With the temperatures climbing into the mid-thirties (and it’s only June), the woofers and I have retreated into the relative comfort of the ‘shutters down, ceiling fan on full’ apartment. When I was younger, I would think nothing of lazing on a sun bed in the midday sun but those days are long gone. As much as I love the heat, I just don’t want to lie in it anymore. Of course, if the pool was finished, I’d be the first one lounging under the deck umbrella but we hit a little snag this week. My fault entirely. Having been told by Lionel, the construction expert that the foundations were a little short, I stupidly said it didn’t matter. No-one would notice was my exact response which may have been alright except that I had already ordered the pool liner. We need some engineerial ingenuity to fix it all together or get the liner cut to fit. Now I just have to convince Lionel and his team that sweating it out in the soleil is all part of the course. At least Arry has his pool which does make me a little envious.

I blame my blunder on lack of sleep. Whilst I have now moved the pups and Alice into a pen in the sitting room, she is still insistent that her little family should join me every night. This means not only am I subjected to very noisy suckers but with the whelping box sharing my space, it’s not exactly comfortable sleeping. At almost two weeks old, the pups eyes and ears are opening – it’s fascinating to watch how they react to their new senses. Yogi Bear is taking his role as manny/doting uncle very seriously, such a job does require waking me up at dawn so he can join the brood and coo over his nieces and nephews. Out of all the dogs, he seems to be the only one interested in their antics although Mo does peer at them through the pen bars. Alice doesn’t seem to mind the company of a little bear thankfully and although she was initially dubious about anyone apart from myself seeing her babies, she now delights in human visitations. Next week I should be able to get them onto the Societie Canine Centrale, with three of them having been reserved it won’t be long for the rest of them.

I’m back up a ladder in the main house again. For someone who’s scared of heights, I seem to be spending a lot of time challenging myself. Having cleaned all the beams that will form the dining room ceiling, I am now back to sanding. I have put myself forward to Moth as a sort of dogsbody as I feel painfully guilty about him having to stop all his travail to sort out my mess with the pool. Not only is he incredibly knowledgeable about construction, he is also completely at ease conversing over the phone with Lionel. I, on the other hand, practically shake in horror if I see a French number come up on my phone and lovely Lionel has given up trying to get me to understand him preferring to speak to my brother. I’m sure I will get over the fear as my confidence in speaking the lingo grows but for now, I’d rather be up a ladder with a death grip on a sander…..

“When you stumble make it part of the dance. Everyone messes up. It’s part of the dance of life. So the next time you stumble, smile at the crowd, kick up your heels, and dance a jig! The moment you embrace it as your own, no one will know it’s not part of your dance” (Suzy Toronto)

Despite a week of thunderstorms, torrential downpours and drizzly skies, it was full steam ahead for the pool constructors. The huge hole in the ground now has a mesh of steel across the base ready for the arrival of the concrete truck on Tuesday. Luckily we have Lionel heading up the labour and Roy taking on the project manager role as the whole thing seems incredibly technical and precise. Apart not having a clue about most of what Lionel is talking about – he naturally assumes everyone can understand his machine gun French, the amount of different bits and pieces needed to create such a large pool is mind-boggling. As always Denis is on hand to source whatever is needed especially when it comes to manpower. He has an awful lot of friends.

In between all the ‘toing and froing’ to various specialist shops, I picked up my brother Moth from Toulouse airport on Thursday. It was a huge relief as he had flown in from Kenya and it’s always a worry whether or not a person makes through those arrival doors. Moth is also the master and commander of all that gets done in the main house so the renovations can now pick up a pace. The wonderful Pauline ‘artisan angel’ has almost finished with the ground floor and it’s back to sanding beams to get the second floor done. If all goes to plan, Mumo should be able to ‘go back home’ in a month or so, something I am sure she can’t wait for. Living with my crazy bunch of woofers plus six little fat pups would make anyone want to jump ship.

Ah, the pups. Well, they are growing rapidly. Alice is an incredible mother but you can see the relief on her face when she can escape for a toilet break and stroll around the garden. I am still sleeping with her and her brood on the bed every night which means I get very little shut-eye. They are incredibly noisy suckers and despite my in-built containment, I have been woken by a bundle of fur trying to make a break for it. It’s amazing that despite eyes and ears still closed, they are already developing their own personalities. This makes thinking of kennel names difficult as their characters are changing every day. The letter this year in France is ‘S’ and as with all my dogs, the names will be from literature or screen. My neighbour however, being French and knowing these things, has already called her chosen lad ‘Slim’. Why I have no idea but those trendy music minded peeps out there recognise that moniker. The other male I’ve yet to decide, he’s a big lad so perhaps Sherman. The girls are easier for some reason; Sansa, Sabrina, Salome and Serena. I’m still waiting for them to be listed on the SCC (French equivalent of the Kennel Club), as usual loads of paperwork there but three of them are already reserved. Once their eyes open, I shall have to transfer them to the pen for their own safety and my sanity. By that time, Arry might start to take a bit of notice of them – he’s still miffed that some French bloke knocked up his gal….

“Dogs are old and experienced in the practice of selling themselves..by the time he is six weeks old the average puppy is already as wily and full of tricks as an Armenian salesman, and considerably more non-resistable” (James R Kinney)

I don’t cope well on less than eight hours sleep but this time I can forgive Alice for the deprivation. After precisely 63 days in the womb, six tiny chiots made their entrances into our lives at somewhere between 2.30 and 5 a.m this morning. I can’t say I helped much apart from rubbing her back and counting them as they popped out whilst Alice calmly cleaned each one. She was, quite frankly, amazing. Isn’t it incredible that the human species with so much intelligence has to read a book and attend ante-natal classes yet Alice instinctively knew just what to do? Then to watch as one after the other, the pups crawled towards a teat without her putting them there. Incredible.

Despite all the hard work I put into making the whelping box, once the pups were born, Alice had had enough of it and wanted to be back on my bed with her brood. Naturally I had only just changed the bedsheets and with the worry of seeing six little bundles fall off the bed, I reconstructed said box on the bed. I’ll be sleeping on the sofa for a while I suppose but at least it will keep the dogs well away from her. Actually they haven’t taken much notice of this recent event, Arry slept through the whole thing, the exception being Yogi who sat by the box completely fascinated by these tiny creatures and with a sort of proud Uncle look on his face. However much I love them, I wouldn’t trust them around these precious bundles and Alice is extremely protective of them. Born to be a mum.

And no, I’m not keeping any of them. 8 dogs is more than enough especially with all the renovation of both house and garden. Alice has her Arry and once those pups are old enough to leave home, that’s what they’ll do. Mind you, one of them is possibly moving next door….

“Whoever said you can’t buy Happiness forgot little puppies.”
(Gene Hill)

After a couple of slow weeks on the renovation front, it was wonderful to have a driveway full of work vans once again. The reappearance of Max the plumber was a particularly welcome sight as we were without hot water for almost a week – I don’t care what they tell you, cold showers do not make you feel healthy in either mind or body. Max is one of those people who drives you crazy with his lack of urgency yet when he does arrive, you just can’t get angry with him. I wish the same could go for our electrician Pierre, who I mentally nickname ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’ as he is never here when you need him, made an appearance this week. Naturally nothing ever goes to plan when you have a house full of experts; one water leak and a faulty kitchen tap for starters.

The big news in Rouffiac is that the internet 5G fibre thingy has finally arrived in town and with this in mind, we booked an appointment for the connection. Of course, the house wasn’t going to make this easy for the installation team – snails decided to collectively block any chance of getting the fibre down the pre-placed tube. These snails have a habit of making a nuisance of themselves, the mysterious opening of our electronic gate for example. Who knew they had a penchant for sticking themselves to the internal mechanism thereby scaring the hell out of the human occupants who had to rush out and close the damn thing before the dogs got out. I did however get a few ideas for ‘escargot’ appetizers out of my neighbour who found the whole thing hilarious.

Despite all the internal chaos, the arrival of Christian and his digger this week was a big cheer and we now have a huge hole in the garden where the pool will be. Denis, as always, has helped me get a team of locals to do all the hard work and I have Roy, pool expert and great friend, to project manage the whole thing. The dogs love the mountains of soil piled up and spread around the garden, a whole new playground in which they can dig, sniff and in Arry’s case, try and put back in the hole. It’s all very exciting for both woman and beasts especially with the temperatures starting to rise.

Even with all the soil and toil at home, I did manage to get out and whizz off to Montpelier once again for Alice’s ‘confirmation’. The French Kennel Club equivalent (société canine centrale) run these little events for all to get pedigree’d pooches. The stud breeder and now a good friend, had explained to me what would happen but to ring her if there were any problems; “He might comment on her coat” she said. He did. “C’est tonte” he snootily muttered resulting in a secret snigger from me, the word ‘tonte‘ not only means clipped – it also means mowed. Nevertheless, he pronounced of sound pedigree and sign the papers. It wasn’t until I got home that I noticed he had checked the box for a male Border Terrier, she’s due to give birth in three weeks…..

“We should learn from the snail: it has devised a home that is both exquisite and functional” (Frank Lloyd Wright)

My darling Tony

It’ll be three years tomorrow. Three years seems like such a long time but sometimes it still feels like only a few months ago. One minute we were laughing about growing old and chasing each other in Zimmer frames and the next minute, I’m sitting here without you. And whilst the tears dry with time, memories forever ebb and flow through my mind. The little things; your crooked smile, the way your lip would twitch when you tried to lie and the hugs. I miss being able to mush my face in your chest whilst you wrapped yourself around me. I’m slowly letting go, every now and again I can still feel you right there but it doesn’t hurt anymore.

I don’t think about Knollys much these days, it’s funny how different my life has become, almost like two separate people but the same me. The girl who spent her days stressed out and chasing her proverbial tail around London is now happy with a hammer or a spade in hand and running up hills with her Arry. Considering neither of us was very good at DIY, you probably laughed your head off at my bar table attempt. I know, I should have been a little more accurate with the tape measure but then again, you know I never read instructions and patience is not my strong point. Occasionally I do wonder about how you would have coped with all the Covid stuff, not well without your beloved football I imagine, although you have a front row seat up there. In my mind, you’re most likely discussing Liverpool’s ups and downs with someone like Bill Shankly or Gerard Houllier.

It would have been your 60th birthday next month. As much as you said you wanted Alice to have a litter, I’m not sure newborn pups will be at the top of your gift list – watch over her won’t you? Ten years ago, I threw that surprise party for you with all our friends and family and then whisked you off to Oman. Thank God we didn’t know then what life was to throw at us.

There will be so many of those friends and family thinking of you tomorrow. I was just talking to Maggie the other day and she was saying how much Stu misses you. It’ll be a tough day for all especially your Mum, Frannie and Callum, Dickie and Phil too. I shall have my usual chat with you as the stars come out, I hope it isn’t cloudy because I hate not being able to say goodnight. Say hello to Pop and Jeremy and Keith and all the dogs up there with you especially Evee.

Thank you for getting me through the last three years even if you aren’t physically by my side but tucked away in my heart. As always I love you or in your words ‘ditto’……

One of lessons I am learning since moving across the pond is to be patient. Pretty much everything is a waiting game so I was over the moon when I got an appointment at the local prefecture for my Carte Sejour or Residence card last Monday. Having given all the necessary paperwork online at the beginning of the year, I had almost forgotten about it such is the speed of bureaucracy in France. Nevertheless, a short drive into Carcassonne and a 5 minute ‘fingerprints here/ photos there’ interview and I was officially allowed to live here. As I walked back to the car, I did wonder if passersby looked at me differently – just another local girl strolling along.

Whilst the Carte Sejour appointment came relatively quickly, any thoughts of getting my French driving licence or Carte Vitale (the health card which means you don’t have to pay extortionate fees for private medical insurance) are still many moons away. These I’m reliably informed can take years so it was with a little reluctance that I succumbed to having a blood test. My tum had been a little under the weather for a couple of weeks so the doctor booked me in for one. Apparently it’s quite normal to have a pint or two taken out of your arm to test for various lurgies. 48 hours later, I received an email with the results. By law here, you get to see what the doc sees. Naturally I couldn’t understand any of it but, regardless of my lack of medical lingo en Francais, I did note that my cholesterol was a little high, quite possibly due to the volume of Brie I consume on a daily basis. Still, the tum seems to have settled down and I have switched the fromage for salad.

Aside from the ups and downs of blood letting and digit stamping, life in Rouffiac continues albeit at a snail’s pace. Having bought most of the stuff for the pool, we now have to wait for the delivery and the digger. Christian assures me he will be here in a couple of weeks or so to excavate the plot so thumb-twiddling me has had to find other things to occupy my time. I decided that the covered area of the vast balcony needed something to fill it so what would be better than a bar table so drinkers could sip and survey the front garden? Now, what you think you can make out of a few bits of wood and what you actually achieve are two very different things. No matter how much you measure, the legs are still wonky and any unsuspecting guests are bound to get stabbed by a protruding screw or two. Callum, bless him, has promised to rectify his mother’s pathetic attempt at putting a few planks together. Still, it’s perfectly usable as long as you know where to stick your limbs.

Alice turns 4 today and she is beginning to resemble a guitar with her growing belly. With this in mind, the twice-weekly run through the nearby hills has meant leaving her behind and taking Arry on his own. I do miss having her by my side as I wheeze my way through the vines especially as Arry has taken to disappearing after wildlife at every opportunity. Yesterday he decided to chase a couple of cats across a field and then throw himself in a bog to cool down. I spent several minutes de-ponging and cleaning out the shower afterwards, you can understand why the pool will be fully fenced once it’s finished….

“You can’t do anything unless you do it yourself. And usually you can’t do it yourself very well” (E.W. Howe)

The sun has finally returned today after a week of constant rain. Although the deluge was very much needed, it did dampen the spirits somewhat – there is only so much one can do indoors. The main house is still under the care of Pauline ‘wonder walls’ artisan so sanding beams has been out of the question. I have stolen one of the floorboards though, a bar for the balcony in the making. I have no idea if it’s going to look like what it’s supposed to look like but I’ll give it a go. I’ve cut and sanded all the parts, now I have to figure out how easiest to put them all together.

Evee is still much missed especially at night as I got so used to her sleeping on my pillow but a visit to the vet on Thursday bought a bit of joy back into the pack. Alice is expecting! Yes, my secret trips to Montpelier bore fruit. Through a mutual friend, I found a wonderful Border Terrier breeder who was happy to provide the stud. Naturally Aude (stud mum) fell in love with Alice and over a couple of days, the deed was done. I have to admit it was somewhat overwhelming seeing the scan for the first time, four tiny pockets with pups tucked in. Tony had always wanted Alice to have a litter so I made a promise to myself that I would do just that. Now we just have to let her get on with her pregnancy and try not to keep blowing raspberries and cooing on her belly.

As the weather was so awful, shopping seemed the only escape from boredom so Mumo and I went off to the garden centre to buy various plants and tomatoes. I say this because Mumo bought at least 5 different types of tomato plants and would have kept going back for more if I hadn’t distracted her by moving her gaze towards the herb section. She likes tomatoes. I did manage to find a nice little rose for Evee called a fairy rose which seemed fitting. Planting it was a bit of a nervous experience, I really didn’t want to suddenly dig in the wrong place if you get my drift. Most of the shopping cart is now embedded in the Rouffiac soil except for those to go along the verge. For some reason, I feel Denis wouldn’t be happy if I messed with his landscaping there so they can wait for his expertise. It might be our garden but he is definitely the boss.

With the Mayor’s almost thumbs up for the pool (just a form to sign), the carport is now full of pumps and other bits of necessary construction. Thankfully I took Roy, our project manager with me, my maths in any language being beyond help, although we both knew how to say ‘there’s no way that’s going to fit in the car’. The lovely but somewhat dim salesperson assumed that a 5 foot square filtration system would go in the back of Roy’s already stuffed hatchback. We promised to return on Monday for it, still no idea about how to get it home. Thank God we didn’t go for a prefabricated piscine!

Finally just a note to say thank you for all the messages and virtual hugs for our Evee’s passing. She was such a huge character in that little fat body and there is a big hole left back here in our hearts. But I’m sure we will have our hands and paws full come early June …..

“If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello” (Paulo Coelho)

This is a blog I never wanted to write. On Tuesday afternoon Evee passed away in my arms after suffering a massive seizure. Our little fat princess, the last of the original four, died mercifully quickly cradled in a blanket by her Mum. I carefully laid her next to Arry who gently nudged her a goodbye as the others lay quietly around her. She was loved by them all, the ‘boss lady’ gone to lie with Tony and our other beloved woofers up there in the heavens.

Evee was the most obstinate, untrainable and independent of them all. She was a dog’s dog who never saw herself as being anything but the same size as everyone else. She once chased a Rottweiler across the local park when he dared to sniff her bum and a friend of mine remembered on hearing the news that her German Shepherd would never come in the door if Evee was sitting in front of it. She would think nothing of stealing food out of another dog’s bowl before they could blink but growled if anyone tried to come near her own. She refused to wear a coat in the winter and would put the brakes on if you tried to walk her in one (although in later life, her dog walker and loved human, Susan, bought her one which she actually liked). She hated being picked up but tolerated it if it meant she could snore on your pillow all night. One of the things I miss the most is her high pitched yapping when it came to mealtimes, you’d think she was the biggest dog in the room judging by the noise. It used to drive me crazy but I’d give anything to hear her now. Everyone referred to her as ‘Miss Small but Mighty’ such was her character.

Tony and I bought Evee after Callum fell in love with her. She was bred by one of my closest friends (he is often noted for the confidence in his dogs ahem) and it was due to one very hot day and a car breaking down that we ended up with the little pocket rocket. We often joked that she was from Mexico via Tooting. There is a lot more detail in Evee’s bio should you need more but to cut a long story short, she became the fourth member with Macgyver, Rupert and Jordi. She adored Jordi from the get-go and the the thought has come to mind that he was the only other one of my dogs to pass away in my arms. From the day Evee arrived, she was spoilt rotten by the others who tolerated being slept on and barked at when she couldn’t get her own way. Then we rescued Gizmo who became her poor hen-packed but devoted ‘husband’, they really did invoke the until death do us part bit.

The dogs had known for some time that Evee wasn’t herself, especially Arry and Alice who would try and protect her when she was having a seizure. That particular day, Alice had been especially attentive and constantly stayed by her side worrying. When Evee passed away, all the dogs went into a sort of quiet mourning. No one stirred except Gizmo who for a brief time went looking for his girl before joining the rest in solemn contemplation. I called my darling Denis that evening to ask if he could bury her at the bottom of the garden and he turned up the following morning with my neighbour with plenty of hugs and kisses – rules disregarded – to do as I asked. The sensitivity in which Denis undertook such a request bought tears to my eyes, carefully laying his coat over her even though I had wrapped her in a comfy blanket and placing flowers by her grave. I will plant a rambling rose there in that sunny spot under one of the fig trees.

Goodnight my princess Evee 2009-2021. I love you.

“Though she be but little, she is fierce” (William Shakespeare)

Sometimes I feel there is a ‘before’ and ‘after’ me. I’ve only been in France for eight months but my London self seems like a lifetime ago. I rarely think about the ‘before’ person anymore and to think of anywhere else but here as home is pretty much impossible. There is hardly anything I miss back in that old life apart from friends and family still over in the U.K except perhaps having a cashpoint machine within walking distance. The stressed out city girl has been replaced by a mostly calm country lass who spends most of her days sanding floorboards and beams and talking to plants. And dogs of course.

I had to take Evee to the vet this week. With the seizures become more frequent although still irregular, I knew it was time for her to go on medication. I had been putting it off in the vain hope that the CBD oil she had been on would keep the evils at bay but this wasn’t to be. Naturally the vet commented on her portly figure, the side effect of the oil was her almost constant snooze button but I was a bit shocked when he said my little chihuahua was over 3 kilos. Very embarrassing. After the discussion about which pills she was to pop came the difficulty of getting the medication ‘Chihuahua’ size. Apparently they just didn’t make one in particular to fit so I would have to divide each pill into eighths. Luckily these were only a two day prescription before she took the long term stuff but poor Mumo sat down and methodically cut the little round bricks into eight pieces. Thankfully (and now on a strict diet) Evee has never been fussy about eating anything so medicating is easy and hopefully life for her and the rest of us will be a little less scary moving forward.

It was Mumo’s birthday on Thursday which was celebrated in the normal fashion of not going anywhere and having a family Zoom. I did attempt to cook a dessert and since I don’t like cakes and it being pointless for her to eat one alone, I decided to make brownies instead. I would like to point out at this point that it is always best to check that you have all the necessary ingredients, chocolate in this case, before you start throwing everything into the Kenwood. I did manage to find one bar of the dark stuff and a big packet of chocolate sprinkles in the fridge but I don’t think Mary Berry is going to be calling me anytime soon. They did taste better than they looked which wasn’t necessarily a good thing as I ended up with an upset stomach for 48 hours. Still, Mumo had a good day and is much more disciplined than I am.

The potager is now planned and the ground rotavated. All we need to do is to move the dog fence, put up to keep the builders and their lunch safe from our roguish canines, so that we can keep paws away from tomatoes etc and so we can get the digger and cement truck in for the pool foundations next month. We still need to get the okay from the Mayor but I am assured this will not be an issue as practically every house in the village has a pool and we do have a very big patch of land to stick one in. I can’t wait to get my hands dirty in the garden again, sanding endless piles of floorboards does take a toll on the body. And nails. And hair. Ah yes, there once was a girl who wore false nails and had a hairdresser for a neighbour…..

“Home is where one starts from” (T.S Eliot)

Every Sunday morning, I make the short trip to L’Horte to visit Pop. I thank the Gods that the drive only takes 5 minutes as Arry barks in my ear the whole way. Very loudly. On arrival he, Gunner, Alice and Yogi throw themselves out of the car and leap merrily through the overgrowth to get to the river even though Arry is the only one that swims. It’s the equivalent of taking sugar-dosed kids to Disneyland. I can go to my car any other day and not be rugby-tackled but on a Sunday – they know and so does most of the village. Terriers and Shepherds are not a good mix if you are trying to get out of town quietly.

The pack have a sixth sense about certain things; the trip to L’Horte being only one of them. I could waffle on in expert terms about learned behaviours and operant conditioning yah dee yah but some actions just can’t be explained so easily. Evee’s seizures for example. Unfortunately these are becoming more frequent and another visit to the vet is on the cards. When these fits first started, I could pretty much gauge when they were going to happen; once a month at the Full Moon but now they have become random episodes which of course, cannot be predicted. At least not by me. Some of the woofers however, seem to have a nose for such scares, namely Coco Loco, Arry and Alice. Whilst the others appear oblivious, Coco will start barking and Alice will get as close as possible to Evee as though protecting her even after the episode is over. Arry’s attempts at emergency nursing mostly involve a lot of licking which could be seen as counter-productive as his tongue is about the same size as the poor old gal. These four-legged EMT’s I’m sure, have saved her popcorn more than once.

As work in the main house is still ongoing and we appear to have mislaid our electrician (probably buried in a wall somewhere with the wiring), Mumo and her woofs are still with us. Whilst I am no stranger to having fur covered tiles, the canine catering might have presented a few problems. Mine know exactly what time they are to be served, Simi in particular but Gunner and Sappy are used to being fed an hour later. Not anymore if they have any chance to finish their meals without Alice and Evee helping out and turning Sappy into a nervous wreck in the process. They say dogs can’t tell the time, well mine can.

Arry bought a friend home again last night. Mumo and I had just retired to our chambres with various hairy companions after a bit of a binge on “The Crown” when I heard Mo growling. Since Mo is usually a deep sleeper, I listened out for any unwanted doorknob twisting but nothing. This was until Arry jumped on my bed and started scratching his nose furiously causing me to turn the light on and see what kind of stupidity on his part had caused such agitation. There in my bedroom doorway was a hedgehog. Again. And not even a shy little woodland soul, nope there it was happily checking out it’s possible new digs. There is no doubt that Arry had got the creature upstairs, sore nose aside but it was me who had to throw a bathroom mat over it and gently release the poor hedgehog back into it’s natural environment, the garden. I would say that such visitations can never be predicted but then, I know Arry……

“A dog starved at his master’s gate, Predicts the ruin of the state” (William Blake)