Wilf gets groomed . Reluctantly . In fact extremely reluctantly. The process accompanied by a medley of highly theatrical moans and groans . An Oscar winning performance . After twenty minutes of brushing and combing he's beginning to look like a PON. Twenty minutes later, following a quick walk to the fire hydrant , he's regained his wild , pre-groomed , look . A final roll on his back in the grass and all pretence at finesse has gone . He falls happily asleep, twigs and moss poking out of his fur. As old PON's know : ' Appear as you are. Be as you appear '. Roast Chicken with his dinner kibbles . One happy , if scruffy, family fellow .

The Best a Man Can Get .

2012-01-27T07:10:00.013+01:00

Back from a trip across the Alps. A ' fun ' night with unsmiling folks in dark suits. The snack on the aircraft bordering on the surreal . Possibly a sausage. Possibly not .

As usual Angus is viewed by the worlds airport security staff as an existential threat. At Toulouse it's the rollers on the carry on bag that attract attention . In London it's the shoes that bring out the wand of shame . In Zurich the shaving foam . '' The Best a Man Can Get " glowing on the x-ray screen as brightly as a kilo of Semtex .

Wilf usually greets his nearest and dearest in dignified silence. Not today . He's in puppy mode. The old fellow pulls himself up and heads across the marble floored arrivals hall at a surprisingly ( for him ) rapid pace . ' The font ', in hot pursuit. He's heading, in what he thinks, is my direction . Canine sixth sense. The old chap apprehended before disappearing behind the sliding doors that lead through to customs .

Reunited . Flock all accounted for . The family fellow lets out three high pitched yelps of delight. An enthusiastic face lick . Then he turns on his back and falls asleep. The happy stage in life where you simply don't care what people think. ' The font's ' greeting more demure . Laughter all round .

Flow .

2012-01-24T07:06:00.005+01:00

A change in the old fellow this week. Sometimes almost like having a stranger in the house . He wanders down corridors and falls asleep in empty bedrooms, waking up, barking, in a panic . Turning right where he's always turned left . That slightly confused stage of the journey where ' if you can't fight, and you can't flee, flow ' .

The height of sophistication .

2012-01-24T06:52:00.006+01:00

A new pizza restaurant has opened up in the little market town . Angus and ' the font ' stand at the front door reading the menu. Angus finds number 21 - chicken, apricots and raisins - to be the most improbable . ' The font ' is left speechless by number 16 - chicken, goats cheese, honey, with or without nuts . Wilf sits sniffing the air beside us. It's clear that he considers all pizzas to be the height of sophistication .

A battle royal .

2012-01-24T06:12:00.009+01:00

Census day . In Britain it happens every ten years. Here in France every five. The mayors secretary comes round in person to watch us fill out the forms and check their accuracy . She's due at nine and shows up in her little Citroen at ten . A model of punctuality by local standards . '' No coffee for me. If I have another cup I'll be flying " she says somewhat improbably . We go into the dining room. Wilf settles under the table with a Ryvita. The mayors secretary places a briefcase on the table, opens it, and hands us each a form. '' Are you sure there's only the two of you here ? " . She asks this with a tone of voice that implies there are fifty illegal immigrants hiding in the cellar .

The last census showed that 67 intrepid souls called the commune their home. According to the local paper there are rumours that some smaller villages might be combined into ' super villages ' of two or three hundred inhabitants . An attempt to save costs . A battle royal looms between the local mayors.

Mustard and laughter .

2012-01-23T03:26:00.011+01:00

Well behaved weather. Rain at night. Dry during the day . A gentle breeze . Ideal for PON walking . In the afternoon Wilf and Angus head off to watch the rugby . A poor turnout . The visiting team slow and unadventurous . At one point the young left wing ( who doubles up as a mechanic in the local Peugeot garage ) wanders over to the touch line to ask after Wilf . At half time the family fellow shares a hot dog with Angus in the car park . Wilf has a bowl of water. Angus a beer . Wilf discovers he likes mustard .

Home to discover that ' the font ' has opened a bottle of wine . Solitary drinking on a Sunday afternoon - generally not a good sign . While we've been to watch the rugby , ' the font of all knowledge ' has been to the village council meeting . Surprise, surprise they have unanimously elected a new Secretary . '' It just happened ! " says the new office holder in between gulps of a 2005 Pauillac. '' I tried to say no " . Wilf falls happily asleep to the sound of raucous laughter .

Saw this BBC video about psychic dogs : http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-16676728

Black leotards .

2012-01-22T07:16:00.014+01:00

Into town to buy flowers. The florists one of those modern, minimalist, places. Under the tastefully subdued lighting the three shop assistants are wearing what appear to be black leotards. An impenetrable mass of monochrome bamboo on display inside. Outside , an array of bulbs nestling in straw wrapped pots . When did florists stop selling flowers ? Another sign of advancing age .

Flowerless , Wilf and Angus pop into a local cafe for a coffee and a bowl of water . The cafe dog , a sweet tempered and very arthritic old thing , pops out from behind the counter to look at Wilf . Silently she stands and stares - besotted . Sadly, Wilf is quite oblivious to her presence . The lady behind the cash till and Angus both laugh . The interactions only dog owners see . You're never alone when you travel with a dog .

Built into the DNA.

2012-01-21T07:15:00.009+01:00

Back into our daily routine . Coffee, bowl of water and illicit half croissant at the cafe under the arcades . A quick stop off at the bakers to buy a cake for lunch . Wilf waits patiently at the shop door . His single nostril working overtime. Angus emerges with an amaretto meringue cake with fresh raspberry filling . Wilf stops waiting patiently and looks energized . His face has taken on that imploring " to be your friend was all I ever wanted " look . Hope springs eternal in an old dogs heart - and stomach .

Home. While I write , he sleeps. When I finish writing , he sleeps . A slowing pace of life . Lunchtime. Petites Tourtes Forestieres. Nothing slow about the old fellows sprint into the kitchen .Hard wired into Wilfs DNA the knowledge that ' there is no failure except in no longer trying ' .

The mayor, the MP and the leather patches .

2012-01-20T07:15:00.012+01:00

An overcast morning . The font heads off to the IKEA in Toulouse to stock up on pickled herring and other Swdish ' delicacies '. At eight the builder arrives to finish repairing the hole in the wall. For much of the morning , he and Madame Bay argue loudly about the mess he's made. In the midst of this lengthy disagreement the mayor arrives at the front door with our local Member of Parliament.

The MP is not as I thought a Radical Socialist but a Radical Republican . Angus has no idea what this means . He could be anywhere on the political spectrum - either a French Barney Frank or a French Rick Santorum ? . Angus decides to keep off the subject of politics altogether . Wilf , who has had his sleep interrupted, pointedly wanders off to the quiet of the dining room and settles down under the table with a huff and a sigh .

The MP has leather patches on the elbow of his jacket . Something I last saw forty years ago on a teacher at school . Perhaps leather patches are coming back into fashion ? Our MP also speaks with the rapidity of a Kentucky tobacco auctioneer . Add to that the strong ' Oc ' accent and the communication is decidely one sided. Angus smiles and does his best politically neutral deaf / mute routine.

Over the statutory glass of champagne - " Oh well. Just the one " - the mayor informs me that the government will pay for two thirds of the cost of restoring the First World War frescoes in the church . Angus decides not to mention government cuts and the crisis in the €urozone. Lesson #1 when living abroad : As a foreigner never ever comment on the politics of your host country.

In the afternoon a trip to the supermarket for Jaffa Cakes . One very happy Wilf . Another day in France Profonde.

More mileage.

2012-01-19T06:36:00.016+01:00

A rough day for the old fellow. Something not right inside . He simply can't settle . '' The font " takes him down to the vets . The first time in four months he's been there . Thankfully, the prim Parisienne is away . The senior vet, an old friend to Wilf, administers an anti-emetic injection . Wilf sits there on the examination table. Half enjoying the atttention and half frozen with fear . More liquid around the stomach, possibly a kidney issue, signs that the tumours are stirring again .

The vet very sensible. No point in putting him through a battery of tests. The prognosis ? A concise and very Gallic ; '' Wilf will decide whether it's time to turn the page or close the book ". As they leave the surgery the vet shouts out " See you next month ". ' The font ' laughs.

Two thirty in the morning . Angus can be found sitting on the floor in a dressing gown and slippers. A Tale of Two Cities in one hand, a glass of Burgundy in the other . ' The Big Bang Theory ' , badly dubbed into French, on the local comedy channel . Family fellow finally asleep head on my knee . Wilf's coat , hard and coarse at lunchtime, definitely softer to the touch . When ' The New Girl ' comes on the screen ( perhaps the plot makes sense in English ) it's time to leave him alone to sleep off the injection. After a turbulent day reassurance that there's still more mileage in this old boy.

Old PON's know " If today was perfect there'd be no need for tomorrow ".

Chainsaw sounds .

2012-01-18T07:18:00.007+01:00

Mixed signals . Yesterday Wilf didn't want to eat . Most unusual . Yet this morning he manages to walk beside me for nearly a kilometre . Not just ambling along , but forging ahead , leading the way with real boy dog enthusiasm . The fickleness of cancer . Finally he's had enough. He flops down in the cool grass at the side of the lane and within a minute is soundly asleep. Angus walks back to get the car . When I return Wilf is snoring . The sounds of France Profonde. Chattering finches, the rippling brook and a small white polar bear doing a passable impersonation of a chain saw.

Much activity by the pottery kiln. The wheelchair accessible picnic table is now firmly in place. Next to it a large hole has been dug . The purpose of this is yet to be revealed . Another street light ? A barbecue pit ? Time alone will tell . On either side of the kiln itself two small solar powered lights have suddenly appeared . The first stage towards our very own version of the Eiffel Tower illuminations .

A village committee meeting has been called for Saturday afternoon . The residents of the rickety old farmhouse have been invited . Perhaps, despite our northern oddities, we're becoming honorary French ? ' The font ' has made me promise not to tell anyone what I think about the idea of solar panels on the kiln roof.

For lunch today Tourte Saumon-Epinard . Wilf is already in the kitchen instructing ' the font ' .

Sleep, sleep and more sleep.

2012-01-17T06:57:00.011+01:00

A quick trip to the Post Office ( when did stamps become so expensive ? ) , and the bakers ( a chocolate covered Opera for me and a wholesome nutty-fruity thing for ' the font ' ) before stopping off at the cafe under the arcades . Wilf gets his hair tousled by the waitress . He gives her his very best '' Leave it out love , I'm a boy dog " look before settling down with his illicit half croissant under the table .

On our way home we pass Oliver , the old widows labrador. He turns his head and looks up hopefully. Still patiently waiting for his master.

The builder shows up mid-morning to do some repointing of the stonework around the doors. '' This is an unexpected pleasure " I say . He looks back at me in that searching way the French do when faced with the strange linguistic constructs of foreigners . Late-morning there's a loud crash followed shortly afterwards by a half hearted knock at the door. ' We've got a problem with the wall '. Angus sighs.

Wilf asleep in his little brothers bed. There was a time when he wouldn't have been allowed near it . Now , despite being too small, it's become his favourite sleeping spot. He's using it a lot .

One of those days.

2012-01-16T07:06:00.018+01:00

One of Wilfs rough days. The once every six weeks cycle he seems to have developed. Climbing the stairs for dinner his back legs give way. The first time this has happened. A look of surprise on his face . A quick rest and he's shakily on his feet again.

Up in the night at one , three and then at five . The blood problem . No interest in breakfast this morning . Out with him for a walk across the village green at six . A pre-dawn chance to take his mind off whatevers troubling him. There's an old saying : '' Walking with an old friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light " .

As I leave the cafe under the arcades the waitress brings me a half croissant wrapped up in a serviette. '' It's for Wilfee " . Some morning routines are too important to forget. As I walk through the door , Wilf miraculously wakes up , smells the croissant, and follows me into the kitchen . The magical healing power of bakery .

Eiffel Tower or Pottery Kiln ?

2012-01-15T06:09:00.017+01:00

Another sunny , country morning . Off with Wilf for our daily tour of inspection. We cross the green, stop to christen the fire hydant, then turn right past the church. There we find the mayor, the very old farmer and Oustric , the head of the ' floral village ' committee .They're standing , talking animatedly, by the reconstructed sixteenth century pottery kiln . '' Bonjour M'Ongoose " they chime in unison . The mayor is wearing his Harris Tweed pork pie hat . Wilf looks up briefly . '' We're waiting for a table " says the mayor cheerfully . Angus decides he must have misheard, so says nothing.

It seems the floral village committee have great plans for our little community. This morning a wheelchair accessible picnic table is being delivered . This will enable any passing tourists to sit and eat while simultaneously enjoying the sight of the kiln . The old farmer adds that there are also plans to install solar panels on the roof of the kiln so that it can be floodlit. " Like the Eiffel Tower ? " I ask . They look at me in silence .

After ten minutes Angus and Wilf bid farewell and zig zag, slowly, homewards. Angus keeps to himself the thought that the roof tiles get blown off the kiln every time they fire it up . What will happen if they install solar panels on the roof , and then fire it up, may be more interesting than anyone imagines.

Strolling.

2012-01-14T06:56:00.015+01:00

A day for strolling along in the quiet of the French countryside . Bright sunshine after yesterdays shroud of fog . Airports forgotten . We're joined at various points along the way by a friendly Wheatear, a pair of Redstarts, a noisy Hawfinch and an untroubled Woodlark . The calmer world of an old dog. One of the gifts of canine companionship . While Wilf naps in the long grass a Peregrine Falcon dances, swift, rolling pirouettes in the air above.

Refreshed after his quick doze we soon zig zag off again . The old fellow determinedly ploughing , head down, from on side of the lane to the other. When his paws touch the grass verge he knows it's time to change tack. Watching him amble along I can't help but think that here is a family fellow who lives with no excuses and loves with no regrets. A wise old PON.

January travel tip. Don't .

2012-01-13T12:47:00.017+01:00

At the airport a sporty little plane with jet engines . The perfect thing for getting over the Alps in the depths of winter . The food on board the sort ' the font ' loves and Angus hates . Pulses, pulses and more pulses. Who dreams up these menus ? The plane arrives on time and Angus goes to talk to a group of men, and one prim Swiss lady, in dark suits .

Coming back an altogether more adventurous journey. A little plane with propellers . The shake , rattle and roll express. It's delayed . After an hour a man at the departure gate gets out his guitar and starts to sing. Loudly . Angus can't decide if this is lunacy or self confidence . After a further hour Angus decides that it's more likely to be the former rather than the latter . Definitely not a professional.

When we board for the second time a rabbi settles in the seat next to your happy traveller. Angus thinks of breaking the ice with a joke about an Irishman , a Scotsman and a rabbi but contents himself with a jovial " You're a good man to have onboard today ! ". The rabbi looks at Angus in much the same way as one might look at a badly behaved child. We journey onwards in silence .

A bone shaking excursion around, rather than over, the mountains . Toulouse, when we get there, closed because of fog . After circling , re-routed to Marseille. An hour to arrange a bus then a seven hour journey along the motorway. My new next door neighbour a man who makes sofas. '' Do you know the margin I make on three seaters ? ". Angus has to admit he doesn't . Deposited at the terminal at two thirty in the morning . Home after twenty five hours of unexpected adventure .

When we are finally reunited Wilf soon gets rid of his Mr.Glum look and does a soft shoe shuffle. This afternoon dog and owner will mostly be napping .

2012-01-13T07:15:00.002+01:00

Angus's flight has been diverted to Marseille because of the fog and he is currently on a slow 8 hour coach crawl to Toulouse.

Wilf is patiently waiting.

Wilf's Thursday morning PONder.

2012-01-11T07:36:00.008+01:00

" Some folks grumble because roses have thorns , I'm thankful that thorns have roses " .

Gratitude.

2012-01-11T06:57:00.009+01:00

15 months since we saw the ultrasounds and were given the diagnosis that Wilf had 3 days to live . An unexpected milestone on his journey . Fifteen months of extra laughter - 24 hours a day, 7 days a week . Quality PON time . The value of good, caring vets and modern medicine never to be underestimated . Simple dog owner gratitude.

After our morning trip to the cafe and the bakers Wilf's ready for another long walk in the sunshine . We stride off down the valley . By my side a small white polar bear who lives by the rule - " exude happiness and you will feel it back a thousand times " . Wilf beams. Angus whistles.

A happy pigeon .

2012-01-10T07:12:00.007+01:00

At last. A sunny day . It takes us an hour but Wilf manages to walk half a mile along the old roman road . Every fifty yards or so he sits down and PONders . Eagles circling overhead, hares watching nervously from the long grass along the river bank, a family of deer silhouetted against the blue sky .Sometimes he sits on the grass verge sniffing the air and resting his arthritic limbs. Sometimes he settles himself down, foursquare, in the middle of the road for a quick nap , mind in neutral. Sometimes he just rolls on his back , squirming and squirming and squirming in delight. Old PON's have learnt to enjoy times like these. They accept that some days you're the pigeon, and other days you're the statue. Today he's a happy pigeon.

Fawlty Towers without the humour.

2012-01-09T06:55:00.014+01:00

We've only had one frosty morning this winter . Today it's warm and wet - again . More like March than January. On our way back from the cafe with the croissants we stop off for a leisurely walk along the old roman road. The American woman restoring the house in the valley has installed electric security barriers at her front gate. Our quiet part of the world has never seen the like. Wilf christens both contraptions with studied indifference.

To a local hotel on Sunday afternoon . A rambling fifteenth century castle. It's closed for the season . From the look of it possibly longer. The upper floor covered in a thick mat of damp green moss. We turn to TripAdvisor when we get home. ' Fawlty Towers without the humour ' says the first review . The other reviews less kind. Google Translate a cause of much mirth.

Wilf , exhausted by all the recent activity, curls up by the front door and sleeps . He rouses himself for dinner and a quick pit stop and then dreams on 'til dawn. He's sleeping more and more these days.

Travels with a dog .

2012-01-08T07:04:00.010+01:00

A day of incessant rain . Wilf has that particularly shaggy - wet, then dry, then wet again look to him . Morning and afternoon walks brief , arthritis defying , affairs .

Off to a new restaurant for lunch. Starched table cloths and a recently awarded Michelin star. A reputation for formality . We phone ahead to ask if Wilf can join us. '' But of course ! Why not ? " comes the owners immediate reply . A large quiet(ish) corner table waiting for us . White ceramic bowl of water already in place under it . Although it's busy the chef comes out to ask if Wilf would like some chicken and rice . He would . A waitress refills his water bowl. The family fellow is soon sound asleep. Nose and tips of paws peeking out from under the table. The rice and chicken not charged for . Afterwards the owner walks us to the car and gives Wilf a tickle.

You're never alone when you travel with a dog .

We should do this more often.

2012-01-07T06:47:00.020+01:00

It usually takes forty five minutes , maybe an hour , to make our way home from the airport. Yesterday , ' the font ' takes a new route . '' It's much more direct ", I'm told with an air of absolute certainty. We turn off the main road and head into the countryside . Two hours and ten minutes later we have passed the grand total of three cars, one white van ( coming in the opposite direction ) eleven dogs ( of various types ) and , bizarrely, one dead cow propped up against the side of a barn. We're lost . I'd thought we lived in deepest France Profonde . Now , thanks to ' the font ' I know there are parts of France that are much more Profonde .

Every hour we stop so that Wilf can be lifted down from the back of the car to ' stretch his legs ' . Our canine companion is in seventh heaven. New scents, new textures, new hints that there's a whole world of dogs out there that he's still to meet . An enthusiastic ' we should do this more often ' look on his face.

Night time at the rickety old farmhouse. Christmas decorations and the last of the family gone. Now just the two of us and our faithful companion. Outside, the stars, the moon, and the old farmers five megawatt star glow peacefully in the sky. Wilf settles down by the front door for a long, long restorative sleep . Old PON's seem to have the simple certainty of knowing " there is no wealth but life ".

Pine needles.

2012-01-06T07:00:00.012+01:00

Twelfth night. Time to take down the Christmas tree. Madame Bay suggests we leave it up for another month . A love of twinkling lights something she shares with the old farmer across the lane .

By lunchtime all the decorations are down, wrapped in tissue paper, and stored for next year . The lights put in a special place where they'll be easy to find when needed . Rather than drag the tree through the house Angus pushes it unceremoniously out of an upstairs window. It doesn't go without a fight . Pine needles everywhere . Madame Bay tuts loudly and says they'll block the hoover .

Through it all Wilf sits on the carpet offering encouragement . I don't have the heart to tell him he's facing the wrong way . He spends the rest of his day asleep on the doorstep - far from the sound of Radio Nostalgie, the demonic hoover and its chiffoned disco diva operator.

Two in the morning . Angus wakes up. Pine needles scratching his scalp. Mission Impossible 4 has been showing at the local cinema. I bet Tom Cruise doesn't get pine needles in his scalp.

There's life in this old dog yet .

2012-01-05T06:57:00.014+01:00

First insulin injection at six thirty. Second twelve hours later. In between four, small, but regular meals . A mixture of 30% i/d and 70% w/d works a treat. Half a pain killer in the afternoon and a Cortisone tablet every other day .

Morning and afternoon ambles - ten minutes , max, if its wet and arthritis inducing. Half an hour if it's warm and dry . Sometimes a quick doze in the grass by the cows field . An illicit half croissant from the waitress every morning . A taste of human food after every meal - the undoubted highlights of the day . Lot's and lot's of sleep . Reassurance as required, and then some more for good measure. Peals of laughter.

As any old PON will tell you ' the purpose of life is a life of purpose ' . Somehow , against all the odds, there's life in this old dog yet.

Lunch with the English.

2012-01-04T04:14:00.010+01:00

To lunch with a retired English baronet and his wife. Our repeated excuses for not going becoming increasingly lame. Duty rather than pleasure . Both of them quite , quite batty. She greets us in the garden wearing mustard yellow plus fours and carrying a shotgun . '' Scaring off the magpies " she says by way of greeting.

'' We'll eat in the kitchen. There's a log on the fire ". Central heating an unheard of luxury . The font gets the chair near the solitary log , Angus shivers by the window. A rationed half glass of dry sherry . A carafe of tap water on the table. Husband lies in bed upstairs suffering from post-Christmas gout. Judging by the temperature in the kitchen it could just as easily have been frost bite. From time to time his voice carries plaintively down the stairs . '' Oh , do shut up you old trout. We're eating ! " periodically hurled playfully back at him by his wife.

Vegan chili con carne. '' You've probably never tasted anything quite like this " says our hostess turning to the font . ' I most certainly haven't ' comes the altogether honest reply . Lady G beams . Another culinary marvel . Through it all Wilf and Winston , the households 13 year old black labrador, lie asleep in the porch. The family fellow gets a long , long walk on our way home .

Aretha Franklin makes the front page.

2012-01-03T07:25:00.013+01:00

Into town with Wilf . A cloudy, gunmetal tinted, start to the morning . The little cafe under the arcades open again after the New Year holiday. By the time we get there the beer and absinthe set are already into their second pre-breakfast libation . A chorus of ' Bonjour Wilfee's ' ripples round the tables. The waitress brings Wilf a bowl of water and a half croissant . Angus gets a burnt coffee. The daily routine of an old sheepdog and his owner .

The Paris newspapers have worthy analyses of the Iowa primaries. However, here in deepest France Profonde our local newspaper leads with the news that Aretha Franklin is to get engaged to her long-term friend Mr. William 'Willie' Wilkerson . Miss Franklins latest album, the front page article wrily informs its readers , is entitled ' A Woman Falling Out of Love '. Humour French style.

Ungainly grace.

2012-01-02T06:08:00.023+01:00

New Year's morning .We're out early. The grass soft underfoot after yesterdays rain . Small puddles glinting silver in the first light. After a day spent cooped up indoors Wilf skips along. Joy unleashed. No one watching us would believe he was blind, or old, or frail. We turn off the lane and head down the path that leads to the stream . Sometimes I lead . Sometimes follow.

Where the hill and meadow meet a large hare stops , mid-step, to stare at us. Seeing Wilf he rushes off. Tall ears disappearing over the brow of the hill. Ungainly grace. The family fellow lifts his head briefly then carries on nose down through the grass. What he fails to see, I do. The shared world of dog and owner.

Wilf, ever uncomplaining , greets each morning with the enthusiasm humans reserve for the New Year . PON wisdom - '' Life is what we make it, always has been, always will be ". To prove his point there's a bacon baguette waiting when he gets home .

Background music .

2012-01-01T06:58:00.010+01:00

Wet . Very wet . One of those days when the Atlantic rain seeps deep into your clothing . Wilf prefers to lie curled up indoors rather than go outside . Reluctantly he joins us for a late afternoon walk along the banks of the stream . '' It'll be good for you " I tell him . He looks unconvinced .

Ten thirty at night . The family fellow decides to turn in . He wanders into the dining room and is soon blissfully asleep in front of the fireplace . From time to time he passes wind . He's been given brussel sprouts with his evening kibbles so these interruptions are both more frequent and more highly pitched than usual . As the old year gives way to the new , the sound of a snoring, trumpeting sheepdog joins the skirl of the pipes and the clink of champagne glasses . The background music of a family house blessed with an old, faithful, friend . Laughter all round .

The mayor proposes a local toast . '' Love works its miracles every day, weakening the strong, strengthening the weak, making fools of the wise, and wise men of fools. Happy New Year ". The old widow finally smiles .

What fish fingers are made of .

2011-12-31T06:48:00.011+01:00

The rickety old farmhouse alive to the sound of kilts and sporrans being readied for the Hogmanay festivities . Angus's sporran proves particularly difficult to find . Put away last year in one of those places where ' you'll be sure to find it '. This , after much searching , turns out to be the same inaccessible place where the ' lost ' 2010 Christmas lights were hidden .

The restaurant at the Toulouse Rugby Club offers a pre-match menu that is unmistakeably French . Across the channel you'd be lucky to get a tuna and sweetcorn sandwich at a rugby ground . The Fish of the Day - Lieu Jaune. This, ' the font of all knowledge ' informs us is Pollock. It seems that most fishfingers are made of Pollock these days .

The brasserie full of locals, long suffering wives , boisterous children and dogs . The sensible French attitude to family dogs - ' Where we go , they go '. Wilf nestles under the table happy to be at the centre of his flock and hopeful that some Lieu Jaune will come his way . It does. Some plain boiled rice as well.

And so to the end of 2011 and into the excitement of the New Year. To all of you who've followed Wilf on his journey I wish the same thing I wish for family and friends : May this be a year without fear . Or to put it another way - '' May all your troubles last as long as your New Year's resolutions " .

Kelly , the hover dog .

2011-12-30T07:00:00.023+01:00

Another good night for Wilf followed by an early start to the day. '' The font " and family head off at the crack of dawn to see granny font. Getting them out of the house in time to catch the first flight of the morning a process not dissimilar to herding cats .

Our walk to the fire hydrant a little later than usual . Wilf has just turned for home when the old widow, blue house coat unbuttoned , runs out of her front door . '' M'Ongoose ! Come Quickly ! ". Kelly was restless and off form last night and this morning she can't be roused . The elderly neighbour buries her head in my chest. If you had ever doubted the bond between human and dog then look no further than these unselfconcious tears. I guide her back in from the lane hoping that she's wrong and that Kelly is merely asleep.

Back before lunch with a spade. The old widow wants Kelly's final resting place to be outside the kitchen window - ' where I can see her '. We settle on a spot in the gentle shade of a walnut tree. There , buttoned up Calvinist and tearful ninety year old say farewell. The sun bursts through the clouds. There's a natural justice in that. Natures tribute to the little things. Afterwards we have a glass of wine . A vin d'honneur. Another faithful dog asleep on the ridge overlooking the valley. Another day in a village in France Profonde.

Wilf gets an extra hair tousle before bed.

The pork pie hat .

2011-12-29T06:32:00.007+01:00

Lunchtime . The mayor shows up at the front door . It's chilly today so he's wearing his pork pie hat . It seems our Member of Parliament is coming to the village tomorrow to talk about restoring the frescoes in the church . Would it be possible to hold the meeting in the dining room of the rickety old farmhouse ? '' Perhaps a glass of champagne ? " thrown in sotto voce at the end .

Safety instructions on the side of a Royal Horticultural Society scented candle. Don't put a naked flame near curtains , keep away fom children and animals , be careful if you're reading a book . The other safety instructions leave Angus completely bamboozled . Health and safety run rampant .

Wilf continues to be in a good place . He sleeps a lot but his appetite is robust . The colder weather brings on his arthritis but nothing will stop him from joining us on a family walk . Sometimes at night he wanders away from his bed at the front door and finds himself lost in the dark. The household woken up by a ' I'm here. Where are you ? ' panic bark . Strong hands and soothing words soon have him back to sleep again . Touch , so, so important to a blind dog . Wilf , proof that ' life is a ticket to the greatest show on earth ' .

The old proverb .

2011-12-28T03:31:00.016+01:00

Wilf spends most of his day sunbathing on the front doorstep . He rouses himself for a quick break of day trip into town for croissants and a hair tousle by the waitress . Later there's a mid-morning saunter to the fire hydrant and a late afternoon stroll along the old roman road . In between times he sleeps . He does however appear , unbidden and cheerful , at lunch and dinner . He also rouses himself to bark when the womens cooperative drop off a dining chair they forgot to return yesterday .

In the evening ' the font ' boils up the turkey carcass to make bouillon for New Years Eve Tortellini in brodo . Wilf sits in the kitchen staring, enraptured, at the stove and the simmering pot . A study in hope . He gets to taste some of the broth . PON's are great exponents of the old proverb - "The miracle is not to fly in the air, or to walk on the water, but to walk on the earth ".

Such are the happy routines of life with an old friend .

The implausible statement .

2011-12-27T07:07:00.008+01:00

The village gently eases back into its post-Christmas routine . Eleven in the morning . Amid a crashing of gears the old farmer returns from visiting his daughter in Bordeaux. He's driven there in the ancient motor home with non-matching chintz curtains . " Nothing beats it for comfort " he says . Angus decides not to comment on the implausibility of this statement.

Four in the afternoon .The old widow appears at the gate in flood of tears. Kelly the hover dog has gone missing . ' The font ' makes a cup of tea while search parties head off in search of Kelly . An hour and a quarter later she's found waiting patiently at her mistresses front door . A quizical ' where have you been ? ' look on her face. The old widow celebrates by having another mince pie .

Just as the champagne is about to be opened the white van from the womens cooperative turns into the drive . The last of the re-upholstered cushion covers for the dining chairs are delivered. They were supposed to be here for Christmas but ' at least you'll have them for the New Year ' says Aude's shaven headed friend cheerfully. Gascon timing.

Wilf follows all of this activity with great interest . PON as family guardian . Old sheepdogs know that ' patience and time do more than strength or passion '.

Christmas sunshine .

2011-12-26T07:00:00.011+01:00

Out for a long walk in the warm Christmas sunshine . The weather forecast says the maximum temperature will be a chilly seven degrees but come late morning we've discarded our jumpers and are strolling along in shirt sleeves . Wilf sauntering , nose down , through the grass verges by our side. Nothing will hurry him . The old fellow unaware of the timetable imposed by ' the fonts' organizational chart . Finally amid much laughter he's lifted , muddy pawed , into the back of the car and driven home .

Present opening time . At the pop of the champagne cork Wilf bounds up the stairs . Family sheepdog front and centre . Each parcel carefully examined by a large black nose. Wilf lives in hope that one of these packages will contain a string of freshly cooked sausages . This old boy knows how to be happy . Party animal Wilf. For one family in France their very own , small, white , canine Christmas miracle . Unexpected gifts are the best .

Keeping watch .

2011-12-25T03:43:00.014+01:00

Christmas morning . Turkey in the oven. Coffee brewing noisily on the stove . Croissants on the table . The first sounds of family stirring . Down by the front door an old sheepdog snores gently away . The special contentment of knowing that while the world slept , he kept watch .

A very merry Christmas to one and all from deepest France Profonde. .

Wilfs seasonal PONder .

2011-12-24T06:26:00.006+01:00

Off into town for a special order of breakfast croissants . On the way back a quick side trip to the bar . A chorus of Bonjour Wilfees . One thing old PON's know for sure . '' There are no strangers on Christmas Eve '' .

White feather glamour.

2011-12-23T06:55:00.018+01:00

Christmas. Great time for the French airport security screeners to go on strike. They want more money because they have to deal with 'difficult and irate passengers '. Angus can't help but think that the passengers are likely to be even more difficult and irate when they discover their holiday flights have just been cancelled. Thankfully, the British Airways inbound flights into Toulouse from London are merely delayed.

Wilf is in fine fettle. A long lunchtime walk to the end of the village and then all the way back again . Canine tour guide in chief for his reunited flock. In the evening he plays touch rugby . The first time in nearly a year . A sedate affair of throwing the ball gently so it lands between his paws. Memories of racing down the hallway and rug surfing manfully across the floor tiles . After ten minutes he falls deeply and happily asleep. Miniature rugby ball propped firmly under his chin. Puppyhood revisited. His tail carries on wagging .

This morning out for an early walk along the lane . One of the friendly cows wanders over to see the family fellow . Wilf remains gloriously indifferent to her presence . In the bar under the arcades a chic Christmas touch . White feathers sellotaped onto the black lampshades above the bar . How stylish is that ? Big city dwellers eat your hearts out .

While the beer and absinthe crowd are busy with their Lotto scratch cards Wilf gets his illicit half croissant . He beams at the waitress . A very happy almost Christmas time in deepest France Profonde .

Austerity chic .

2011-12-22T07:03:00.014+01:00

Grey, wet , and drizzly . Real Scottish weather - but warmer . Wilf , the master artisan , sensibly spends much of his morning in the kitchen . The Christmas Gravlax given a lip smacking score of 11 / 10 by our canine gourmet. The lunchtime Magret de canard caramelise also given a score of 11/10.

In fact Wilf seems to have an 11/10 level of enthusiasm for everything that's being prepared . A small sliver of short crust pastry from a mince pie scores 12/10 and elicits a 'Christmas must have come early ' sigh of contentment. He yawns and opts for a doze . By the time he wakes up the sun has broken through the clouds .

Outside the mayors secretary decorates the box hedge around the war memorial with Christmas baubles. Austerity chic . After the street lights and the bus stop there clearly wasn't much money left in the village budget .

A special night.

2011-12-21T02:35:00.023+01:00

Early evening . Off in the car to the little market town . While ' the font ' and Wilf go in search of the fishmonger Angus heads off to the relative warmth of the church. It's a special night . Carols for the old folks from the maison de retraite . The music provided by a 'semi-professional ' ensemble from Barcelona.

The first number a rap version of ' Il est ne le divin enfant ' performed by four young gentlemen with shaved heads . A young lady in a cocktail dress then sings Ave Maria . She is accompanied, on the xylophone , by two of the shaven headed youths. They have changed into purple dinner jackets . Angus , unconsciously, finds himself holding on tightly to the side of his chair as the soloist slides haltingly towards the high notes .

After that there was what might well have been the Carol of the Birds. The two purple jacketed young xylophonists joined by a woman with a concertina and a gentleman with a mouth organ. They grin at the audience throughout in a '' you will enjoy yourselves '' type way. The old folks look on bemusedly. As well they might .

Time for Angus to head off to the cafe for an early evening pick me up . '' The font " asks what the singing was like . ' Enthusiastic ' I reply . What the old folks thought of it all is a mystery but Wilf would have thoroughly enjoyed himself. He might even have joined in .

Wilf spends much of his day in a downstairs corridor leading to two guest bedrooms. Does he know something is about to happen ?

Batallions .

2011-12-20T06:58:00.021+01:00

Another shutter rattling storm raging in the Bay of Biscay . Winters howling batallions barreling towards us from the Nantucket Shoals . One gale immediately followed by another . Boston to Bordeaux in 72 hours picking up rain all the way .

Wilf is curled up in his bed at the front door whistling gently as he sleeps. The poster boy for old dog contentment. I think he's going to stay in bed but by the time I've picked up the car keys he's standing waiting to go out . That canine enthusiasm for getting the day started . I think of the cold wind outside. He thinks of fresh scents , new adventures and lamp posts that need christening. He may also be thinking of his illicit, now routine, half croissant .

The supermarket has set up a new display in the atrium . A mechanical Santa and a trio of grinning mechanical bears happily twisting and turning to the sound of Celine Dions Christmas hits . Quite manic.

On our way back home , Oliver, the old widows dog looks up hopefully from his spot by the front doorstep. No doubting what he's hoping for this Christmas.

3 cribs. 1300 posts.

2011-12-19T06:39:00.018+01:00

A village ritual .The mayor, his wife, and three ladies from the Beautiful Byeways committee spend Sunday morning setting up the nativity scene in the village church . They then lock the doors and go. The church will now remain silent, unvisited and firmly closed until January 6th . Then the crib will be dismantled and put away for the coming year. Angus thinks this is decidedly spooky . Stepford Wives meets France Profonde. '' The font " thinks setting up a crib in an empty church is no odder than having a cleaning lady who regularly sees aliens in her orchard.

We set up our own crib on the half landing . This crib , long term readers may remember, profers an unusual take on the Christmas story . All the usual characters are there . Shepherds, wise men, baby Jesus , scary angels etc. However Joseph is absent . He's been written out of our version to be replaced by a stern looking older lady with folded arms .

The supermarket also has a crib. In fact it has two. One in the car park and another inside the atrium. The car park crib is graced by a slightly tippled Father Christmas who spends much of his morning trying to entice single, female shoppers into his horse drawn sleigh. Occasionally, some innocent succumbs and off they go clip clopping across the parking lot, sleigh bells jingling, the horses artificial antlers waving in the wind . '' Has Father Christmas got a present for you ! " followed by shrieks of laughter.

Vaclav Havel the former Czech President dies. We met him in Prague in the '80's. The same time we bought the crib . A brave determined man who lived by the motto " Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes ".

Our 1300th dog post this morning . Who would have believed it ? Maybe it is a season for miracles .

Four metres !

2011-12-18T02:17:00.013+01:00

Madame Bay calls . She has spoken to the greengrocer . He will cut down a four metre tree and deliver it to the house at eleven on Saturday morning . Madame Bay, Monsieur Bay , Sandrine , a gaggle of baby Bays and the good for nothing son-in-law Hugo are all waiting when it arrives . A wonderful , beautifully shaped , Christmas fir . The tree firmly strapped to the top of the greengrocers small white Citroen van . Madame Bay beams . The baby Bays gurgle. A most perfect tree .

One tiny problem . The height. It's at least five metres tall . While Sandrine and the children head to the warmth of the kitchen Madame Bay reprimands the greengrocer - '' Quatre metres Monsieur ! Quatre " . Amid much arm waving and huffing blame is firmly apportioned . The greengrocer shrugs his shoulders. Monsieur Bay is sent to retrieve a saw from the boot of the car . Then under the ever watchful eye of our saintly septaguenarian Hugo cuts half a metre from the top and half a metre from the bottom . Height problem solved .

Finally a rope is carefully knotted around the lower branches . The other end thrown up to a first floor window . Five minutes of tugging by Angus , pushing by Hugo , a few intemperate words from Madame Bay , a maelstrom of pine needles and swaying branches and voila the tree is safely ensconced in its stand . Christmas one step nearer.

Wilf sits by the fire listening . The second Christmas he can't see what's going on . He never complains . Old PON's instinctively know that " well done is better than well said ".

The storm .

2011-12-17T05:46:00.011+01:00

A second day of strong wind and driving rain . Just like Scotland but warmer. The Atlantic storm that's been pounding the coast has worked its way inland. Despite the weather four municipal workmen show up to erect a bus shelter . This is surprising. Two years here and we've never seen a bus. It seems the mayor is determined to spend what remains of his budget before the end of the year .

Wilfs in a good place. While the gale rages outside he spends his day avoiding Madame Bay and sleeping, curled up, by the fire. We venture out in the morning and again in the evening during lulls in the storm . There's something calming about these gentle unhurried routines with a family dog . It's as if old PON's know '' the quieter you become the more you can hear " .

The new lights .

2011-12-16T07:06:00.014+01:00

The font returns. Wilf does his silent ' I'm so happy I don't know what to do ' dance . Overcome with joy he then falls sound asleep by the front door until dinner time .

Yesterdays storm has dislodged a roof tile. ' The font ' discovers a small but insistent avalanche of rain water trickling down one of the newly rendered bedroom walls. Angus is despatched into the attic to deal with it. By the time he gets there the rain has stopped .

A parcel arrives from the little French chocolate firm we buy from at Christmas . Inside a handwritten note saying that they'd charged too much for postage . '' Would we mind accepting three bars of dark chocolate in lieu of a refund ? " . Somehow charming to think there are still family firms that worry about such niceties. Most would have kept quiet and happily pocketed the difference .

Still no Christmas tree but the house is slowly becoming 'Swedenised ' in time for the holidays. Three little vases with 'red berry' arrangements suddenly appear on the drawing room mantlepiece. The wreaths can't be far behind .

Workmen arrive to instal four new street lamps . Is there a competition amongst French villages over who has the most lights ? There are eight houses in the village, one church ( disused ) and a village hall . As of today we have fourteen lamp posts . ' The font ' thinks the mayor is spending the money remaining in his budget before the end of the year. On our pre-breakfast walk Wilf carefully christens the base of each of the new additions. Christmas cheer PON style.

A plural concept.

2011-12-15T05:50:00.018+01:00

Driving rain and storm force winds. Wilf wanders out for a pit stop and returns looking like the dog who's never been groomed in his life . Sodden and blow dried at one and the same time . While the gale rages around us the old trooper opts for a lengthy doze.

Late afternoon . Four firemen in full uniform arrive at the front door. Wilf wakes from his slumbers and barks at them half heartedly. They've come to sell their Christmas calendar. I give them €25 . Best to keep on the right side of the emergency services . Why they need to come as a team is a mystery of French life .

The firefighters seem to be in no rush to leave so I ask them if they would like a Christmas drink . They most certainly would. An hour and a half later it's evident that ' Christmas drink ' in France is a plural concept. Wilf settles down in front of the fire , the centre of attention. Our governments may be at loggerheads but some , most , aspects of Franco-British relations are thriving.

Wilf demonstrates his Christmas skill .

2011-12-14T06:42:00.008+01:00

To every nursery within a fifteen kilometre radius . We're looking for a four or five metre tall tree . Last year they were ten a penny. This year nothing. The largest to be found a spindly specimen less than two metres high. We return home empty handed . I'm frustrated at the lack of progress but Wilf has rather enjoyed himself. His day spent wandering , nose down, deep in canine reverie , past row upon row of Christmas trees . He'll stop occasionally to lift a leg and impart a little festive spirit, PON style , to the proceedings . A satisfied ' aim like that takes real skill ' look etched on his face .

'' The font '' heads off to London while it's still dark to see ' granny font ' . By the time Wilf and yours truly navigate our way back from the airport it's just beginning to get light . We park the car down by the river . Not a soul to be seen . A herd of eight deer emerge from the woodland thirty metres away and look at us quizically. They don't seem particularly alarmed . Wilf stands silently in the middle of the road, four legs rooted to the spot, his good nostril pointed towards them . The excitement of an early morning walk .

Into town for the family fellows illicit half croissant . Outside the greengrocers, in a wooden box, what I take to be a melon. The owner explains that it's not a melon. However, he speaks very quickly and in the strong local 'Oc' accent so I'm no closer to knowing what it is .

Love indeed.

2011-12-13T04:45:00.018+01:00

A cold and blustery Sunday afternoon in London . Carols in Westminster Abbey . I get a seat next to David Livingstone or more precisely his tomb . The inscription : " His body carried home across land and sea by loving hands " makes me wonder what state it must have been in by the time it got here from the Limpopo. Love indeed .

Outside parliament two hundred ever so slightly tipsy American pharmaceutical salesmen . All of them dressed up as identical Father Christmases . The Police look on with studied indifference . Having taken photos of Big Ben the salesmen head off in a convoy of double decker buses. The slurred sound of ' Do you hear what I hear ? ' filling the evening air .

An early dinner with serious Manhattanites in dark suits . Thirty minutes trying to interpret the complicated and subtle before the coffee is served . The New Yorkers have brought their wives with them . The lady opposite me a dead ringer for the actress in that 1960's series about a wiggely nosed witch married to an advertising executive .

Wilf has been busy. A trip to the Sunday bread market, slivers of lip smackingly tasty trout for lunch followed by a long slow walk down by the river . He sleeps solidly through until he's loaded into the back of the car and is brought to the airport to meet me. Today we shall go to choose the Christmas tree. For Wilf a once a year chance to christen tree trunks at the garden centre .

Wilfs Monday morning PONder.

2011-12-11T07:39:00.005+01:00

'' Faith is taking the first step , even when you don't see the whole staircase ".

Doctor or tax man ?

2011-12-11T07:07:00.008+01:00

Back on the first flight . At four thirty the airport eerily quiet . That strange , tiring, harsh neon light that you only find in large public spaces before dawn . For once I don't set off the security systems .

Home in time to pick up Wilf and take him down to town for his morning constitutional. I'm still in a suit and tie .This seems to slightly alarm the track suit wearing beer and absinthe set who look at me in much the same way as they might look at a doctor or a tax inspector . Wilf still gets his half croissant.

Swedish cuisine time .

2011-12-10T05:31:00.016+01:00

The security staff at Toulouse airport stop Angus for enhanced screening. They always stop Angus for enhanced screening. A 100% hit rate . Perhaps if he wore a ' Death to America ' t-shirt instead of a suit and tie things might proceed more smoothly. He sensibly keeps this thought to himself as the doughnut shaped wand of shame is brought out and waved over him . Age has taught Angus that humour and airport security staff are best kept well separated . The gentleman with the peroxide perm , the diamond nose stud and the doughnut wand seems particularly humourless . " It's for your own protection and that of other passengers " he informs me with a curtness honed by extreme boredom. Was life always ruled by people with authority but no responsibility?

Wilf has none of these worries. In my absence it's Swedish cuisine time . Fish, fish and more fish . Some of it air dried . Riz au homard for lunch , filet de bar roti au parme et aux figues for dinner . A little mackerel with his kibbles. A late morning walk round the Friday market with ' the font '. A sliver of goats cheese from the lady at the fromagerie . Afterwards ample opportunity to christen a few car tyres . Tired out and full , he sleeps uninterruptedly through the night . As old PON's instinctively know : " Arrange whatever pieces come your way " .

A pre-breakfast tincture .

2011-12-09T05:12:00.017+01:00

Seven thirty am . Amid a crashing of gears and a beep-beep of its asthmatic horn Madame Bay and her gold metallic ' Wild Child ' voiturette arrive at the front door . This morning our saintly cleaning lady is dressed in pulse quickening orange and purple . The tout ensemble crowned by a paisley patterned turban and a cascade of lemon chiffon .

This jarring vision of loveliness is the cue for Wilf and Angus to head off to the little cafe under the arcades . While the family fellow savours his half croissant , Angus reads the paper . Overnight there's been yet another European Union summit so the headlines are full of unseasonal doom and gloom. This is intermixed with a healthy dose of Anglo-Saxon bashing . The failure to reach agreement blamed on '' our friends the British " . A phrase liberally spread across the pages with relished bile. For a moment Angus thinks of joining the beer and absinthe set in a pre-breakfast tincture .

Dogs of course are untroubled by such things . They have an attitude to life that asks : " Will this matter tomorrow ? " .

Less is more .

2011-12-08T06:45:00.010+01:00

The Christmas decorations have gone up in the little market town . Swathes and swathes of fairy lights strung the length of the main street , round the market hall , between balconies and across every facade. Even the two old walnut trees outside the church door have succumbed to the manic municipal decorator - each limb painstakingly swaddled in twinkling lights . Studio 54 meets deepest France Profonde . ' Less is more ' not a concept that has hit Tarn-et-Garonne .

Wilf spends most of his day in the kitchen patiently advising ' the font ' on short crust pastry . In between times he dozes . The recent ' unpleasantness ' completely forgotten . Last night he sleeps uninterruptedly from eleven to six thirty. Much needed rest for dog .. and owners . This morning he is primed and ready to head off to join the beer and absinthe crowd and be rewarded with his illicit half croissant by the laughing waitress.

Success .

2011-12-07T01:08:00.014+01:00

Huge improvements . Only up twice in the night. At one and again at four. This morning Wilf joins me on the bakery run . The first time since Saturday. The routine at the cafe, complete with illicit croissant and hair tousling , enjoyed by dog, waitress, and the beer and absinthe crowd . Despite the driving rain he's keen to stop on our journey home and go for a slow mud spattered walk down by the river .

There is something episodic and repetitive about these bad days . We enjoy six or seven trouble free, fun filled weeks. Then eight or nine days where his routine subtly changes ( dog owners will understand the sub-plot in that statement ) and then two, this time three , nights where he simply can't settle. Manic drinking, hourly pit stops , panicked ' Where are you ? ' type barks when he gets lost on his confused midnight wanderings through the house . The cycles are so far apart that it's difficult to recognize them but this was the third, possibly fourth, of these ' moments ' . Rather than be triggered by stress or diet they seem to have some mechanical cause.

Normal service is now resumed and Wilf will be spending his day in the kitchen helping 'the font ' make Mince Pies and the Christmas Pudding . He's already taken up his spot in front of the range . For dogs and for humans alike " Success is largely a matter of hanging on after others let go ".

Wilfs Tuesday morning PONder .

2011-12-04T08:18:00.005+01:00

Another very difficult night but this morning he's sitting at the foot of the stairs wanting his breakfast.

As old PONs instinctively understand : He who knows he has enough is rich .

Wilfs Monday Morning PONder.

2011-12-04T08:10:00.003+01:00

In acceptance , there is peace .

An unshakeable philosophy .

2011-12-04T06:05:00.007+01:00

The little medieval building on the corner of the market square is being converted into flats . For half a millenium it had been a hostel for pilgrims en route to Campostella . Then it became the town butchers . Then the butchers daughters inherited it and left it empty. Angus briefly thought of turning it into a restaurant . Now the municipality has bought it and is ripping out all the original features . The top floor has already lost its eighteenth century shutters . A row of square , uniform , double glazed windows taking their place . Not all renovations are sensitively done .

For the most part the Christmas Fair was a great success . The exception being the 'atelier lettre au pere Noel '. By eleven am the old farmer had already managed to down half a dozen drinks . By lunchtime he was positively ' flying ' . At twelve thirty part of his grotto roof collapsed much to the alarm of various three year olds and their parents . The last sighting of him was at one fifteen staggering in the general direction of home . He failed to return .

Wilf has his head washed under the shower this morning . Three large lesions have appeared overnight . How can melanomas possibly grow so quickly ? He takes this invasion of his privacy with as much good grace as he can muster . We'll keep an eye on his breathing this week . Definitely a bit rougher. The vet told us to watch out for signs that the cancer might be spreading to the other nostril . Through it all the old fellow continues to enjoy himself. That unshakeable PON philosophy " Life is full of challenges . Being happy shouldn't be one of them " .

Irresistible.

2011-12-03T06:57:00.013+01:00

The day of the village Marche de Noel . For the last two weeks a large cut out Father Christmas has decorated the road side windows of the salle des fetes. '' Venez nombreux . Je serais la " the sign declaims somewhat hopefully . Underneath a list of the attractions : ' Tombola in aid of the Red Cross . Numerous exhibitors . Grotto . Snacks ' . Irresistible .

First light and there's already quite a crowd gathered outside the village hall . The oversexed ladies from the art class waiting by one door, Madame Bay and the ladies from the Beautiful Byeways committee by another . The old farmer , already dressed in his Father Christmas outfit , deep in conversation with the mayors wife . All patiently waiting for the mayor who has forgotten the keys and has had to drive back home to get them . A breezy ' Bonjour M'Ongoose. Bonjour Wilfee ' chorus as we pass.

Saturday morning in deepest France Profonde . Wilf may get a sliver of Madame Bays anchovy , pineapple , ground beef and goats cheese pizza for lunch .

A loving heart.

2011-12-02T02:50:00.024+01:00

Out early for our morning walk. The folds between the hills still wrapped in mist and shadow. As we turn off the ridge a huge low flying owl brushes my cheek with the tips of its wings. My heart misses a beat . Not a car to be seen, not a sound to be heard . Just a Scotsman talking away to what seems to be a small , very slow moving polar bear . Friday morning rush hour in deepest Tarn-et-Garonne .

The sun is up by the time we get home . Madame Bay has recovered from her bout of the flu and is already hoovering happily away to the sounds of Petula Clarks 'Downtown ' . Today our saintly housekeeper is dressed in hide cowboy boots, jeans , a white nylon jacket and a paisley patterned turban fastened at the front by a large piece of red costume jewellery . For some reason she is also wearing a pair of sunglasses . Some questions are best left unasked .

Two in the morning . Wilf wanders into the dressing room , crashing into a table as he arrives . I get up and lead him downstairs . He stands in the hallway by the open front door , a look on his face that says " Why in heavens name would I want to go outside ? Week by week the confusion becoming more pronounced. So what ? Even the bravest dog sometimes needs reassurance when the world suddenly turns dark . Time to sit and have a mano a mano . A quick tickle under the chin , a few words of praise and he's soon sound asleep again. That old PON certainty - a loving heart is the truest wisdom.

Time for everything.

2011-12-01T01:46:00.005+01:00

The fog has finally lifted . This morning we're greeted by blue skies and bright sunshine . Perfect weather for an old , blind Polish Lowland Sheepdog to explore the riverbank . Kingfishers , finches and wrens darting round him as he feels his way carefully , paw by paw, through the shallow water. The old fellow exudes quiet canine contentment . Mud and scents . What better start to a day ? No reason to hurry him along .

It's late by the time we make it to the bakers. Croissants all gone . The pre-breakfast beer and absinthe crowd now sunning themselves on the bench outside the town hall. Their places at the cafe taken by young mothers and a noisy gaggle of pre-schoolers . Wilf settles down under the table with his bowl of water and regulation piece of croissant . The waitress laughs. The pre-schoolers wave at him . He concentrates on his croissant .

To the greengrocers on our way back to the car . The first of the seasons Corsican tangerines . Fresh and juicy . The owners wife tries to interest me in the Kakis that have been delivered that morning . I never know what people do with them . Wilf sits on the pavement while we talk . As old PON's know : 'There is time for everything '.

Bordering on the bizarre.

2011-11-30T03:49:00.016+01:00

Monsieur Le Comte and the Chatelaine were in fine form . She in her best Miss Jean Brody outfit complete with stout walking shoes and opaque stockings. He in a most bizarre high necked purple cardigan fastened by toggles and a belt . Together with his cravat and monocle this gave him the slightly louche air of an Upper East Side ladies hairdresser . A reminder that once outside Paris French dress sense can border on the bizarre .

Lunch served at a table that could seat at least twenty but which had been laid for four. One setting at each point of the compass. A small log crackling, half heartedly, in the grate. The walls of the dining room covered with portraits of ancestors. Most of whom seem to have died fighting the English in horrifyingly gruesome ways. '' Our countries histories are as entwined as those of Siamese twins " I say , diplomatically . Our host looks at me strangely . "Mushroom soup ( ' the font ' thought it was pumpkin ), chicken chasseur, followed by roquefort and celery. Through it all the chatelaines six Pekingese retain an aristocratic indifference to Wilf . Not that he's bothered . He settles down under the table and is soon asleep on his back , snoring loudly .

Home to find the chimney sweep waiting in the courtyard . He was due to come next week but decided , unilaterally , to come early . " I knew you'd not gone away " he says by way of explanation . The mysteries of the French tradesmans psyche.

On our evening walk with Wilf we discover that a portion of the garden wall has started to lean alarmingly . Time to phone the builder. Again .

Avoiding blancmange.

2011-11-29T02:22:00.017+01:00

A lunch invitation from the local grandees . This will give us a chance to see inside their chateau . A great ancient stone blob of a thing set on a little mound beside the river . No towers, no ornamentation , no side wings , no outbuildings , no garden. Just an enormous oversized square punctuated by permanently closed shutters . Castle Gloom beckons .

'' The font '' being a social animal is looking forward to lunch . Angus , having briefly met the owners is less sure . The chatelaine a woman in her early sixties with stout walking shoes , red stockings and her hair in a bun . He rather older with a cravat , jeans , a blazer and a monocle . '' The font '' has visions of great finesse and luxury . Yours truly is betting on austerity - a lunch of tepid minestrone , chewy beef and one of those rennet based milk puddings . The dining room probably heated to near arctic temperatures .

With Wilf to the bakers. I chose the largest fresh cream cake and an advent calendar. The cream cake shall be taken , together with a bottle of wine , as a lunchtime gift . That way there might be a chance of avoiding blancmange . Wilf , after a grooming , will be joining us on this expedition .

Never stop exploring.

2011-11-28T06:41:00.009+01:00

Up here on the ridge a third morning of thick, wet, impenetrable fog . A real pea souper . What east coast Scots would recognize as a haar .

Our morning routine . Croissants and baguette from the baker , coffee and bowl of water at the cafe . A trill of ' Bonjour Wilfee's ' from the early morning beer and absinthe brigade . The waitress laughs as she slips Wilf an illicit , and now routine , treat . I look down to see two paws, the tip of one large black nose and the illicit half croissant poking out from under the tablecloth .

On our way home there's time for a quick walk down by the stream . The sky brighter down here in the valley. The young calves and their mothers slowly wander over from the far side of the field to see us. They stand and stare . The young males inquisitive and hoping for food . Wilf ploughs along the verges , nose down , completely oblivious to his gathering audience . Old PONs never stop exploring .

Beyond redemption .

2011-11-27T06:40:00.014+01:00

Wilf comes back in from his early morning saunter in the fog . His hair contorted into a series of disobedient wisps by the damp . Not so much a bad hair day more a frightful , beyond redemption hair day .

Magret de canard au raisin frais et basilic and tatin de navets a l'orange for lunch . The old fellow positions himself on the floor of the kitchen ready to offer ' the font ' his moral support . He's soon asleep , snoring gently . Wilf knows that it doesn't matter how slowly you go as long as you don't stop .

This afternoon Wilf and Angus will be off to watch the rugby while ' the font ' goes to see a movie called ' Twilight '. This apparently is about vampires and has been a sell out at the little local cinema .

A large pile of earth .

2011-11-26T07:00:00.019+01:00

Thick Dickensian fog . The sort that drips like rain from the trees and eddies round the street lights . By the time we get to the ' big ' supermarket the visibility is finally starting to improve and an increasingly impatient Wilf is raring to go . Despite being blind and having only one functioning nostril there is nothing he enjoys more than a leisurely saunter across a car park. To humans just another parking lot. To an old dog a Bodleian Library of scents and impending adventures.

' The font ' shops while Wilf and yours truly slowly navigate our way past Renaults and Peugeots and Citroens . The old fellow carefully attends to all four tyres on a very large and very new silver Mercedes SUV . The model of canine concentration . Contentment PON style .

Home to find that someone has unexpectedly dumped a large pile of earth on the pathway in front of the house . Have the gardeners returned ? Are they about to start filling in the holes ? Why In France does no one ever telephone to tell you what they plan to do ? Why do they never call to find out if you'll be at home ? The mysteries of living in another country . The family fellow finds the wet soil tantalizing . He is quickly escorted to the kitchen .

As Wilf might say : '' Never regret anything because at one time it was exactly what you wanted " .

Ellio - the bad tempered alpaca .

2011-11-25T06:42:00.007+01:00

Aude , the decaratrice , has finally finished . The bedrooms all freshly redecorated in time for Christmas . After lunch she packs up her scaffolding, takes her cheque and disappears off to deal with an unruly Alpaca . It seems that the eleven females in the recently acquired herd are gentle things. By contrast the sole male , Ellio , is a bad tempered grouch much giving to eating the rose bushes , baring his teeth and spitting . Today, he's escaped from his pen and is grazing on the flower beds . From the drawn look on Aude's face I can't help but feel that the womens cooperative are singularly ill prepared to deal with the arrival of this solitary male presence in their midst.

The Christmas decorations have gone up in the local supermarket . To be more precise a wooden garden shed has appeared in the aisle between the books and the electrical equipment . Some creative soul has liberally scattered soft toys , wrapping paper and tinsel around it to give the thing a festive feel . Despite their best efforts it still looks like a garden shed . No need for Macys to worry just yet.

The foreign foods section is much depleted . No Carrs Water Biscuits . No Jacobs Cream Crackers . In fact foreign culinary exotica is reduced to a pack of Oreos, a can of treacle and a couple of bottles each of Sarsons Vinegar and Lea and Perrins sauce . Perhaps the staff have been too busy erecting the garden shed to bother about restocking the shelves ?.

The weather is finally due to change . Today bright sunshine and blue skies . Tomorrow thick fog and plummeting temperatures are forecast .Wilf spends most of his day on the front doorstep soaking up the rays . He stirs himself to bark at the post lady before turning on his back to continue his nap. The hectic life of an old PON .

I will return !

2011-11-24T05:51:00.014+01:00

Off bright and early to buy the breakfast croissants in the little market town . Another sunny, cloudless day . Can winter be far behind ? There is a garlic buyers convention in the Salle Polyvalente and by the time we get to the boulangerie all the croissants have gone . The same story in the cafe under the arcades . Somehow half a rather battered looking croissant is found for Wilf . In return the waitress receives a lick .

Home to find Madame Bay sitting at the end of the kitchen table talking animatedly to 'the font '. Madame Bay is nursing a large cup of coffee in one hand and a slice of heavily buttered toast in the other . She sees me , puts down her coffee , then holds up her hand , palm forward traffic policeman style and says " M'Ongoose, M'Ongoose Le Rhume ! Le Rhume ! ". I look bemused . She then moves her hand to her brow and repeats this incantation. An involuntary image of Maggie Smith in Downton Abbey , in a turban , flits through my mind . It seems that our saintly septaguenarian has had the flu and wants me to stay well clear. She announces that she will return when ' I am recovered and not before '. With that , and a derogatory comment about all the dust Aude is making , she goes.

Wilf settles down in the hallway with his stuffed penguin. There was a time when a toy like this would have been shredded within five seconds but these days he's happy to use it as a chin rest . The old fellows Thanksgiving Day PONder ? You can't buy happiness but you can buy coconut ice cream .

Well , only the one !

2011-11-23T00:36:00.018+01:00

Seven o'clock on the dot . There's a beep of a car horn as the mayor pulls up at the front gate in his battered , once blue , now much resprayed , Renault Megane . '' Bonsoir M'Ongoose . I was just passing " he shouts out cheerily. His face lights up when offered a glass of champagne . '' No, no I shouldn't . Well only the one . It's been a long day " he says, sprinting up the stairs to the drawing room with a surprising degree of agility for man well into his seventies.

Three glasses of champagne and an invitation to the village finance committee meeting later, he goes . It seems that our local Member of Parliament is coming to the village to discuss funding for the restoration of the church and its frescoes . '' We were wondering if you could look over the proposal for us ? " . ' The font ' says I'd be delighted to . Angus is less sure . As the mayor leaves he turns to me and says " You do know that our MP's a Radical Socialist ". As the mayor drives off Angus is left standing in the lane wondering what this little nugget of information could possibly mean .

Through it all Wilf sits in the downstairs hallway happily playing with a squeaky penguin . Old PON wisdom : - " Just remember , once you're over the hill you begin to pick up speed " .

Next week ?

2011-11-22T06:33:00.014+01:00

After six days of adventures and misadventures the cheery gardeners finally go . They promise to come back ' soon ' to reseed the lawn where the burst water main washed away the grass . '' Next week ? " I ask hopefully . In return I get a Gallic shrug of the shoulders and a smile .

Upstairs , Aude , the decaratrice , continues to paint the bedroom walls. She may be finished by Friday . Before she goes for the day she has a long , overly technical , conversation with me about solvent based undercoats . My French is up to understanding maybe half of what she says . Something about wet plaster discolouring the lime render . I make occasional non-commital glottal noises to show I'm listening.

Wilf listens to the days comings and goings from his cosy spot by the front door . As old PON's know ' one way to get the most out of life is to treat it as an adventure '.

Before he heads off in his van the youngest of the gardeners surreptitiously gives the family fellow half a croissant . This is gratefully received .

A dogs gift.

2011-11-21T05:47:00.009+01:00

That great rarity - a day without builders, decorators , plumbers or gardeners. Incredibly , no Madame Bay, no mayor , no head banging Goths . After a leisurely post-breakfast saunter through the village Wilf settles down on the doorstep for a restorative nap . He resurfaces two hours later . It's a warm day . While I set up the lunch table on the terrace the family fellow wanders into the kitchen to give ' the font ' his advice on cooking . Creme de Potimarron et lard croustillant, Magret a l'Orange et riz complet, finally Cake au poires et gingembre . He gets some tiny shredded slivers of duck with his kibbles . Ginger cake added to that list of 'most favoured ' treats . He falls asleep under the table, on his back, snoring gently . I'd swear there's a smile on his face .

He's been a little more confused this past week . Two or three times a day he walks into a room and immediately forgets why he's there . We find him standing staring blindly at walls or back of chairs . He'll stand like that for ten or fifteen minutes , his mind in neutral . Other than that he's in a sweet spot . Energy for three walks a day , a hearty appetite , interest in what's going on around him . Eyes and gums still healthy , a sense of mischief as he blusters noisily through the fallen leaves. . Constant laughter - a dogs gift to his family.

PS - A special early Thanksgiving week thank you to Pamela and Edward at the wonderful www.fromthehouseofedward.blogspot.com blog.

Molten or Molton ?

2011-11-20T06:44:00.018+01:00

A smart oceanside hotel In Santa Barbara sends an e-mail suggesting we come and stay with them for Christmas. The gushing marketing missive ends with the words " and you can't grumble at Molten Brown smellies ! " . ' Oh yes you can ' thinks Angus . ' The font ' tells me they probably mean Molton Brown toiletries .

The night of the Black Sabbath meets Dire Straits concert in the village hall . The band made up of four , thirty something , head banging , Goths . Two Dutch, two French .The lead singer alarmingly hyperactive in yellow velvetine trousers and black morning coat. In between songs they revive themselves with chili con carne eaten off plastic plates . Dire indeed. We return home after ten minutes. Wilf greets us as if we've been away for a month.

Quite simply right .

2011-11-19T06:27:00.009+01:00

Another warm sunny day . Wilf spends the better part of it on the front doorstep , dozing contentedly in the autumnal warmth . Builders, gardeners, decaratrice all ignored . This habit of falling asleep on his back and snoring is a new thing . Perhaps it relieves some internal discomfort . Whatever the reason , the old fellows undercarriage is getting a good and much needed airing .

Progress in the house. Aude , the decaratrice , has nearly finised applying the lime render to the first of the bedrooms. The lime finish subtly changes its tone and colour with the light . This is the way the walls and woodwork would have been finished when the house was put up three hundred years ago . It's quite simply right . We shall not use paint again .

Two old dogs .

2011-11-18T06:42:00.017+01:00

' The font ' returns . Wilf is so overcome with relief he doesn't even bark . Instead he trembles with joy . A tail wag which starts at the tip of his nose and soon takes over the rest of his body .

Oliver , the labrador , continues to lie on the widows doorstep waiting for his master to come home . It's more than a year now since the old man died and still he waits . The local farmers all stop their vans to say hello . Each time Oliver sits up , wags his tail, and then settles down again . A patient '' I know I'll see him soon " look on his face.

Just two old dogs but the same irrepressible love.

The art of being wise .

2011-11-17T06:56:00.013+01:00

The gardeners arrive bright and early to carry on with the landscaping . This time they bring a new toy - a pneumatic drill .The plumber and electrician arrive shortly after to put right what the gardeners had destroyed the day before . Wilf gives the gathered multitude a quick ' don't forget I'm here ' bark and then settles down for a long sleep in the orchard .

By lunchtime the new cypress trees along the drive have been planted . Even better - the impromptu lake on the lawn has largely drained away and the electrical system is once again safe . The family fellow treads warily across the waterlogged turf en route to christening the excavator .

'' The font '' has sensibly headed off to the UK on the first flight of the morning for ' granny fonts ' ninety third birthday . Upstairs , Aude, the bi-polar decaratrice , has started to put the lime render on the bedroom walls . She chats happily away to herselves .

Angus spends his day in fearful anticipation of what disaster might come next. Whatever comes next certainly isn't the third DHL parcel which remains elusive . The French tracking centre completely uninterested in its whereabouts . ' Maybe tomorrow ' the default reponse .

As Wilf might say : " the art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook " .

A typical Tuesday .

2011-11-16T03:19:00.013+01:00

08.00 : The gardeners arrive .
09.27 : They start using the mechanical excavator .
11.05 : They sever the water main . A lake quickly forms in the garden .
11.16 : We find the stopcock . The lake stops growing .
Noon : The gardeners leave for lunch .
13.39 : They return .
14.42 : They sever the main electrical cable .
14.43 : 'The font ' comes into the garden to tell me the power is off.
14.44 : Aude the decaratrice does the same.
14.45 : Angus thanks everyone for informing him of the obvious .
14.47 : The gendarmes arrive to find out why the security alarm is ringing.
14.49 : One of the DHL parcels arrives .
14.56 : Satisfied I'm not a burglar the gendarmes depart .
15.51 : Electricity is restored to the house .
16.28 : The gardeners snag the wire leading to the barn . The fuses trip .
16.36 : Power once again restored
17.12 : A second DHL parcel arrives
18.00 : The gardeners go .
18.01 : Angus opens a bottle of wine .

Through it all Wilf sits outside the front door dozing . That old PON ethos of only worrying about the things he can change and not bothering about the rest . This is not an ethos ' the font ' seems to share .

It's your job !

2011-11-15T06:43:00.016+01:00

Monday spent waiting patiently at home for three DHL packages to arrive from London. They don't show up . The young woman at DHL France particularly unhelpful : '' How should I know when they'll arrive ? ". Angus can think of many things to say in response to this but settles for a lame ' because it's your job to ! '. An altogether more helpful person at DHL UK thinks they might come today or tomorrow . At least someone in that organisation understands what the ' help' in ' helpline ' is for . Angus and the family fellow go off for a long sunset walk down by the stream . Wilf takes a nap mid-route.

Aude , the decaratrice , has returned . She's spent the last week learning how to operate her new hand loom. From the fact that she's wearing dungarees and a t-shirt it can be assumed that progress on the alpaca weaving front is slow .

Wilf is let out into the garden for an early morning, pre-croissant , pit stop. In the half darkness I can make out the outlines of a small white mechanical excavator . Wilf christens it's tracks . Over breakfast it is clearly established that neither ' the font ' nor yours truly know when it was delivered , who delivered it and what it's for . How it got in through the gates without us hearing is a mystery . Plumber, builder, gardener , septic tank engineer, dropped off by mistake ? Watch this space .

Sunday contentment .

2011-11-14T02:26:00.008+01:00

Up at 2.23 am to let Wilf out for a pit stop. The smell poltergeist in the rickety old farmhouse is hard at work . The upstairs corridor like a pine forest after it's rained. An almost identical smell to that expensive dark green bath gel they used to make . I spend ten minutes trying to remember the name of the bath gel before falling asleep again .

Pumpkin soup and cheese for lunch . Some coconout ice cream for Wilf after his kibbles. Wilf licks his lips in delight . '' The font '' goes off to see the Spielberg ' Tintin ' movie at the new picture house . It starts fifteen minutes late because there is a queue for popcorn . Wilf and yours truly go to support the local rugby team . At half time we wander out into the car park . Wilf christens the tyres of the visiting teams coach . I'm sure there's a look of quiet satisfaction on his face when we go back to our seats for the second half. After the game is over we find a new lane to wander down .

No hot dog for the family fellow at the rugby ground but as soon as we're home he settles down in the kitchen to provide technical guidance . Langoustines , orange et tagliatelles de legumes followed by Daurade a la Phoceenne . The preparation of both dishes carefully monitored . A tiny amount of human food with his dinner and he's happy .

Canine theatre .

2011-11-13T06:52:00.020+01:00

Wilf's in a sweet spot. A bit more confused this week but otherwise full of vim and vigour . The weather helps . Warm and bright . Nothing to trouble old arthritic joints or tumours . Yesterday as the sun sets he treads on a nettle . Paw held up in that overly theatrical " only a sausage can dull the pain " dog type way . With no sausage forthcoming he settles down on the tarmac and falls asleep. He's soon snoring . For the second time in as many days the chauffeur is called to come and collect us . While we wait for the car the sun brushes his coat and he glows brilliant white . Maybe when he's asleep he dreams of being swift and beautiful again .

I'm glad . So is Wilf .

2011-11-12T06:50:00.007+01:00

The ceremony is due to start at 11.15 but the mayor has mislaid the official speech sent by the prefecture . His wife fusses and hauls it out of the inside pocket of his blazer . He shrugs his shoulders, smiles sheepishly and sighs. She straightens his tie . We start at 11.20.

Three village toddlers , holding hands , lay a wreath . Underwhelmed , the littlest one sits on the memorials bottom step , finger in mouth, chuckling happily . A harried mother picks her up and tucks her , uncomplaining , under an arm . The mayor reads his speech .

The little lady in the purple hat sings the Marseillaise with a tenderness that makes it more a ballad to a lost love than a martial air . The deputy mayoress dabs her eyes. Our third Armistice Day ceremony in the little village . As we walk home I turn to ' the font ' and say " I'm glad we moved here ".

Wilf seems to agree . On our evening walk he turns on his back and falls sound asleep in the middle of the road . He's soon snoring . I phone ' the font ' to bring out the car and collect us .

11 / 11 / 11 .

2011-11-11T06:53:00.017+01:00

An early start to our day .The mayor rings the bell at seven thirty . He forgot to put the Armistice Day flags up yesterday and is in a tiz . Could I come and help him ? So it is that early morning visitors to the village would see Angus on top of a ladder attaching three French tricolores and a small Republique Francaise crest to the front of the war memorial . At the foot of the ladder the mayor and a bemused small white polar bear stand guard.

On the other side of the village green Madame Bay and Sandrine , her hairdressing daughter , arrive to open up the village hall for the post Armistice ceremony vin d'honneur . Madame Bay is dressed for the occassion in her Dalai Lama outfit . An orange poncho , eau de nil leggings and what from a distance appear to be glittery, purple , high heels . I wave a flag at her . She waves cheerily back . '' Bonjour M'Ongoose. Bonjour Wilfee " .

Friday morning in deepest France Profonde . As Wilf might say : " I make the most of all that comes and the least of all that goes ".

The Christmas Star .

2011-11-10T02:58:00.036+01:00

Summer has returned . Blue skies and warm air. Wilf ploughs purposefully through piles of fallen leaves along the lane . I could swear he's delighted with the noise he makes . Walk finished , he finds himself a cosy spot under the cherry trees in the orchard and sleeps for two hours . The warm grass an old fellows royal throne . At lunchtime he stirs himself to bark at the post lady. '' You've got a parcel from Canada " she says standing at the gate .

Every year we used to have a Christmas card printed that highlighted something that had happened in the prior year. A new house , twelve months without breakages ( never happened ), every day family events involving the Cost Centres . Somehow, between here and Italy we fell out of the habit of doing this . We've now , at last , reinstated the annual tradition . Susan Black ( www.29blackstreet.blogspot.com ) , a very kind and talented artist in Nova Scotia has produced a Christmas scene of two shaggy Polish Lowland Sheepdogs sitting on a hill looking on wonderingly at the Christmas star .

In the background a patchwork of Umbrian mountains and fields . She's even included an olive branch in the bottom left hand corner as a happy memory of Italy . We're really delighted with the result . Funny, tender and festive . Christmas card closure .Who knows ? Next year the card may be of Madame Bay, the old farmers Christmas star, or graduation trips to the States. Perhaps it might even be of Wilf ?

Mischief undimmed .

2011-11-09T06:40:00.008+01:00

Life with an old blind diabetic dog is rather like life with a toddler . Rule #1 : Wherever you go he goes . Rule #2 : Always remember to allow an hour and a half between pitstops .

We've now got into a routine where every afternoon , when its not raining, thirty minutes is set aside to take Wilf somewhere new and different for a walk . Although he can't see anything the opportunity to discover fresh scents and smells keeps him busy and his mind occupied . Yesterday he was lifted into the back of the car and driven five hundred yards to the old farmers vineyard . For a full forty five minutes he wandered down the rows of vines head down , remaining nostril working overtime . The onset of selective deafness when called to get back in the car . It's good to see him like this . Aches and pains forgotten , mischief in play again . Finally home he settled down on my gardening shoes and slept , immovable , for an hour . Happy exhaustion.

Into the local market town with Wilf and ' the font ' to do some shopping . In the small kitchen store a display of rather stylish etched glass bowls. . The owner of the store seemed surprised , and then disbelieving, when the ' font ' points out they were made in England by the Emma Bridgewater company . Style and English apparently incompatible .

Lip smackingly satisfying .

2011-11-08T05:59:00.011+01:00

I'm under the shower half listening to the Radio France early morning phone in . A lady calls. She says ' Bonjour ' then starts to sob. After what must have been thirty seconds she pulls herself together and says 'au revoir '. The presenter also says ' au revoir '. Nothing more is said . I wonder what that was all about ?

In London a concours of vintage vehicles . The amusing sight of a 1906 De Dion being worked on nonchalantly by the recovery service . The car and its owners treated as if this is just another everyday breakdown. A small , supportive , crowd gathers to watch .

Over breakfast Angus suggests to ' the font ' that we might want to buy a drophead E-type Jaguar. This proposal is listened to in silence before being met with the response " have you seen the weather ? " . True enough last weeks eastern seaboard storms have now made their way across the Atlantic to our little patch of paradise. Grey skies and rain .

Wilf remains in fine form. He's even starting to put weight back on . Ahead a week with no workmen in the house. Aude, the decaratrice , is taking time off to try her new hand loom . It's too wet for the gardeners to show up and the builders seem to have decamped again to the sunny Maldives . Last nights dinner Spaghettini au Homard . From the loud lip smacking it can be assumed that Wilf found the Spaghettini to be highly satisfying .

Constant laughter and softer hearts.

2011-11-07T07:22:00.008+01:00

London at the weekend like a completely different city. Tourists and out of towners giving it a mellower, less frenetic , pace . Manhattan's like that too.

An exhibition of dog paintings at a gallery in St.James's provides welcome shelter fom the rain . A nineteenth century picture of a black labrador stands out. The dog positioned squarely at the centre of the canvas, nothing in the background to distract the eye . Paw forward, the hint of a smile on his face and the feeling that this was a very loved dog .

In the book store Rebecca Wests Black Lamb and Grey Falcon . At long last reprinted . The twentieth centurys greatest novel by a female author ? Certainly the greatest of the 1940's. Possibly the greatest travelogue ever. Good to see it rediscovered .

The New Zealand shop sells bars of imported Cadburys Dairy Milk . Can New Zealand produced chocolate taste any different fom the UK version ? Why pay three times the price ? Why ship it across the world ?The vagueries of marketing .

Wilf is in fine form . A weekend of Swedish cuisine . Lots of mackerel and air dried fish . The stock from moules mariniere poured over his kibbles . This morning Kelly , the hover dog, rushes past us chasing a black cat . The cat leaps over the churchyard wall and disappears . Kelly barks in frustration. Wilf ambles along unaware . Life with an old dog is time of constant laughter , patience and softer hearts.

Shy ?

2011-11-04T07:29:00.008+01:00

Wilf is at the airport waiting . He's upside down, under the cafe table, snoring gently . Shortly after his arrival a waitress, unbidden **, brings him a bowl of water and the major part of a whole wheat croissant . Proof , as far as an old PON is concerned that " life is too short to be shy " .

** On the way home in the car ' the font ' explains that Wilfs idea of unbidden is to sit rock still , facing the gateaux counter , with his nose at a thirty degree angle. After five minutes of sphinx like behaviour any dog loving member of staff gets the message .

Rescheduled.

2011-11-04T07:06:00.010+01:00

A mad dash to the airport. Angus is heading off for a golf weekend . It's one of those blind panic mornings . British Airways changed their flight schedule when the clocks changed . The London flight now leaves an hour earlier . This change in scheduling is only discovered when the boarding pass is printed out .

Wilf is in fine form. He gets toast for breakfast and a quick walk around the village green before being lifted into the back of the car. A good laugh and a long sleep the best cures in the vets book .

Canine imponderable of the day . Why is it that when I blow in Wilfs face he gets all huffy. Yet when he gets in the car the first thing he wants to do is stick his nose out of the window ?

The most affectionate creature in the world.

2011-11-04T06:21:00.008+01:00

It rains all day . Wilf is in one of his ' let's ignore the weather ' moods . In a break in the downpour we head along the lane, down into the valley and back up the curving road that passes alongside the field of ten day old calves . The new mothers glance at us nervously . Every bush, road sign and tuft of grass sniffed and , when needed , christened . By the end of our walk both dog and owner are drenched .

When we get home a sodden Wilf barges through the door and rushes straight into the kitchen . There is roast chicken in the oven . Angus follows along behind with a pile of towels. Faced with 18 kilos of enthusiastic dripping PON ' the font ' wonders out loud why it is that the most affectionate creature in the world is a wet dog ?

The PON golden rule .

2011-11-03T06:42:00.008+01:00

The hottest place in France yesterday . 24 degrees . With the light cloud cover felt more like 30 . Wilf spends his day listening to Angus stacking wood in the barn . Mid-morning , Aude , the decaratrice , arrives with a box of supermarket dog biscuits . A gift from the womens cooperative . A very rare accolade indeed. ' Bonjour Wilfee ' . The family fellow gently takes an orange coloured biscuit from Audes outstreched hand and saunters over to the middle of the courtyard to devour it in peace . The family fellow a strict adherent to the PON golden rule: Sleep til you're hungry, eat til you're sleepy.

Black Sabbath meets Dire Straits .

2011-11-02T06:49:00.006+01:00

Early evening . A man comes to the gate to sell tickets for a concert in the Village Hall. '' It's a Franco-Dutch rock band. Half Black Sabbath , half Dire Straits " he says by way of explanation . He adds , perhaps a little too enthusiastically , " It'll be great fun " . Angus buys two tickets but with the caveat that he can't be absolutely sure we're free the night of the 19th.

Over dinner 'the font ' suddenly looks up and asks " Weren't Dire Straits glam rock ? "

Aude arrives early to replaster the upstairs bedrooms . Madame Bay turns up in her voiturette shortly afterwards. It's a Cat Stevens morning on Radio Nostalgie . Madame Bay doesn't speak English but this doesn't prevent her from singing along , lustily , with each track . In search of peace and quiet Wilf and Angus head off into town .

Wilf gets a small corner of croissant from the lady at the bakers . The family fellow receives it gratefully . Old dogs know that " the winds of grace are always blowing , all you have to do is raise the sail " .

Alpacas

2011-11-01T06:40:00.015+01:00

Air France are on strike . Again . A sure sign that today's a national holiday here in France .

Upstairs Aude is replastering the walls in the bedrooms facing the war memorial . She's working over the holiday to earn money for a new hand loom that's being delivered from Dijon on Friday. It seems that the womens cooperative has recently become the proud owners of a herd of extremely bad tempered alpacas . Their goal is to produce their own clothes . For a moment Angus wonders how a group that wears dungarees and t-shirts can ever hope to clothe themselves. However, ever the politician , he keeps this thought to himself .

Wilf has had a haircut. This has removed most of the honey that had become entangled in his muzzle and ears . The whole procedure took two minutes and was accompanied by a high pitched grumbling . This morning he will be heading off with me in the car to the local supermarket to stock up on Carrs Water Biscuits . For some reason Wilf finds these to be quite irresistible .

First christen, then sleep.

2011-10-31T06:41:00.011+01:00

Wilf goes to the honey museum with ' the font '. He then spends the rest of the morning in the kitchen . Carpaccio de saumon et d' avocat au miel followed by filet mignons de porc marines au miel de chataignier et a l ' orange . Wilfs advice to the chef ? " Maybe just a bit more honey " . Once again the restorative powers of a morning in the kitchen become obvious . After lunch he reluctantly has his face washed . Honey and long haired PONs not a combination made in heaven .

Angus goes out to the supermarket for milk. He returns with foie gras souffles. ' The font ' fails to share his enthusiasm for this local delicacy . They are put in the back of the fridge .

A weekend spent stacking wood. For some reason the wood surgeon has carved a seat out of a piece of the tree trunk . Angus thinks this an odd thing to do. ' The font ' , as ever predisposed to looking on the bright side of things, pronounces it ' surprisingly comfortable ' . Wilf shows what he thinks by christening it and then retiring into the hallway to turn on his back, fall asleep and snore .

Rivers know this

2011-10-30T05:26:00.007+01:00

Wilf spends most of his day in the ordered chaos of my office . While I write he slumbers . Twice he ventures out of the front gate to christen the fire hydrant. A tiring twenty metres there and back . Mid-morning and ' the font ' returns . After a brief display of tail wagging enthusiasm he quickly settles down and falls asleep . The vet thinks maybe there was a problem with the latest batch of insulin . She might be right . In the evening he eats some kibbles and then curls up at the front door for the night. This old fellow is a fighter .

'' Rivers know this : there is no hurry . We shall get there someday ''.

My cooking ?

2011-10-29T07:17:00.007+02:00

A really tough night. Zero interest in breakfast . Too lethargic for a morning walk. New symptoms developing. No croissant run today .

Probably nothing to worry about. Stress over workmen in the house, my cooking, or the absence of ' the font ''. Possibly a combination of all three .

Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

2011-10-28T06:36:00.016+02:00

' The font ' heads off to look after ' granny font '. Wilf and yours truly are left alone . It pours with rain . The tree surgeon doesn't show up so the drive remains blocked by fallen branches. Madame Bay unexpectedly arrives but just as quickly departs . Aude, the bi-polar decaratrice, works for a couple of hours then also leaves. She brings with her another oat crunch from the womens cooperative so Wilf is happy .

We aren't alone for long . Mid-afternoon the mayor comes to look at the fallen oak tree. We have a conversation about grinding out the remains and removing the roots . The conversation is one sided as the mayor speaks quickly and my knowledge of French technical terms for destroying tree stumps is limited . Not that it matters . The mayor finally announces that it's quite impossible to remove and that I should grow roses over it.

Ten to five. The mayor returns with Tweedledum and Tweedledee - the regional archaeologists . They're here to inspect the foundations the builders unearthed while looking for septic tanks in the courtyard . These have now been reburied . Tweedledum says somewhat self-importantly " they should have been left for us to inspect. They might be Roman ". Angus doesn't think it wise to admit that it was he who'd ordered the builders to cover them over . Instead he exclaims "Builders ! ". He then repeats it again for effect . This response seems to work . The two archaeololgists tut, shrug their shoulders, mutter something gallic , announce that ' we'll be back ' and then go .

" What was all that about ? " asks Wilf over dinner . ' Good question Matey ' I reply in between mouthfuls of overcooked beef . Wilf has a little overcooked beef with his kibbles . He settles down and is soon dreamily asleep.

Baked especially

2011-10-27T06:48:00.012+02:00

A Wednesday in France Profonde . Madame Bay is hoovering the upstairs kitchen , Aude the bipolar decaratrice is busy at work replastering the guest bedroom , ' the font ' is at the front gate listening to the mayor explain his plans to instal four new street lights , the tree surgeon is felling what remains of the diseased oak tree and Angus is in the office calling the insurance company ; again . Wilf is very sensibly asleep in the downstairs hallway .

It is clear that Madame Bay is taken with the tree surgeon . Between nine and eleven , no less than three cups of coffee are made and then carried across the courtyard to him . Our saintly septuagenarian manages to spend much of her morning standing , arms folded, chiffon turban blowing in the breeze, watching '' ce jeune homme bien dans sa peau " cavorting in his oak canopy . For my benefit ' the font ' translates this little nugget of wisdom as " he's fit " .

In the afternoon Aude brings Wilf an oat biscuit , baked especially for him , by the womens cooperative . He takes it , eats it carefully, makes sure there are no crumbs left , beams , turns on his back and falls asleep. The stressed daily routine of a family dog .

The squirrel was fine .

2011-10-26T03:35:00.008+02:00

Lunchtime. There is a huge crash from the courtyard , followed by a drawn out whooosh , a house shaking thump and then a tinkling sound as tiles cascade onto the gravel . The tree surgeon , despite reassurances that nothing could possibly go wrong , has managed to get a huge oak branch to land on top of the barn roof . From fifty feet up a shout of " It wasn't supposed to do that ". A little squirrel , shaken but not injured , clambers out of the fallen branch and looks at us . '' The font '' laughs and says ' at least the important things are safe ' . The tree is quite rotten and will need to come down .

An evening walk with Wilf. The air warm, his fur glowing , the fields freshly tilled, farm geese cackling as we pass. He saunters, arthritically, down the lane. I try out an after dinner speech on him . Sometimes he walks ahead, sometimes behind,for the most part at my side . Plenty of time for an unhurried chat . He may be blind but he's strolling in the sunshine , uncomplaining . This wise old PON knows that half an orange tastes just as sweet as a whole one .

Dorothy Parker was right .

2011-10-25T07:18:00.016+02:00

Wilf loves this warm windy weather . At seven o' clock he's waiting for me by the front door ready to head off on the morning croissant run . As I search for the car keys the old fellow turns towards me with an unmistakeable ' get a move on ' look .

To the amusement and amazement of the beer and absinthe crowd we sit at a table outside . Angus is wrapped up against the breeze , red tartan scarf round his neck. . Wilf is lying on the pavement , head into the wind , fur rippling , ears flying upwards in the gale. The water in his bowl has waves on it . He's the very definition of sheepdog happiness . Seeing him sprawled out at my feet the famous Dorothy Parker line comes to mind : " They sicken of the calm who knew the storm ".

The heating has been turned on . Needless to say now the furnace has been started the cold weather has gone and the temperatures have soared . A balmy sixteen degrees this morning and high of twenty six forecast for this afternoon . Wilf is now asleep upstairs , snoring happily away in the super heated hallway . The tree surgeon is due to arrive today to report on how much damage the woodpeckers have done to the old oaks. These gusts hardly ideal conditions for shimmying up trees.

It goes on .

2011-10-24T04:34:00.009+02:00

A case of New Zealand Cloudy Bay Chardonnay proved to be just the right thing for the early morning barbecue . The local farmers expressed amazement that New Zealand produced wine . They then grudgingly admitted that it was 'quite good '. Strong praise indeed for a product that isn't French .

The village hall was full to bursting but the mayor had saved a space for us on the floor right at the front by the wide screen television . So there we sat. Wilf with his chin on my lap. Me, cross legged, with a barely cooked hamburger in one hand and a glass of Chardonnay in the other . I was worried that the lusty singing of the French national anthem might worry the family fellow but he slept through it all . Every so often his nose would twitch in the vain hope that another hamburger was on its way .

This morning the skies are cloudless and blue but the Autan wind is blowing . In Scotland a 70 kilometre an hour wind would be considered inconsequential. Here weather warnings are being broadcast on the radio. Wilf loves the wind. There must be something in a sheepdogs DNA that responds to it . He managed another kilometre walk this morning . Quite something for an arthritic old chap . He has that determined sense of purpose to him that says : " I can summarize everything I've learnt about life in three words - It goes on ".

A busy morning.

2011-10-23T07:09:00.012+02:00

A white van with a boxer dog sitting proudly upright in the passenger seat beeps at us as we turn out of the front gate onto the lane . The driver waves , the boxer turns his head and looks . Eight o'clock on a beautful , soon to be sun drenched , Sunday morning . The farmers, their male offspring ( mothers and female offspring sensibly still in bed ) and their dogs are already starting to congregate at the village hall. The rugby final between New Zealand and France . The local farmers clearly expect to win .

As Wilf and yours truly head off to the stream for our morning walk we can see the mayor , halfway up a ladder , nailing a large red, white and blue sign across the font of the salle des fetes : Nous sommes 65 millions a y croire. I shout out '' The population of the village has gone up a lot ! ". He looks back at me blankly .

Wilf has long walk today. The better part of a kilometre. When he gets tired, as he frequently does, he simply lies down on the road until he's ready to move on . Sometimes he'll turn on his back , point his four paws to the sky and let the sun warm his haunches . I laugh out loud when the sun catches his fur and he seems to briefly glow polar bear white .

On our return the barbecue is glowing outside the door of the village hall kitchen . The first of the sausages ready to be cooked. A line of ravenous five year olds beginning to form . As our contribution to the great day the font has made three large tartiflette au munster et jambon fume .

Wilf is having a short nap before we head across the lane to join our French neighbours , their tractors and their Jack Russells . The match starts at ten . Angus is trying to work out what wine should accompany the tartiflette. '' The font '' is of the opinion that at this time of the morning anything alcoholic would go .