The Old House

All of a sudden, Vita has been spayed. The chasse started in earnest two weekends ago - men with dogs and guns walking across Monsieur F's fields and then back up the side of the cottage through Serge's land. And (late in the day) we realised we had a female puppy about to come into season surrounded by testosterone-filled hounds on the loose! Even fencing would not have stopped them.

She is walking round, quite unconcerned with a tatty T-shirt bandage round her middle which slowly works its way down to her haunches and then has to be hitched up again. Apart from the occasional nibble and lick, she's doing fine.


She and I wandered up to the house this morning. It still has bits and pieces to clear, but now largely empty it has regained some of its original magic and I remember again why we chose this place.


How could we have just stacked all our books and bits of furniture in front of the colombage in the gîte? When we move back, the gîte will have become our entrance hall. This time, we'll leave it uncluttered to show off those splendid old walls.


Vita and I explore the loft. She hunts mice and loir between the insulation. I realise I have never seen into the pigeonnier. The entrance has been barred by a new beam, but I can point a camera between the struts up to the roof .
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