A group of early rising pilgrims saunter along the lane . With a 'whoooof' Bob is out of the door and onto his stump seat. The pilgrims wave and laugh. After the last one is out of sight Bob comes back inside. He's wearing his serious ' I showed them who's boss ' face.
In the Place de la Republique ( all squares in France are called Place de la Republique ) tourists. Not a lot of them but tourists nonetheless. Summer definitely here.
We go to the delicatessen for some ham for lunch. The electrician is ahead of us buying four portions of Boudin Noir for his teams breakfast. Bob throws his head back and inhales. He tries to convince the shopkeeper, the electrician and his master this is part and parcel of every PONs diet. '' Boudin Noir. It's an old Polish recipe ". He's disappointed.
There is more luck at the cheese shop where he gets a sliver of Brebis and some Chevres. His tail wags like a metronome set to allegro vivace.
Just one of those quiet summer mornings with a happy dog. Too unexceptional to be noted in a diary but too important to be completely forgotten.
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