Animation .

The first of the new seasons strawberries in the greengrocers. €2.50 for a small punnet. The two ladies ahead of me in the queue tut loudly. '' Outrageous prices. Quite outrageous ". ' Local and picked this very morning Mesdames ' comes the response. They each buy a cauliflower. ' Picked this very morning? ' . Angus wonders how many strawberry pickers start work at four am . He keeps this thought to himself.

Off to the cafe under the arcades . Wilf settles down with his bowl of water . He's soon enjoying his illicit half croissant . As a matter of course the waitress stoops down, tears the dough into small, bite sized , pieces, and feeds them to him . He takes them gently. She chats away to him . He falls aleep. Angus reads the paper . This morning the beer and absinthe set are arguing animatedly . The French Presidential elections seem to be stirring deep passions . This is the first time I've seen them animated about anything. Even the man on the motability scooter is waving his arms . Perhaps the tax on alcohol is going up ? A sunny Monday morning with a small , trusting, happy , polar bear snoring at my feet .

The top of the list.

Cloudless skies, radiant sunshine , the cows at the gate lowing peacefully . Wilf dozes under a palm tree. Angus spends Saturday afternoon planting out the geraniums . Window boxes abloom with scarlet . Now all the plants are out, and in their place, you can be sure that arctic temperatures and Hebridean winds can't be far away . Whenever Angus ventures into the garden frost is guaranteed.

Scotland lose to Italy in the rugby . Losing is bad enough but losing to Italy ! Scotland come last . At one moment of great emotion Angus knocks over his beer and Pringles. Wilf wakes from a deep sleep, hurtles across the floor, locates the Pringles, and then quickly swallows four of them . Faster than a speeding bullet . Angus is impressed . If only the Scottish rugby team were half as quick. Wilf has now added sour cream and onion Pringles to his list of absolute favourites . They're right up at the top of the list alongside coconut ice cream, Jaffa Cakes and mustard .

Wilf spends the rest of his day hoping that more Pringles will fall onto the floor . He waits patiently for another miracle. Old PON wisdom : " Once you have tasted flight , you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward , for there you have been, and there you will always long to return ".

Fairy tales .

A busy day for Wilf. The landscape gardeners beaver away outside the front door. Trucks of top soil being rolled and flattened by tractors and rotavators . The family fellow keeps a proprietorial eye on the proceedings from his vantage point by the front door . From time to time he barks - a reminder to one and all that he's still chief supervisor . The youngest gardener sits on the doorstep and shares a biscuit with him . It goes without saying that Wilf likes the youngest gardener .

The plumber comes with another hare brained scheme to link the irrigation system to the town water mains . '' Isn't it illegal ? " I ask . A shrug of the shoulders and an ' Everyone does it ' , by way of reply . Wilf barks .

Our early evening walk . Amelie the moustachioed village cat beats a hasty retreat when she sees Wilf come barreling out of the front gates . Wilf , nose down in the grass verge, remains unaware of her presence . We go three hundred yards. Maybe three fifty . Wilf settles down in the grass and falls fast asleep. Not a doze. A deep, deep, contented sleep. Angus phones home for ' the font ' to come and collect us . Looking at him a line of G.K.Chestertons comes to mind : '' Fairy tales are more than true, not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten ".

Nooks and crannies .

To the garden centre. A Wilf favourite . A million nooks and crannies to explore . He has just started to sniff the palm trees when the sprinkler system kicks in . Amid the deluge of water and the hiss of pipes he turns 180 degrees and hurries outside . The agility of a puppy . A '' Boy is the weather changeable ! " urgency to his step .

A quick stop at the service station on the autoroute . Wilf and owner share a croissant . Wilf settles under the table and falls asleep. He's still asleep when he's lifted into the back of the car .The journey back accompanied by the gentle breathing of a happy dog . Home in time for a quick pre-lunch doze , on his back , in the downstairs hallway . The hectic life of a family PON who knows : '' If you're born without wings, do nothing to prevent them from growing ".

A sweeter song.

Hot. The well now completely dry. Wilf spends most of his day, a trip to the stream excepted, dozing on the cold hall floor. His nose in my gardening shoes. Outside the frogs in the village pond in full voice .

Early evening . A happy Madame Bay arrives . Monsieur Bay in tow. Tonight she's resplendent in aubergine and green. A Niagara Falls of Purple chiffon cascading from her shoulders. The happy couple are off to Greece tomorrow with the Retired Gendarmes Association . A night in Paris en route. '' So romantic " says Madame Bay . Monsieur Bay looks less sure .

Madame Bay has come to give us her mobile phone number in case we have any problems while she's away. Angus wonders if this is the same mobile phone number we've been calling her on for the last two and a half years. He says nothing . '' The font '' dutifully writes the number down .

Seven. Still light. A bottle of champagne , just opened, in front of us . The number two vet arrives . She was in the neighbourhood and wanted to check-up on Wilf. She decides he shouldn't be called stubborn ( tetu) but valiant ( vaillant ). Laughter all round . Two weeks since the stroke. He may be old, blind, diabetic , cancer ridden and arthritic but you'd never know it. He's arrived at a stage of his journey where he's happy . In fact we've never , ever , seen him happier . Sprawled out, on his back, snoring gently. Owners worry - dogs get on with life . PON philosophy : " I shall sing a sweeter song tomorrow ".

Amy Vanderbilts Book of Etiquette.

We head off down the lane . Wilf in the lead . Barreling along in the morning sunshine . All the trees on the right side of the road carefully sniffed and christened . Time for a pit stop. Then we're off again . Angus deposits a black bag at the side of the road to be picked up on the return journey. At this point , Hugo, the bad tempered Maltese appears. He glares at us from behind a flowerpot in his mistresses front garden. Then , he barks proprietorially, trots out into the lane, examines the recently deposited black bag and , horror of horrors, picks it up. Head held high he disappears with it into the house. That unmistakeable canine " Look what I've found . I'm so clever " pose.

Amy Vanderbilt where are you when needed ? The etiquette of errant poop bags a social minefield . Should I try to retrieve it ? Or go and explain what's happened ? Is my French good enough ? One could be so easily misunderstood . In the end the decision made to do nothing. Angus and Wilf scurry home. Let's pray the plastic bag is stronger than the teeth of a grumpy Maltese . Let's hope that the words ' what have you brought in ? ' aren't being uttered in Hugo's household. Life with a dog in deepest France Profonde . A movement to remember .

Unfolding as it should.

Celebratory weather. Warm but not hot. A light breeze. Cloudless skies . Summer almost here. Nothing to trouble an old dogs arthritic limbs . Wilf gets groomed in the sunshine. Within minutes he's back to looking shaggy.

First light. Out of the front door to find three errant calves in the lavender beds. The farmer trying to shoo them through the gap in the hedge. I wave . He waves and shouts , '' Je suis desole ". No point in getting angry . The calves move slowly , eyes wide. The lure of tender shoots holding them back. Let them enjoy mischief while they can . Wilf lies, curled up , in the car, snoring . Completely oblivious to their presence. On our way home the calves mothers wander over to see us. Wilf hears their breathing and , ever prudent , scurries on ahead. His speed and agility a wonder to behold.

Evening . We sit on the terrace. Due West , in the darkening sky , Jupiter and Venus beam down like two beacons. The closest and brightest the two planets will get in our lifetimes ? They'll do the same tonight before slowly drifting apart . Wilf slumbers at our feet. He must feel safe here. His flock a mere bark away . Absolute PON certainty : '' Whether or not it's clear to you , no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should ".