Dog tales

There are very few things I miss about the U.K, friends aside, but seeing all the pictures of the Jubilee bunting and party plans did give me a slight pang for a few seconds. That and the Chelsea Flower Show. So British. I have no plans to hop back over the Channel in the near future, mind you, aside from my bestie Rene’s son’s wedding and that’s not for a couple of years. I only have to go out onto my balcony with all the citrus trees and a rather fabulous pool view to know where home is. Where else could you write The Book under a deck umbrella whilst stretched out on a sun lounger?

And I have been writing. Having finally found an app on my MacBook thanks to Callum that even the most technologically backward person could use, I’m tap tapping away one paragraph at a time. One of the hardest parts about putting everything down ‘on paper’ is trying not to write like your favourite authors, keep your voice and your style I’m repeatedly told, easier said than done. Since I’m no longer hitting the delete button every 5 minutes these days, I must be gaining confidence in my ability. For some reason I find it easier to scrawl my thoughts down in my notebook which is just as well as laptops, Arry and water don’t mix well.

We actually had a bit of rain last week, only about a day’s worth but it did give me a welcome respite from battling with the hose reel. And whilst I’m still waiting for the fence gates, the wet weather did give me a chance to plant some vines to climb over the rails. Clay is almost impossible to dig up when it’s dry I have learnt. Unless you’re a dog, which in that case means you can add several ankle-breaking holes all over the garden. The quick downpour was enough to bring out the summer colour, not quite Chelsea but spectacular nevertheless.

Speaking of the dogs; our morning runs have become ‘rise before dawn’ ones. As much as I hate waking up to any sort of alarm, seeing the sunrise as you wind through the trails behind Rouffiac is worth getting out of bed for. Arry of course, is oblivious to the beauty of the landscape around as ’tis the season for little bunny rabbits to poke their cottontails at him. Alice and Sherman stay on their leads for this very reason, shrieking at one woofer crashing through the undergrowth is quite enough. At least when you’re 1000 metres up on top of a hill, no-one hears you – trying not to swear when the same over-stimulated German Shepherd disappears after a cat into your neighbours garden just before you get home doesn’t exactly give one’s happy little endorphins a boost. To finish what had started as an exercise in breathing in the clean country air and taking in the view ended with my other neighbour appearing with Sherman’s brother, Slim and a whole lot of tangled terrier leads. Slim’s harness promptly came off and the two us spent the next 10 minutes trying to catch him. Alice spent the rest of the day passed out in the driveway, I almost joined her…….

“I want to work like a dog, doing what I was born to do with joy and purpose. I want to play like a dog, with total, jolly abandon.” (Oprah Winfrey)