'The font' decided to take the last flight from Heathrow to Toulouse rather than spend a second night in London. Home at just shy of midnight. Interestingly,Toulouse airport was crammed full of folks heading back to Tunisia. You'd have thought it would have been the other way round.
From eight o'clock onwards Wilf was positioned on the terrace in readiness. To the untrained eye he was gently dozing. Underneath it all his welcome home radar fully engaged. How could he possibly have known 'the font' was returning ? Was it the tone of my voice ? A change in my behaviour ? The dishwasher hastily filled and the dining table cleared away ? How could he have heard the car when it was still two miles away ? Somethings about dogs are just plain mysterious.
For fully half an hour he sat in front of 'the font' . Immovable. Exuding happiness. That flock reunited joy that is part and parcel of a sheepdogs nature. Was it my imagination or was he really saying : ' thank heavens you're home ! He overcooked the coq au chambertin, destroyed the boeuf braise aux carottes and don't even get me started on what he did to the clafoutis !'
This morning some signs that the tumour is stirring back to life. Breakfast ignored. A trip into town rejected in favour of another hour in his warm cosy bed. Our first 'accident' .