This morning came too early. The churchbells ring at 8 a.m., but it was still dark out. I got up and put on some jeans and a warm fuzzy (what we call the big, huge, polar sweaters) and staggered downstairs to let the dogs out and feed them. The sun was just rising as I opened the door and the village square was bathed in the palest apricot light. The air was still vibrating from the churchbells, and the doves who nest in the belfry were still flapping around the old chestnut tree. (I’m sitting here wondering what it’s like to be a dove, and wondering how many die of heart attacks when the bells start ringing in the morning…) There is also a small falcon who lives in the belfry, and two or three barn owl families. The owls never budge when the bells ring, but once a year there are fireworks in the village square and that always scares the owls out of their nest. When the first fireworks go off, four or five large white shadows come shooting out of the belfry and careen into the air, dodging the sparks and disappearing into the night.
The puppy is whining now. He made a poopy in the hall and according to the dog training book, I have to scold him and put him outside for fifteen minutes. I don’t think the puppy minds, but he can hear Rusty in the kitchen finishing the dog food he left in his bowl and that is making him desperate to come inside. I am trying to ignore his heartbroken little whines. One must be consistant when house-training a dog (quoting from the book here) especially dachshunds who are notorious for not getting it right. (Advice from my sister-in-law here, who had three.) Just checked my watch. Fourteen minutes to go. The neighbors (hopefully) cannot hear his high-pitched whining. Which reminds me, the neighbor’s daughter has been coming over for English lessons. Her mother called me from the restaurant and said that her daughter has had some bad grades and could help her study. I said of course. The grades are worse than bad, and the poor child has no notion of English. So I’m cheating a bit. We’re going over and over the vocabulary for her next test. I told her I wanted to see her an hour every two days, and we just go over the words. If she can’t speak English, at least she’ll ace her tests. LOL. Which goes to show how little testing is worth. Well, she might get some vocabulary out of this too. (Just checked clock. Ten more minutes of puppy torture.) Rusty just came in looking very smug and lay down on the doggy bed next to me. She likes Auguste but, like any older, jealous sibling, feels no pity for the punished.
It’s Sunday, and I have pity for my neighbors who might be sleeping in. I will let in the punished puppy and hope he’s learned some sort of lesson…(I’m mean? Rusty is a pig? The door is very solid?)
Have a lovely day!