Watchful

20th April, 2025

Taking on a new dog, puppy, mature, or puppy masquerading as more mature, is a learning curve, but we had hoped it might have been Peggy’s rather than ours.  I inched a little further up the slope after spending over ten minutes after our morning walk on Monday trying to coax her to come and have her feet wiped, but even the lure of hotdog sausage was not enough to convince her till I eventually managed to take hold of her collar. Tuesday morning was much quicker as I cunningly didn’t unclip her harness till after her paws had been cleaned.

On the positive side, she has started to come to be fussed, though is still more jittery inside than out, and is very cooperative in having the harness put on to go out for her walks – obviously intelligent enough to figure out what is in her interest. As for her health, the vet called Stephen on Monday with the results of the blood analysis and everything was fine. He suggested to leave it a couple of weeks then bring her back for him to have another look and for us to decide how to proceed.

There was movement on the house front on Wednesday, fortunately in a metaphorical sense, when I received a message from Irene while out on our afternoon walk. She wanted to know if I was at home and could she come with the builder. Well, of course. After taking the dogs back and feeding them, I went up the road to wait for their arrival.

The first to come was Irene, who was dropped off by her father before he disappeared. She was followed not long afterward by Loris and his young oppo, and erstwhile pupil of mine, Diego, and the four of us, plus a toolbox or two, headed back down to fix the two crystal monitors, as previously mentioned, to the house, and the reason why Irene’s father had disappeared was revealed.

He had stationed himself somewhere at the top of the hill and, via a phone connection with Irene, was, in something reminiscent of The Golden Shot, guiding Loris as to where to fire his drill and bolt the monitors to the front wall. The job was over in less than ten minutes, after which I drove the party back up the road. I presume they then went to fix the third monitor to the Mogliani house as Luigi, when he saw Stephen on Friday morning at Bar del Borgo, gave him the third degree over it all – not that he was able to give him a whole lot of gen on the matter – especially as, like the ones down the shaft, we have to wait for the three-monthly readings to be gathered.

Thursday was Stephen’s birthday, and breakfast was a mildly diverting affair of opening cards and presents. Nor was there much chance of fun and celebrations during the rest of the day; not only was it a normal working one, but it was almost seven before he made it home in the evening, just in time for me to disappear downstairs for my lesson with Matteo and Luca. Dinner was also delayed, as he was summoned to the top of the road for a rendezvous with bff Manuel, who presented him with an artisanal colomba as a combined birthday and Easter gift – which was just as well seeing as he had been moaning that he hadn’t got a cake.

Much to my irritation (not that it takes a lot, admittedly) our Friday morning routine was disrupted as one of the bosses in Milan was heading to St Moritz to go skiing for Easter, like you do, and wanted to get a meeting out of the way before he left. 8.30 was the inconvenient time, but if they were quick Stephen would still be ready to leave at our usual hour of 9 – except a message came saying that the meeting had been put back thirty minutes. 

The upshot was that I breakfasted da solo in Bar del Borgo, Stephen messaged me when he was leaving so I was able to get in his cappuccino and guard it until he arrived and I passed him on my way to Rocco’s, when he just had enough time to say that the guy going skiing didn’t show up for the meeting. I guess that’s the sort of thing you can do when you are the boss and in charge and inconsiderate. At least Stephen was home early, for while Good Friday isn’t an official bank holiday in Italy a lot of places either close all day or for the afternoon. After a visit to a sole factory in the morning, he got a bit ticked off with sitting drawing in splendid isolation in the office so came home mid-afternoon, bringing the work to finish tomorrow when it is an official bank holiday.

Yesterday was a quiet day at home, though we, or rather Stephen as I was busy working in the office, had a surprise visitor, and one who meant business as he had left his car at the top and walked down. Sergio was unknown to me but not to Stephen, partly because they had had a slight difference of opinion when he worked for a while for the Carellis: he thought what he was doing was ok but Stephen begged to differ.

He obviously bore no grudges, or saw us as a likely conduit to support his new business venture of biking holidays exploring the local area and based in MSP. Naturally, being English, we have a ready supply of contacts and associates on tap who consider lycra de rigueur and pounding the peddles the perfect break. You only have to look at us to know that so, if you are an outdoor, exercise freak like us, we are more than happy to pass on the brochure, Marche Segrete, if you are looking, as it says on the cover for an “experiential bike tour to discover the lesser-known Marche region”.

Stephen also exchanged pleasantries with Luigi who passed by with Billy, the second time in two days they had chatted after Stephen failed to answer all his questions in Bar del Borgo. He complimented us on Peggy, saying that she was a fine looking dog – which was very generous of him considering she and Harry spent the whole time they were chatting barking like lunatics at Billy, who ignored them in his usual phlegmatic manner.

Today, of course, has been Easter Sunday, and whilst the Easter Bunny generously left us a wealth of eggs and goodies on our breakfast table, we resisted cracking any open till later when a shard or two went down very well with our post-lunch caffè.

That wasn’t our only gastronomic delight as I made up for missing out on a cake for Stephen’s birthday by dinner at CarloCarla. They had an Easter Day menu, served at lunchtime and in the evening, and we opted for the later, against the popular thinking amongst the locals where big family lunches are the thing. I don’t know how busy Carlo and Carla were at midday, but the evening was a very select event, with just us and two Dutch couples staying in the B&B. “It’s like private dining,” said Stephen, and indeed as he chose to sit at a table in the opposite half of the room to the other diners and face away from them, I’m sure it was.

As for Peggy’s first Easter with us, she may not have had any chocolate to enjoy (it being, as all should know, very bad for dogs) but she did find other ways for her and Harry to have fun, hence a new outside door mat shooting to the top of our shopping list.

The pair had been lying in the sunshine like little angels mid-afternoon when Stephen went for a shower, but at some point between then and me finishing off a few bits and pieces in the downstairs workroom, someone took the mat into the garden for a jolly tug of war. It was, as they say, a game of two halves, which I found lying in the grass as I passed by on my way back upstairs. Oh well, we were getting to the stage of needing a new one so she was only being helpful. Bless her.