We are up early. As Bob clambers into the back of the car in the half light you can see his drooly face. One side is definitely paralyzed and higher than the other. This gives him a rather reflective, whimsical look. No sign of an improvement in the eye but no need to worry. 'The Font' is much more observant in important things than Angus.
While I bring the rubbish bags out to the car the family fellow carefully monitors two grub hunting blackbirds on the lawn. A male PONs work of guarding his flock against avian intruders is never done. He is so immersed in his task he is surprised when I appear and close the tailgate. He gives me a 'Blimey! I wasn't expecting that " look.
Sophie is having a flat hair day.
She can appear like a dishevelled angel....
.
.. but sometimes the i-Phone's camera can manage to record one of her '' oaf of a brother - don't go near my food " moments. The return of sibling 'savaging' we interpret as a good sign. Bob seems happy that normal service is being resumed.
So starts a post-Christmas Tuesday morning in deepest, deepest France profonde.
Here's something brilliant from Trinidad. The accompaniment is not what you'd expect :
I head downstairs, turn on the lights and find Bob lying on the library floor guarding the Christmas dinner table. There is a Christmas cake on the table which may explain why Bob has chosen to sleep here. Hope springs eternal.
Dog and master head off for Christmas morning croissants. Yes, here in France, bakers are open and doing a thriving trade on both Christmas and Boxing Day mornings.
There is an early morning children's 'event' arranged by the Rotary Club. Bob is somewhat surprised to come face to face with a six foot tall Mickey Mouse with a perma-grin . Bob observes this strange animal from behind my legs. His 'I'm here if you need me ' position.
Sophie may not have had as active a day as her brother but she's been in the kitchen watching lunch being prepared. Sophie dispenses with her Christmas lunch in four seconds. There is some discussion as to whether a machine could suck up a plate of turkey and roast potatoes as quickly. By contrast Bob is a careful eater.
For the 'diva' a post lunch, trip to the wooden garden table for a lengthy grooming. She is so happy to be out in the sunshine. This enforced rest is now getting to her.
So passes Christmas in deepest, deepest France profonde.
And here is a photo from a newspaper to show that not all politicians have a sense of entitlement. The accompanying story informs us that the Christmas 'splurge' was a large size box of Mon Cheri chocolate coated cherries. http://www.bild.de/politik/inland/angela-merkel/hier-kauft-die-kanzlerin-fuer-weihnachten-ein-49468930,jsPageReloaded=true.bild.html#remId=1542351827056089021
Christmas Eve afternoon. The 'tikes' and their parents head off to the Pyrenees on a deeply discounted, spur of the moment, skiing holiday. '' I didn't know you skied " says 'The Font' to the mother. 'I don't but the hotels got a spa' and then, after the briefest of pauses while she looks at her little angels, she adds ' and a bar '.
This morning the village is quiet. The Old Farmer and the Belgian Lady are on the road. The matron of the old folks home is working as is the teacher at the school for 'difficult' children. The uncomplaining duty of those who carry responsibility. At the crossroads the curtains on the mayors house are tightly drawn. The mayors wife is recovering from her third hip operation. I have high regard for the mayors wife. She never complains, Never lets on that she's in constant pain. Never fails to turn up for a village event. Never fails to laugh and smile. One of life's stalwarts.
As Bob and Angus cross the village green on our pre-breakfast walk all is still and small and calm. That special silence that only comes once a year - Christmas quiet. No cars, no planes, no voices. After a year of noise there's something sacred about the silence. An unspoilt world.
Donkeys, deer, ducks, calves, quail, partridge, pheasants and owls all observed by Bob. A red squirrel pirouettes off a branch , lands at our feet, and scurries off into the undergrowth.The male PON, briefly, considers giving chase but thinks better of it. It's Christmas.
'The Font' applies Bobs eye drops. Was there really a hint of movement in the paralyzed right eye lid ? Perhaps the tiniest of Christmas miracles ? And why not have a little faith?
Sophie is on her feet and ready to party.
Later today there will be turkey and roast potatoes and brussel sprouts and gravy in the downstairs library. A room where Sophie can join us with no stairs to climb, or fall down. Such are the altered rhythms of a dog house on Christmas Day.
A very Happy Christmas from everyone at The Rickety Old Farmhouse.
And here's a piece of Bach to get Christmas started : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrTowDGKmlw
Down to the covered market to pick up the turkey. We're there by eight and manage to get a parking spot on the fourth floor. Bob finds there are many 'intriguing' scents on the stair wells. He is 'encouraged' to move along with the words '' we don't have all day ". Dogs of course do have all day for the things that are important.
Surrounded by the smells of the market stalls Bob thinks he's in seventh heaven. Our bird is bagged and waiting for us so all we have to do is pay.
A Buche de Noel from the bakers ....
.... and some Capalleti to have with brodo to start the Christmas Eve dinner. We forego the chance of buying snails.
Back at The Rickety Old Farmhouse the creche is brought out.
Bob watches it being set up with great interest. He gently picks up one of the three Kings in his mouth but is apprehended as he makes off with it. Readers with good sight might just be able to make out the imprint of his slightly squiffy teeth marks on the top of the red wise mans hat. For male PONs life has its recompenses. A Texan college boy has left two pieces of shortbread on a plate while filling out his law school applications. The shortbread disappears. Bob has the look of a truly happy PON - Christmas has come early.
Our post-modern creche lacks Joseph but has instead a lady in a blue dress. Every year for the last thirty years we have marvelled at this rewriting of the Christmas story. Mary's mother ? Or is there a Slovak fable involving a blue, wandering lady ?
And here is a touch of Christmas Eve France profonde by Rameau :
A combination of low hanging mist, clear skies and the rising sun combine to start the day in spectacular style. Bob christens the fire hydrant, sniffs the box hedge around the war memorial and then looks up and stares at the 'swaying' Jesus. Content all is in order in the village he heads off down the hill towards the stream and the waterfall. Bob takes his morning rounds very seriously.
The village odd job man has put up a '' Joyeuses Fetes ! '' sign on the tympanum above the church door. Although not in classical good taste the sign neither flashes nor employs a rainbow of colours to get its jaunty message across.In contrast the odd job mans balcony now rejoices in a variety of lights in colours from the more hallucinatory end of the colour spectrum. To add further interest three snowmen in blue waist coats share the balcony with a red twinkling Santa and his sleigh.
It threatens to rain all day. The first rain that's even been hinted at in a month. In the end all that emerges is a fine, chill, drizzle. Bob thinks this is glorious weather.
The farmer in the valley clearly thought rain was on the way. The cows have been confined to their stalls in the barn. Bob finds himself with no one to monitor.
While little sister sleeps in her pen downstairs, big brother installs himself in a bed on the upstairs landing.
Has the closure of a company ever been written about so eloquently ? There again not every company cast the Liberty Bell :http://www.economist.com/news/obituary/21712109-britains-oldest-manufacturing-firm-whitechapel-bell-foundry-announced-its-closure
The magical weather continues. Mid-morning the Old Farmer and the Belgian lady set off in the venerable Ford Transit motor home for Christmas. ' We're free spirits. Who knows where we'll end up ? " he says. Hopefully, somewhere with a garage that'll be open over the holidays thinks Angus. The Old Farmer beeps the asthmatic horn three times as he heads, slowly, along the lane. The Belgian lady is wearing a heavily patterned red and yellow trouser suit with the jacket edged in black fur. A mass of swirls. ' We had a carpet like that in Edinburgh ' observes 'The Font'. The Old Farmer is wearing his brown dressing gown that has been shortened to provide a warm, if unstylish, driving jacket. He is also wearing his green and white checked fur trappers hat with ear flaps.
Bob and Angus set off to the little waterfall. Some days Bob hurries along. Today he's in a sauntering mode. By Christmas the birds have usually picked the berries from the trees. Not this year - the hedgerows peppered with rose hips. Pheasant, partridge and quail everywhere. They're enjoying the sunshine and the late season bugs.
Sophie is not happy at being corralled. She spends her day in the kitchen advising 'The Font' on how to prepare the perfect Bechemel Sauce.
Frogs legs in the supermarket.
Capons also make an appearance. The locals have Capons for Christmas lunch. We tried it once but reverted to Turkey.
In the cafe Buche de Noel have swept all non-seasonal pastries aside.
Our Christmas puddings and Christmas cakes arrive. Just in time. Thank heavens for couriers. The 'new' Postman hasn't been out to the village since Friday of last week.
The Christmas nativity scene carved from a walnut is brought out and put on the mantelpiece. Amazing it's lasted thirty five years.
Quiet rhythms of life with one drooly dog and one feisty 'recuperating' dog in the run up to Christmas.
The effect of the Berlin attack already being felt. Six young soldiers patrolling the streets of the little market town. They're armed to the teeth but are laughing and relaxed as only eighteen year olds can be. At eight in the morning are they finishing a night patrol or starting a morning one ? Angus is shocked at the sight of rifle wielding soldiers on the streets but the French seem relaxed about their presence. '' It's Christmas " says the bakers wife with unintended irony. Upon reflection, her comment is probably the most ironic thing I've heard all year, or quite possibly, ever.
The supermarket has put up a sign saying that bags must be checked due to the state of emergency.
Good news on Sophie's first leg which has healed beautifully. She's 80% there.
Less good news on the second leg. There's a fracture in it. In the month since the operation she's managed to split the bone. The fracture has already started to heal so there's no need for another operation. Just another two months of careful monitoring. The surgeon says ' This often happens when owners are more relaxed - a dog will put their full weight on the leg and 'bam' there it goes without anyone knowing ''. We are at a complete loss to how or when it could have happened. 24/7, 360 degree monitoring is clearly not sufficient for the family diva.
Sophie is oblivious to the diagnosis.
She just wants to roam free and savage her brother.
There will be a new 'final' X-ray in a months time.
Just a record of those little things about life with a dog that make life, life.
In an obscure textbook on Anglo-Turkish relations Angus finds the sentence ' Churchill met President Inonu in a railway carriage outside Adana but lost his temper over the subtlety of the dubitative tense in Turkish ". The writing style may explain the authors ( and the subjects ) obscurity.
