March winds and April showers. Well, the first has definitely arrived and cold too but we really need the second now. As much as I love the sunshine, we are desperately in need of a few weeks of the wet stuff. With Spring approaching, the blossom is starting to bud on the fruit trees and the daylight hours are filled with the sound of birds chirping but the terre is rock hard. At this rate, Denis and I will be buying cacti instead of cucumbers to plant in the potager. Buckets are back in the bathrooms too – water is becoming a precious commodity. If one was to believe anything the weather forecasters predict, the end of next week will have us in shorts and under umbrellas. Let’s hope.
With the winter months all but over, the chasse or hunting season has finally ended which means a change in scenery on our dawn runs. Whizzing through the vines has become a bit of an extreme sport, what with keeping the woofers out of the way of tractors turning the dried out clay soil into lethal ankle-breaking gulleys – I still have my knee strapped up like a Victorian corset so I could do without adding another trip up. Whilst not unfamiliar, this route is more road than rough clay and pretty much all uphill until you get to the last bit – what goes up must come down at some point, better on the knees but harder on the butt. And my peace of mind because the down bit means entering the neighbouring village, Prexain and its cats. Arry especially likes the latter which means me having to put his lead on and hope to hell he doesn’t spy a feline or two. Arry + downhill + prey is not a pleasant experience.
As I mentioned in the previous blog, I had a visit to the dentist this week. Actually two visits, the first was so she could stick an injection inside my lower lip and prepare my apparently, unusually small and over-crowded bottom teeth and the second so she could fit a couple of veneers. Lying on her dentist chair with my tiny mouth wide open and close to getting lock-jaw, Annie chatted away happily as she fitted and fiddled whilst I answered her questions in a sort of tortured sign language. Using the words; ” don’t move” and “does that feel okay?” in the same sentence seems to be some sort of private dental joke. She did a fantastic job though and I do like my new fangs. Thankfully, the last bit of the major mouth overhaul is at the beginning of May, after which I will be smiling without gaps in my gob.
It won’t surprise you to read that I was back at the vets again on Friday. I’d found a small lump on Arry’s chest (no it wasn’t his brain, that has never been accounted for) so being a worrywart and him being a great big goof of a German Shepherd, I popped him in for a check-up. Denis offered to come with me but I managed to convince him that I could handle the beast, I’ve had a lot of practice over the last seven years. That and I cleverly booked the first appointment after lunch, less likelihood of there being other needy pets waiting. In fact, the only other dog in there was an elderly Pointer with an obvious bladder issue and it just so happens that Arry loves Pointers. He had a bosom buddy in London called Arnie of the same breed. A semi-calm Arry is a wondrous thing and so is a negative result on a little lump. Just a lipoma although how he can have any fatty bits anywhere is beyond me.
With this good news and me being able to smile about it, Denis whisked me off to his brother Thierry’s house in Carcassonne for some wine and witty conversation and so I could meet Thierry’s wife, Josy. As usual, Denis arrived at the gate in his ancient but adored camionette who I don’t think has forgiven me for grating her clutch that day when we went down to the river. Ever the gentleman, D jumped out and came around to open the passenger door for me but it stuck fast. We wiggled, pushed, pulled at the thing but it wouldn’t budge. Not having any choice in the matter, I ungraciously clambered over the driver’s seat and upon settling in, noticed that my seatbelt buckle was caught in said door. “No worries” said D, “I’ll get Thierry to help me get it out when we get there, just hold the rest of it around your middle”. Clutching a seatbelt whilst your other half negotiates the busy city roads in a vengeful camionette may sound like a wise decision but as we turned a sharp left towards our destination, the door suddenly swung open, narrowly missing a motor scooter and taking me with it. Managing to grab the handle and close the bloody thing before me and the wine disappeared onto the asphalt, I broke out into a fit of giggles. Denis thought I’d gone all hysterical but the whole incident was absolutely hilarious and couldn’t stop laughing. Poor chap had to down a couple of drinks before he too saw the funny side. I did make sure I was well strapped in on the way home though, I’m not sure his camionette and I are even yet…
“March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice.” (Hal Borland)
Widow plus woofs 