Ah well, considering the odds even if we live in a tiny village deep in South West of France, one of us was going to get it. Yup, my tough ‘nothing can get me” outdoorsman has been got – Covid-style. I came downstairs with coffee as usual on Friday morning, expecting the normal kiss and “dort bien?” hello only to be greeted by a grey face with an outstretched arm stopping my approach. In the four years I’ve known Denis, the only time he’s not been full of bounce was when he had his hernia hiccup (actually three in all) so I suggested we both went over to the local pharmacie to get tested. Apart from the fact that we spend most of our days together, I also have a not so well Mumo at the moment so neither of us wanted to add to her woes. On the positive side, I tested negative but warned to keep my mother at a healthy distance for a few days just in case. And steer clear of D too which has meant a miserable weekend and a pity party with a bottle of wine and an ominous moon to keep me company.
And the week was going so well. Sort of. I mean there was that little incident on Tuesday morning but that wasn’t my fault. Kind of. You see, me and the younger woofers are back to rising with the dawn and running up hills again so I had bought a pocket-sized ‘deterrent’ spray not wanting a repetition of the last dog attack. All was peace and serenity, the giant mastiff I had been assured was safely tucked behind bars and there was nothing to disturb us other than the hum of tractors harvesting the vines. That was until we hit the main road a kilometre or so from home and got rear-ended by a loose Pyrenean Mountain Dog trailing its extendable lead behind as it launched its huge self at Arry. Alice of course went into full terrier mode, teeth chomping and chattering as Sherman sunk his into a furry hind leg whilst I tried to keep leads from tangling -I wasn’t about to let them loose on a busy thoroughfare. And that’s when I remembered the bombe and pointed it at the white beast. Honestly, I didn’t know the spray was red. The owner did eventually arrive and get her charge under control, dye not blood explanations from me. I saw the same dog a couple of days later, apparently the colour doesn’t wash out easily.
At least, the Covid decided to bring down my man after we’d made a decent dent in our ‘to-do’ list -Denis and I were noses to the grindstone ticking off items. The newly extended potager now has its Autumn plantings in, the walnut trees have been lopped, the other bat box fixed onto the remis wall and between us we sorted out the blockage in Mumo’s kitchen sink which turned out to be congealed fat (blame big brother for that). And since our camion needs a little TLC before it can pass its contrôle technique, D has plonked it over here as it’s easier to get to a power source. Yet unnamed and a bit banged up in parts, I am looking forward to getting behind the wheel of the big white van. I might need to add my newly acquired artistic touch first…
“ The colours live a remarkable life of their own after they have been applied to the canvas” (Edvard Munch)
Widow plus woofs 