Kelly , the hover dog .

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.