Despite a week of thunderstorms, torrential downpours and drizzly skies, it was full steam ahead for the pool constructors. The huge hole in the ground now has a mesh of steel across the base ready for the arrival of the concrete truck on Tuesday. Luckily we have Lionel heading up the labour and Roy taking on the project manager role as the whole thing seems incredibly technical and precise. Apart not having a clue about most of what Lionel is talking about – he naturally assumes everyone can understand his machine gun French, the amount of different bits and pieces needed to create such a large pool is mind-boggling. As always Denis is on hand to source whatever is needed especially when it comes to manpower. He has an awful lot of friends.
In between all the ‘toing and froing’ to various specialist shops, I picked up my brother Moth from Toulouse airport on Thursday. It was a huge relief as he had flown in from Kenya and it’s always a worry whether or not a person makes through those arrival doors. Moth is also the master and commander of all that gets done in the main house so the renovations can now pick up a pace. The wonderful Pauline ‘artisan angel’ has almost finished with the ground floor and it’s back to sanding beams to get the second floor done. If all goes to plan, Mumo should be able to ‘go back home’ in a month or so, something I am sure she can’t wait for. Living with my crazy bunch of woofers plus six little fat pups would make anyone want to jump ship.
Ah, the pups. Well, they are growing rapidly. Alice is an incredible mother but you can see the relief on her face when she can escape for a toilet break and stroll around the garden. I am still sleeping with her and her brood on the bed every night which means I get very little shut-eye. They are incredibly noisy suckers and despite my in-built containment, I have been woken by a bundle of fur trying to make a break for it. It’s amazing that despite eyes and ears still closed, they are already developing their own personalities. This makes thinking of kennel names difficult as their characters are changing every day. The letter this year in France is ‘S’ and as with all my dogs, the names will be from literature or screen. My neighbour however, being French and knowing these things, has already called her chosen lad ‘Slim’. Why I have no idea but those trendy music minded peeps out there recognise that moniker. The other male I’ve yet to decide, he’s a big lad so perhaps Sherman. The girls are easier for some reason; Sansa, Sabrina, Salome and Serena. I’m still waiting for them to be listed on the SCC (French equivalent of the Kennel Club), as usual loads of paperwork there but three of them are already reserved. Once their eyes open, I shall have to transfer them to the pen for their own safety and my sanity. By that time, Arry might start to take a bit of notice of them – he’s still miffed that some French bloke knocked up his gal….
“Dogs are old and experienced in the practice of selling themselves..by the time he is six weeks old the average puppy is already as wily and full of tricks as an Armenian salesman, and considerably more non-resistable” (James R Kinney)
Widow plus woofs 