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 .

Herder and guide.

Some high cloud but no sign of the rain that's been forecast for the last three days . It's already warm . The old farmer emerges from under the bonnet of his ancient motor home and waves . '' Salut. M'Ongoose ! '' . Two weeks to go and the first Presidential election posters going up on the billboards in the marketplace . At the cafe the waitress wearing a pair of wire , sticky-up , bunny ears . For the beer and absinthe set a cause of much hilarity . Wilf quite unaware of this sky blue and pink addition to the easter routine . He eats his half croissant and then dozes. The headline in the local newspaper - ' New techniques in asparagus growing ' . Life in France Profonde.

Home via the lane that runs on top of the ridge . The old fellow , nose down , ploughing along without a care in the world . The hedgerows alive with wrens . Hundreds and hundreds of the tiny things . Their cacophony disproportionate to their size. The first wild hyacinths and slipper orchids peeping through the grass . From time to time Wilf pauses to let me catch up . Old blind dog as herder and guide . A day for joyful living . A really good Friday .

Wilfs Thursday morning PONder.

'' Love life and life will love you back " .

On the case .

1:08 am . Out of the darkness a banshee wailing . The window frames rattle and shake . Wilf comes hurtling up the stairs and into the dressing room . One panicking old PON in search of reassurance. His body trembling .By now the whole house awake .

Some airline is taking possession of a new Airbus from the facility at Toulouse. Usually these delivery flights don't bother us . Either we're well away from the flight path or they're already at twenty five thousand feet and climbing , quietly, away . Their passage no more than a gentle rustling in the distance . Not this morning . Whether by accident or design a huge six hundred seater comes lumbering over our little corner of paradise , engines screaming . From the garden we watch it thunder down the valley , lights flashing , tailplane floodlit. Two thousand, three thousand feet ?

Touch so important for a blind dog . For humans touch represents guidance , comfort , tenderness . For a dog who can't see it's so much more . It's a sign that his packs on the case , his flock safe. Two minutes of quiet stroking and his heart beat slows. Much yawning and sighing. Then he's asleep again . Danger past , forgotten . By now the new plane will be well on its way to China . Here, the old PON's still asleep.

Bleached oak .

Easter should be weeks away. But, it isn't . Time to panic . Madame Bay rushes around , a paisley turbaned whirl of activity . The bedrooms on the ground floor attacked with vigour and a bottle of Jif . '' The font '' heads off shopping .' Should we buy leg of lamb for lunch ? '. I suggest an ox . Air France choose the Easter Holidays for another strike . Wilf snores happily away oblivious to the activity around him .

No sooner does ' the font ' drive off than the builder arrives to discuss a new kitchen. Not any builder but the one with the large, shiny, black , low slung Mercedes estate. The builder everyone says is very busy and has a waiting list for the rest of this year . He looks at the kitchen . '' You'll be needing a new floor " . ' No we won't ' replies Angus, suddenly understanding why the man drives such a large, expensive, car . How many builders wear a suit and tie ?

Two hours later the builder finally goes. He promises to return with a design . Two mind numbing hours of discussing bleached oak work surfaces and uneven floors . Angus asks how much it might cost . Angus listens , swallows, and then asks for the number to be repeated . '' Of course that's without the white goods or fitting " adds the builder . Wilf sleeps through everything . Sensible boy . ' The font ' returns from shopping and asks how the meeting went . ' Swimmingly ' I reply, not altogether truthfully . ' He's suggested bleached oak '.

This morning in the supermarket a bag of caramel flavoured crisps. A taste adventure too far ?. Wilf gets his half croissant at the cafe under the arcades .

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 '.

Quelle surprise !

Angus waits at home all day for the joiner and the plumber. In vain. Quelle surprise !.

Madame Bay spends an hour trying to coax the cast iron '' Vesuvius '' in the kitchen back into life . Twenty eight years of experience with the temperemental old thing makes her optimistic . When it was really cold, and the butane froze, she warmed the connection between the gas bottle and the supply pipe with a hair dryer to make it work. This time no luck. Vesuvius , all two tons of it , remains dormant .

An article in the weekend Financial Times House and Gardens section about living in this part of France . The headline - ' ideal for those looking for a stress-free environment '. Angus chuckles , it is after all April 1st . Clearly, the author has never had anything to do with the local tradesfolk.

Down to the cafe at first light. The waitress taking a day off. No illicit half croissant for Wilf. Some routines can't be broken . We go to the bakers and buy one . Early morning churchgoers can see a strange foreigner sitting on bench in the market place . He's feeding a croissant to what appears to be a small, shaggy, polar bear . The poor mans also talking away happily to the dog , as if it can understand . The passers by smile at them but carefully hurry past just that little bit more quickly . Mad or English ?

A sunny Sunday morning in France Profonde with an old family fellow.