Flurries, forests and feathers

Well, the weather wasn’t quite the snowfall that was expected but we had a few flurries and a freezing wind to top the week off. I’m reliably informed by the locals that yesterday’s cold snap is the last one and Spring will now show its true colours. Despite Denis’ “don’t worry, be happy” attitude towards all that needs to be finished both pool and garden-side, I can’t help getting a bit antsy about having so much to do. And frankly, I’m bored. I can’t plant or plan until the fences are in and the gravel laid around the pool terrace so I’m twiddling my fingers impatiently.

Now that the ‘chasse‘ or main hunting season has ended, my three running pawmates and I have changed our twice-weekly route from the vineyards to the forest. It’s a slightly shorter route but steeper as you climb up into the hills and dense woodland above and then wind down the lanes into neighbouring Prexian. I think my legs are grateful not having to negotiate all that clay and I think the woofers enjoy the change of scenery – more wildlife up there for Arry to chase. Considering Rouffiac is only 5km or so down below, most of the area is incredibly remote save a few old hunting shacks down private roads and hidden behind trees. On one occasion we ran down a dead-end lane filled with rusted remnants of trucks, so I turned us around only to see a black Labrador sitting in our path. Thinking that Arry had finally come to his senses and given up charging at such dogs after his previous experience with those on the vines, I watched as the young dog darted under a gate – Arry still close to my side. It wasn’t until we passed the gate I realised why he hadn’t pounced – the Labrador had been joined by a huge Mastiff thankfully chained up and we made a good sprint back to the forest road. Occasionally my idiot dog has a brain.

You will all be pleased to know that GusGus has stopped eating my bin bags and is now munching away on a decent diet of proper mouse food which I bought at the local pet shop. I know it was a little extravagant but I do like having whole bin liners. Mumo did raise the question as to why I thought my little friend was a male and what if he was a she and going to have babies? It’s not something I’d like to contemplate, I’ve raised a litter of puppies but teeny meeces – no thank you. We must be a very popular refuge for feral creatures though as more recently we have been joined by Prat the pigeon. Prat, so named as any bird with any intelligence would know that Arry is partial to playing catch the pigeon, seems to have taken up residence on my balcony. Prat is totally unfazed by my presence or the woofers’, just sits there with a vacant expression until something in that pea-brain tells it to go and do some flying. And no, I’m not buying pigeon food although I won’t be surprised to find nothing but feathers soon – stupid bird.

Speaking of Mumo, I picked her up from a very cold and windy Toulouse airport yesterday. Poor thing had left one freezing country only to land in another. It was the first time she had been back to the UK for three years but as much as she loved visiting her friends, she’s glad to be back home. Denis and I had hoped to have completed her little courtyard ‘updo’, my birthday gift to her but like everything else, weather stopped us. On the plus side and with the promise of sunny days ahead, Mumo and I have a great excuse to go plant shopping for her soon-to-finished herb garden. And perhaps, oh please perhaps, the Gods will be kind enough to allow me to stop saying ‘that bloody pool’……

“I speak a little pigeon French. Just enough to get by with the little French pigeons” (Bob Hope)