Wilfs Friday morning PONder.

" One who says it can't be done should not interrupt the person doing it ".

The stoic.

Two thirty in the morning . A winter wind rattling the shutters. Wilf is out in the garden for an unscheduled pit stop. It looks like we'll need to up the insulin dosage one more time. Through it all he remains so trusting and uncomplaining. An almost apologetic canine stoicism. ' I'm sorry to bother you but ...'

A Graham Greene quote I can't quite remember. A search in the downstairs library yields nothing. Something along the lines of ' You live until you're thirty and then you remember '. Can't decide whether it contains a hint of truth or is just a piece of trademark cynicism.

Strange what you think about at two thirty. Random memories of teaching at a summer camp in Scranton, Pa. suddenly escape the deep recesses of my mind. They've been kept padlocked there for thirty odd years. Just eighteen and put in charge of a small fleet of shiny silver canoes. Each had an indian name painted carefully in curlicew script on both bow and stern. The management keen to tell me that these were not just any canoes but Grumman canoes. It rained all the time so the aluminium armada remained largely dockbound while the unhappy campers spent their days tie dyeing . Arrived at a rain drenched Wilkes Barre from JFK on Allegheny airlines. What ever became of them? They seemed to have had an unfortunate habit of falling out of the sky. Like Eastern,TWA and PanAm, now part of history. Can Pennsylvania really be as wet as Scotland ?

Family fellow at your service.

Time to take the Christmas tree down. An activity that, despite our best efforts, Wilf became intimately involved in. He had his ' family fellow at your service ' look on his face. While I was up a ladder removing the lights he was happily padding around the base of the tree - exploratory mode fully engaged. Baubles sniffed, pine needles distributed throughout the house, wrapping paper shredded, boxes closed and then re-opened with a flick of the nose and a prod from a paw. Wilf the miniature, mischevious , chaos inducing polar bear.

This morning we parked the car and walked along the line of the roman road to the little twelfth century chapel. Blackbirds and robins jostling noisily in the hedgerows. The mild weather excellent for worm hunting . Ten yards away from us an eagle swept down on a walnut copse, foraged around on the ground, shrieked and then flew off with a field mouse firmly in its talons. I nearly leapt out of my skin. Had it failed to notice us ? Or have they learnt that as a protected species man no longer poses a threat ? Wilf raised his head to see what was happening but was soon busy gainfully examining something horrible in the long grass.

Wisdom.

Wilfs crack of dawn insulin shot and then off to the cafe in the square. The waitress in the fish net tights tells me that she and her six year old son are going back to Avignon. " It's too quiet here. You see the same people day after day ". Looking at the early morning absinthe drinkers I can see her point. She says she'll miss Wilf.

The local paper carries the headline. ' First child born in the department in 2011 a boy. To be named Lenny '. No shortage of news .

There is a stall selling cyclamen outside the church. We really need a dozen to brighten up the planters on the lane. €2.50 each ! Ridiculous. Will try to get some in the market.

Speeches to be given in London and Moscow on Friday and Saturday. Men in dark suits wanting someone to tell them what will happen in the coming year. Corporate control freakery. On our way home we stop beside the stream for a walk. I run my speech past Wilf while he sniffs, snuffles and listens. The perfect audience. After I finish, he stands with four paws in the water, then looks up as if to say ' Tell them not to worry. God is subtle but he's not malicious'. Sheepdog wisdom for the New Year.

Glamour.

The first working day of the New Year. Time to focus afresh on the rickety old farmhouse and chase up all the workmen who haven't been seen here since mid-October. A daunting task. Is this how rock climbers feel when they see a sheer cliff face in front of them ? We saw a small swarm of bees by the unfinished gutters yesterday. I shall add the octogenarian bee man with his replacement hip to the list of those to be called. The glamour of life abroad.

Think we may need to up Wilfs insulin dosage. His thirst has returned and with it the need for a 'wee hours' pit stop. Apart from that he enters the New Year in high spirits. Dogs are imbued with an irrepressible view of life that says ' now is the most interesting time of all '.

Four airports and a gold medal.

Wilf has known four airports in his life - Aberdeen, Marseilles, Rome and now Toulouse. Two or three times a year he gets up early, is put in the back of the car with the luggage and then watches as his flock disappears into an airport terminal. Two or three times a year the process is repeated, in reverse. He seems to be quite untroubled by the whole thing . Life has taught him that farewells are soon enough turned into noisy, squabbling, laughing reunions. He didn't notice that this years goodbyes took a little longer.

For Wilf trips to the airport are associated with one huge treat - a leisurely walk across the terminal car park. If there was an olympic gold medal for tyre christening Wilf would win it. Peugeots a speciality. That old Polish Sheepdog attitude ' Life is what's coming, not what was ' .

Wilfs New Year PONder.

" The bad news is time flies. The good news is you're the pilot ".