Less motivating .

Good mannered weather . It rains at night but come sun-up it's dry and bright . Wilf able to enjoy his daily saunters across the fields. Perfect growing weather for the local fruit farmers . This morning the greengrocers stall weighed down under punnets of strawberries . The spicy Gariguettes considered a speciality . Another week or so and then they'll be gone . Replaced by fraises rondes , the sort of Strawberries we grew in Scotland .

Sunday . For some reason all the old fellows melanomas decide to play up at the same time . A random event or some common cause ? We debate the pros and cons of giving him another bath . In a short haired dog you could apply a bandage but with Wilf this would be difficult. As always the best solution a long walk to take his mind off the irritation. It works. He comes home and falls into a contented sleep.

'' The font '' is delighted to discover that the graduation ceremony for the Mandarin language course will be held in the Palais de Versailles . Angus reads the entire e-mail and finds out that it will be held in the Palais de Versailles - Conference Centre . Somehow less motivating .

Time for the garden at the Rickety Old Farmhouse to get some attention . It looks like a war zone . The transplanted tree peonies doing well, the areas seeded with grass less so. Loic, the bifocaled gardener , stands, arms folded, watching three hundred finches feasting on the newly sown grass seeds . He presumably thinks it would be futile to chase them off.

The magic word.

Height of the calving season . The #2 vet pops in on her way back from visiting a local farmer . Wilf taken off his stroke medication . He's now down to just two daily insulin injections plus a Cortisone tablet three times a week . The lowest dosage in nearly eighteen months . For the time being everything on hold. The nice young vet gets a restorative glass of champagne.

The smell of roast beef drifts up from the downstairs kitchen . Outside a humdinger of a mountain storm rages . The horizon an arc of lightning flashes . Wilf completely ignores the banging shutters and howling wind . He's got dinner on his mind . Tiny slivers of beef and some potato with his kibbles . Satisfied there's no more food coming his way he settles down at the foot of the stairs and falls into a deep sleep. He's in the very same spot this morning . The magic word ' croissant ' and he's on his feet . Time for our morning trip into the little market town .The power of routine . He gives the waitress his very best " I'm an orphan dog that's never been fed " look . In return an illicit half croissant . A PON won't be rushed .

Pretty Stamps .

A misty start to our Monday morning . I'm just lifting Wilf into the back of the the car when the Post Lady's van arrives with a screech at the front gate . She usually comes at lunchtime but today she's here at the crack of dawn . Wilf barks . '' You've got a parcel from Canada " she shouts out from the drivers seat . '' You don't get much mail from Canada " . Angus makes a mental note that it is quite impossible to keep any secrets in a small French village . The Post Lady pulls on the handbrake and thrusts a large brown envelope out of the window. '' Pretty stamps " , a smile, and the van hurtles off , gravel scattering in her wake.

Susan, the highly talented artist at www.29blackstreet.blogspot.com has sent us some cards from Nova Scotia. Her Christmas design printed up in larger format as a greeting card . The unmistakeable outlines of two PON brothers looking up at the night sky . How thoughful . How unexpected. What a good way to start a new week. A dog blog world where old fashioned courtesy and kindness still rule . I'm still smiling when Wilf gets his half croissant . What was it Churchill said ? ' We make a living by what we get , but we make a life by what we give '.

Better from an Easter Egg ?

The supermarket suddenly full of chocolate Easter bunnies . Their happy little faces stowed floor to ceiling along one aisle . Is Angus alone in thinking chocolate tastes better when it comes from an Easter Egg , or Bunny ? Next to the wine , breathalyzer kits . A new law in France stipulates every driver must have one in their car . Points on the licence, and a fine , if you don't . Angus buys two . Homeward bound, the family fellow joins me at a table at the back of the bar out of the morning sun . Half croissant and a hair tousle . The reassurance of routine.

Safely home , Wilf falls happily asleep. A doze through to lunch followed by a long nap afterwards . A leisurely early evening stroll across the village green to the frog pond . Dinner . A taste of coconut ice cream. Then it's time to turn in for the day .
He's in that very special place only old family dogs inhabit.

1400.

Our 1400th dog post . We hadn't expected to get past 1000 . Wilfs longevity an advert for caring vets and the revitalizing power of coconut ice cream . His 11th birthday next week. Quite a result for a boy given three days to live - eighteen months ago !

Late afternoon . The old widow brings round some goose liver . The regions culinary speciality . '' The font '' prepares it for dinner . Wilf has the smallest of pieces . A very definite " I've died and gone to heaven " look on his face .

28 degrees yesterday . That's 82 for those with an American accent . The hottest place in the country . Eight in the morning and two Jehovahs Witnesses arrive at the front gate . Some quick thinking required . They are surprised to discover a foreigner who only speaks Swedish . Not a word of English . Not a word of French . They finally leave . A small scruffy polar bear barks at them . Angus gets back to watering the geraniums .

Down to the cafe under the arcades for a Sunday pre-breakfast coffee . The clocks moved forward this morning, the air already warm . Wilf lies down under the table . Bowl of water and half croissant soon arrive . He chats to the waitress, yawns and then settles down for a doze. Old PON wisdom . '' If you are irritated by every rub , how will your mirror be polished ? " .

I'm not one to gossip , but .... !

Friday night . A village Committee meeting . The sun just setting as ' the font ' and Wilf set off across the lane to deal with the burning business of the day .

Item 1. Should tubs of ice cream be served at the pottery day ? If so should the ice cream be bought from the cash and carry ( membership €45 per year ) or in the local supermarket ? It's more expensive in the supermarket but you don't have to pay a signing on fee. An hour later , issue unresolved, the mayor decides that the matter will be discussed at the next meeting .

Item 2. The positioning of the solar powered floodlights by the pottery kiln. The lady in the grey Ford estate car shouts across the table to tell the mayors wife that the woman at the horse farm is seeing a lot of the chimney sweep from the neighbouring village . " I'm not one to gossip but his vans always there. Always ! " . Everyone starts to talk at once . End of the formal agenda . The residents of France Profonde have found a subject that really interests them .

Wilf slumbers unconcernedly on . Snoring gently . Occassionally passing wind . Dog and village secretary return home at nine thirty . Dog sleeps. '' The font " has a drink . '' Amazing what people around here do to get their chimneys swept " the comment as we sit down for dinner .

But what is life ?

Despite a strike at Frankfurt airport an uneventful journey . On the flight home across the Alps an exceptionally tall - 6' 7" at least - priest sits next to me . Red buttons on his cassock. Probably a Monsignor. He crosses himself on takeoff and again every time we hit turbulence . It's a rough flight . The Monsignor has a diet Coke. Angus, unnerved by this sacerdotal presence with a fear of flying , has something stronger .

Home to find bright sunshine and Wilf and ' the font ' having lunch at the little restaurant under the arcades. I sit down . Wilf puts his chin on my knee and sighs. Two minutes of reassurance and he's back under the table, asleep again . As the plates are cleared away the old fellow picks himself up and tries to follow the waiter into the kitchen . He's gently reminded we're not at home . In return a '' But what is life if you don't live it ? " look.

Modeling a new style .

A boys day . Pizza at lunchtime . Steak for dinner . Wilf an enthusiastic consumer of both . Late night Coconut ice cream while watching the Sports Channel . Wilf does his best ' is there any more ? ' routine . To bed outrageously late .

Mid morning . Madame Bay arrives in the Wild Child voiturette . She's here to make sure we've survived a night without 'the font ' . Wilf less than enthusiastic about being cuddled by this chiffon clad figure doused in Lily of the Valley. He wanders off grumpily to continue his sleep under the dining table . Madame Bay doesn't stay long . She's going to help her daughter Sandrine do the hair at the old folks home .'' It's quite a treat for them " she says , perhaps just a little too enthusiastically .

Open the door for the family fellows early morning pit stop . Find that overnight the temperatures have plummeted . The cold snap that's brought Europe to a halt has finally made it's way to the South West of France . A decidedly chilly minus six. Tomorrow Angus will be wearing more than a dressing gown and slippers when he lets Wilf out . Wilf of course is energized by the arctic conditions. This is Polish Lowland Sheepdog weather .

The Best a Man Can Get .

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 .

Pine needles.

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 .

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.

Aretha Franklin makes the front page.

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.