Englishman Buys Bar 8 - time to take stock

By John Harries-Harries

Geordie. Lucy's Dream.

.... read on.

Dec 15th 2002.

A Tail and two kitties.

I have been told to slow down. And I thought progress was pretty slow anyway. It is no external clamour from friends or family, or, God forbid, the medical profession, but the small inner voice of reason, which we so often ignore.

I have been involved in this project since late August, when we first took the decision that set the ball rolling. Unfortunately there are uphill bits and the ball requires considerable added impetus from time to time. The weeks running up to the move were filled with the myriad details needed to satisfy everyone and their dog, or so it seemed, and there was considerable physical effort to add to the general anxiety.

I have found that the house improvements are taking more effort than anticipated. I cannot work at the same pace and for the extended time that I used to manage. I have to admit my age, and it is frustrating, and it hurts. I have totally ignored this for the last week or so, and put the frequent dropping of tools, repeated minor knocks, (so often on the finger I badly damaged in the summer), down to normal fatigue. I put down my intolerance to those around me (whom I love dearly) to their inefficiency or bloody mindedness.

This morning I woke up late, and went for a favourite walk. It is a loop of about 4km out of the village, through a wood, along the canal towpath and back up the hill into the village. I was able to take stock of what I am doing.

I haven't been doing the tiling of the bathroom because the tiles have to be ordered and won't be ready for collection until Tuesday. I have gone as far as I can with the modified drainage system, until I fit the shower 'cabine', which of course has to wait for the tiling to be completed. All of this means I have had a weekend to relax, and my promenade allowed me to re-assess what I am doing, and why.

I met the daughter of an English friend, who was on the way to see Lucy, and then I dropped through the woodland path to a wooden footbridge. 

A few metres on is a restored ecluse , where the water was thundering through the sluice built for canoeists. 

...something must have gone wrong with John's digital camera, producing a very pale picture, so I turned it into an impressionist painting. One of the more useful marvels of modern computing. 

I reflected upon the tremendous power of the water flow, and the richness of this winter source of motive power for the many mills in the area. I recalled the large turbo-electric stations I had seen in the summer, when I visited my son in the Pyrenees. I stayed near the lock for a while, savouring sounds of the roaring water, and sights of the bird life.

It is only in the last week or two that the last leaves have been stripped from the hardwoods and hedgerows. Buildings never seen for the rest of the year peek from bare woods and copses, their white walls becoming visible through the stands of trees.

In this short walk I must have seen a score of bird species. Tits and chaffinches shared the lower boughs, and wrens and wagtails scurried away from almost beneath my feet. Through binoculars, I was able to see so many other birds, and as I walked along the towpath into quieter spots, their varied song reminded me why I was there.

The wildlife in our bit of France is remarkable. I saw my first wild otter along the same Nantes-Brest canal a couple of years back. It sauntered slowly across the towpath not 15 metres from me, and slid away into the water. I have since found tracks close to where I stood today, but have yet to see my second.

A polecat startled me one afternoon as it flashed by, with bright orange stripe from head to tail, scurrying to its important tasks. Buzzards are common and in the summer months I shall again see the blue flashes of merlins and kingfishers.

My walk took me back to the road and a more strident sound jarred in the air. La Chasse. Dogs, (you can't describe them as hounds) yelped their calls, to be answered by a volley of 12 bores from the sporting members of our community. I have no feelings either way about hunting with or without dogs, but on balance I feel I could happily do without it.

I wandered up the hill to the village, briefly walking round the cemetery, still resplendent with chrysanthemums from All Saints, and thought generally about mortality. I resolved to pace myself better, and to let things take their course.

There is a French version of the RSPCA. It is the S.P.A. and there is a facility near Pontivy, about 20 km south of us. We had promised ourselves, as a family, that we would have a dog when we were settled. Our last dog was buried in our garden back in Cranfield about 8 years ago (be reassured, he WAS dead). We found that a dog was such a tie that we didn't want another. Moving changed this view.

We had what my readers would now expect, an interesting experience. Lucy had a little daydream at school. It revealed that she would have a black and brown puppy. We told her that our feelings were more sympathetic to rescuing an adult dog, as puppies could always find a home due to their cuteness.

We looked around the kennels. There would be about 80 dogs and 20 cats incarcerated, and as I always find, I felt strong sympathy for these abandoned animals. I'd take them all home if I could, but my years and (limited, I agree) intelligence tell me that this is not possible.

We spotted a good candidate for adoption. A smallish dachshund cross, which was particularly quiet. Unfortunately the Police had only brought it in the previous day, so the owner may (fortunately) be found.

This was enough to ensure we looked again. This time we saw the area with the puppies. Oh dear. So many appealing pairs of eyes, and frantic tails.

One stood out from the others. A beagle cross, with feet which indicated a medium (Oh, I hope so) sized fully-grown dog. (Since the previous choice was a dachsie cross, I presume John means he hopes it doesn't grow too big - the opposite of my elder son's wishes for Huckleberry when we found him in Botswana). It was, of course, black and brown, and just as Lucy described.

The best bit was to come. The earnest, and a trifle prim, lady in charge now filled out the dossier. We now realise that every living thing in France has a dossier (This will include Lucy when she goes 'en colonie' for the summer holidays. They call it a Livret Sanitaire, and it includes useful info about things like allergies). She needed to have a name for the pup. So we had to decide the sex. The pup being about 8 weeks old was not showing clear evidence of any sort of tackle, male or female. Thus the debate began. At length. With everyone, including the enthusiastic children, out from school at Wednesday lunch time, and volunteering for dog walking.

It was decided it was a boy. Lucy wanted the name 'Geordie'. So down it went. Then the kennel man arrived and decided it was female. Much crossing out on dossier and new name Julie thought up by Madame Prim. Then another authoritative lady announced, definitely a boy.

I am now almost hysterical with laughter. I suggest they are giving the poor pup a complex about its possible homosexuality. Now everyone is in fits of laughter and wandering suggestively around the office, with mincing walks and hands on hips.

The dossier was solemnly re-written with the name 'Geordie'. Perhaps the vet will clear any lasting doubts in January, when he/she/it/duckie, will get tattooed and have its second vaccination.

There has been an interesting period watching the 2 cats' attitude to the interloper. Sophie has taken umbrage and retired to the attic area on the second floor. Fraggle, much more confident and sanguine has indicated that SHE was here first, and that Geordie had better watch his step

All this has been a most necessary distraction for me. It has balanced my outlook nicely, and I CAN hear the inner messenger.

* * *

I resisted most of the temptations to intrude on this episode, at least the introspective part, which I take as a good sign that John will not crack up under the load of this great undertaking.

If you want to congratulate or encourage him (or sympathise with Chris and Lucy)  e-mail me with your thoughts or advice, or better still, write to the Notice Board.

Have fun.

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