Nostril flaring delight.

It was a hot, humid day. The first hint of thunder echoing down from the mountains. To keep cool, Wilf spent most of his morning sitting in the hallway catching up on his sleep. From time to time a large black nose would briefly appear on the doorstep to sniff the air and make sure that the unpacking of the furniture was proceeding to schedule. At nine and again at ten thirty, the family supervisor deigned to come out and christen the ever growing pile of cardboard boxes . He then returned inside to settle down, emitting a loud " I'm here if you need me " sigh .

The highlight of Wilfs Wednesday ; no less than two trips to the rubbish dump to get rid of the mountain of packing. Twenty minutes of nose down,ground scraping, nostril flaring delight. As I lifted him back up into the car he had a look on his face that said " If we only knew the real value of a day ". One happy fellow.

We returned home to find that the postman had delivered another volume of the blog book. This time the formatting is right and the overall effect a big improvement over the two ' Life in Italy' volumes. Can only hope the furniture painting is as successful.

Who rearranged the garden ?

One in the morning. Wilf is out for a ' pit stop '. Instead of turning right and heading back to the front door, as he usually does, he turns left and heads off into the darkness of the garden . A quick sprint out of the house and across the courtyard by yours truly in hot pursuit. Thank heavens it's the middle of the night and the neighbours can't see me haring around wearing nothing other than a dressing gown and a pair of slippers. The family fellows eventually found sitting, quite unconcernedly, in the middle of the peony bed. " Blimey ! Who rearranged the garden ? " he seems to say. Night time clearly holds no fear for Wilf. Adventure over, he follows me back inside and sleeps ,snoring lightly, through to six .

Great excitement yesterday afternoon. A huge blue and white delivery truck arrives. Wilf thoroughly sniffs each of the packages as they're unloaded. The scent of Norkoping sawdust keeping him fully occupied for all of twenty minutes.The Swedish garden benches and new writing desks have arrived from the manufacturer . To my surprise they're unpainted. ' The font ' informs me that I ordered them that way in order to save money. What Scots see as 'canny' , Swedes see as daft. Today, with Spring Break fast approaching, we shall mostly be sanding , priming and painting. Wilf will be supervising and holding a paint brush. His PONtification for the day : ' I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning to sail my ship '.

Adamant refusal.

' The font ' heads off to the airport at five in the morning. Wilf adamantly refuses to believe that anyone can be up and about so early. He deals with this unwelcome change to his routine by lying absolutely motionless in his bed , pretending to be invisible. His ' ignore them and they'll go and bother someone else ' routine. Miraculously, a second after he hears the fridge door being opened he appears in the kitchen as fresh as a daisy. One family PON reporting for duty and ready for breakfast .

A ten minute drive into town for our morning cup of coffee at the cafe under the arcades. I open the tail gate, ready to lift him down, only to be met by the sight of the family fellow, on his back, snoring gently away. He's still like that when I return from the bakers. His thought for the day : ' Few of us write great novels; all of us live them '.

Walking through tulips.

Sunday saw the village shrouded in a chill mist from the mountains. A relief after last weeks heat. Perfect weather for a polar bear look alike with a thick white fur coat and a large black nose to go exploring. At first light we amble off to the war memorial, stopping en route to sniff the fire hydrant before carefully crossing the road to christen the four yews recently planted outside the village hall. I say amble but there is no word in English to describe Wilfs leisurely - two steps forward, stop, look around, two steps forward, stop, look around - style of walking . 100 yards in twenty minutes.

Faced with the unseasonal weather the absinthe drinking patrons at the cafe had all taken refuge inside. Plenty of space for Wilf to settle down at an outside table with a bowl of water . No unsettling noises here. ' The font' tells me that Oscar Wilde once said that drinking absinthe gave him the sensation of walking , bare legged, through tulips . I'd doubt if many of the locals would describe it in quite those terms. Afterwards a trip to the bakers. While I choose a strawberry sponge Wilf sits at the front door contentedly being fed small slivers of croissant by the bakers teenage son. Home in time for an emotional Madame Bay style welcome. "Bonjour Wilfee. Mon brave ! ". As he disappears into swathes of orange chiffon he looks at me in a reluctant ' what have I done to deserve this ? I'm a boy dog ' way .

The four cardinal rules.

You'd think that a dog would be at his most confused in the first weeks of blindness. It doesn't seem to work like that. Here we are in week three and only now is his total dependence on us becoming clear. It's as if he's forgetting his visual map of the house and garden without having put in place a new map based on scent and feel.

Both Wilf and his family are learning new ground rules. So far the four cardinal rules seem to be :

Chatter away all the time. The sound of familiar voices seems to relax him. Maybe its because our voices let him know where we are or maybe they simply provide comfort that he doesn't have to face the world alone. Who cares if people think we're lunatics as we burble happily away ?

Time spent on commands like ' stop , stay, up, down and go ' make everyones life much easier. Of these 'stop' is the most important. If a blind dog can walk into something he will. If the blind dog happens to be Wilf he'll run into it, repeatedly.

Adventures are vital . Wilf finds it difficult navigating the twenty or so yards across the field down to the stream but when he gets there he loves it. Over the last few weeks we've learnt that depression in dogs does exist . There's nothing like fresh scents and textures to brighten up a dogs day. Where we go, he goes. Thankfully, he loves the back of the old Volkswagen with its familiar smells and textures so having him tag along for adventures is no problem.

Use a short lead and harness for walks. Even if its only across to the fire hydrant or the village green. He feels much more comfortable knowing that there is someone there keeping an eye out for threats and dangers. The second he's let off the lead he freezes.

Wilfs ' there's no failure except in no longer trying ' attitude to life makes this next stage of the journey much easier.

As fast as any jet.

A real scorcher of a day. 80 degrees. If it's this hot in April, what's it going to be like in August ?After breakfast Wilf positions himself by the front door for a nap . The perfect palm tree shaded spot to doze while monitoring all our comings and goings.

At lunchtime we look up to see a wall of contrails above us. A squadron of RAF planes hurtling back towards Britain after a sortie over Libya. Line abreast, after burners glowing, their tracks stretching as straight as a roman road towards the horizon. They're way above the commercial traffic, too high for the sound to reach us. Five minutes later the refuelling tankers arrive. Slow, camouflaged and ponderous. Like so many watchful mother hens. What a juxtaposition. All this bravery and anger floating above the quiet and peace of our little spot of paradise. Truly surreal.

Wilf had cod and salmon fishcakes for dinner. He sometimes gets confused, turning right when he should turn left, and getting lost. The trials and tribulations of blindness. However, when it comes to meal time he can make it from the front door, up the stairs, along the corridor, through the den and into the kitchen as fast as any fighter jet. That old PON attitude - " The only reason to be alive is to enjoy it ".

Chatting away.

The plane back from London full of cheerful French rugby fans wearing broad brimmed multi-coloured ' novelty ' sombreros and a group of eighty or so American school kids all sporting jackets that say ' New York European Tour 2011 '. At 36,000 feet over Le Mans the youngsters , en masse, burst into a rendition of Shenandoah . The French rugby fans look bemused. On balance the singing of spirituals on aircraft should not be encouraged. Winsome ditties possibly. Show tunes maybe, but sombre spirituals ? No.

Sitting happily looking out of the window a stewardess suddenly appears and asks me, 'Where do you live ?' " Near Toulouse " , I reply. ' Oh, I'd never have known. You speak such good English '. With that she was off , with her trolley, down the aisle. Bizarre. A lesson there about instant judgements. Perhaps it's a new British Airways, 'talk to the passengers', routine.

London , wet and humid. To Harrods for a soft toy for Wilf. A clock with a picture of a pug dressed as Chairman Mao and a fun Roy Lichtenstein art work among the things that catch my eye.

'The font' comes to collect me at the airport. Wilf starts out across the car park on his favourite, tyre christening, walk but after thirty metres it all proves to be too much for him. He sits down on the tarmac and refuses to move. Not panicked but unhappy. He's picked up and carried back to the safety and comforting smells of the car. That's where I find the two of them. Tail gate down, sitting, chatting merrily away, in the late afternoon sunshine. The new, shared, routines of life with an old blind dog. Wilfs attitude. " Don't let what you can't do interfere with what you can do ".