This is a story about a dog named Hubert, a kindly woman, and a nice man. Yesterday my wife (the kindly woman in this story) was out for her morning walk, and stopped to talk with our friend Judith at Le Thé Vert. While there, they saw a dog that they didn’t recognize as a vrai Daglanais — a true villager. When the dog trotted over the bridge and started wandering through traffic, my wife decided it must be lost. Time to intervene!
So she stopped traffic, pulled the dog over to the side of the road, and checked its collar. Its name was Hubert, and its owner’s name and telephone number were on its tag. So my wife whipped out her trusty mobile phone, and called. Unfortunately, she could only reach the owner’s voicemail.
Then she phoned me (still at home), so I could look up the owner in our phone book and see where he lives. When I discovered that his address was in Le Peyruzel, the hamlet high above Daglan, that was enough for my wife: Off she went, with Hubert in tow.
As it turned out, it was a very good deed indeed. It seems that the owner and his wife were away, and the owner’s father had been looking after the dog. Unfortunately, Hubert had wandered off while the man was in Daglan’s boulangerie, and so the man had been driving frantically all over the village looking for it. He thanked my wife profusely.
Then this morning, there was a knock on our door, and there stood the man with a melon for us — a gift, he said, from Hubert the dog, to say thanks. And how did he find us? Well, he had bumped into our friend Judith this morning, who said that the nice woman who had guided Hubert home lived in the house with les volets bleus — the blue shutters. And that’s how the nice man found us, with the gift from Hubert.