Considering I had next to nothing marked on my calendar, for once no vet visits, the past week turned out to be a busy one. Luckily we’ve had just about the right mixture of rain and sun to keep the garden happy as Denis spent the beginning of the week tucked up at home with a nasty cough so I was left to amuse myself in the workshop. Personally, I think he’d been working too hard but he blamed it on our Saturday night visit to the diner down the road (a fabulous 1950’s inspired American one) – apparently the lurgy has hit quite a few in Rouffiac. So with my man being out of action, I got to work on finishing the door for what will be the ‘dog shower’ and cleaning up the rattan furniture in the remis. I have to admit, the chairs have seen better days – victims of the L’Horte flood back in 2018 but with a little bit of D’s ‘Macgyver’ creativity, no-one will be any the wiser.
If my days were being spent covered in dust and linseed oil, my nights were all things laptop. Having finally finished the itty bitty stuff for the Book, I had sent the dimensions to the wonderful Ally, my cover designer, so he could work his magic. He did, of course, and it looks amazing except for the fact that this idiot had mis-calculated the number of pages. I’d loaded everything as A4 instead of the normal book size which meant it was actually more than twice what I’d told Ally so the poor man is having to adjust all his hard work. On the plus side, we still have a few weeks before publishing date because the whole debacle has given me several sleepless nights and I don’t do well without my eight hours of slumber as you know. In a bid to calm my agitated mind, I coaxed Denis into another walk along the river – the perfect remedy for coughs and congested craniums. I don’t know what it is about water, considering I’m a Fire Horse after all, but I always feel at peace near it – the river at L’Horte had the same effect. And such places brings out the child in me. The two of us sat for hours watching frogs bounce around a little rock pool before lying on the bank imagining the surrounding boulders into animals until D tricked me into searching for hidden treasure which ended up with my head being dunked into the ice-cold water. It’s fun to forget about being a grown-up every once in a while.
With cleared heads and throats once more, D and I took the lovely Lionel up on his invitation to join his family for an impromptu barbecue on Friday. I’d wanted to visit his place for a while, not just because I knew he’d rebuilt most of the house himself but because, like me, Lionel loves dogs. Big big dogs. Kangals to be exact. This ancient breed originated in Turkey as livestock guarders, a job they are literally born to do as they are left to live amongst their ‘flock’ from puppyhood. Lionel’s two, Tota and Gaby, are family dogs but also protect his land and its animals as well. Tota, the old male greeted us on arrival and as he knows Denis well I wasn’t a threat – a relief because he really was huge. Gaby, on the other hand, was a 10 month old over-sized goofball of clumsiness with the most beautiful black mask – something that all Kangals have but hers looked like she’d seen a professional make-up artist. Before dumping ourselves on Lionel, D and I had stopped by a halal butcher friend of his in Carcassonne to get some meat and bones for my woofers. The owner is always so generous and I can fill a freezer with his doggy donations but I did keep a couple by for Tota and Gaby. Thankfully such bribes were gratefully received by these gorgeous gentle giants as I know they can bring down a man without blinking. I was also very thankful for the butcher’s end of Ramadan delicious pastries which provided some measure of stomach protection to Lionel’s later decision to bring out his home-made liqueur.
Speaking of barbecues, get togethers and liquor; I popped down to chez Abraham’s yesterday to sort out a little do. Denis’ birthday is in a couple of weeks and I’m planning a surprise party. If living in Rouffiac teaches you anything, I doubt it’ll stay secret for long but organising such an event has kept me from meddling with The Book any further. I know I ought to be tap tapping away on the second one but like my apricot tree bringing forth its first fruit in the coming month, I need to wait for mine to be ready for picking before starting all over again. Callum calls it procrastination, I call it patience…
“If you have learnt enjoying life without purpose, like a flowing river, you have learnt the art of living.” (Girdhar Joshi)
Widow plus woofs 