It's Me, Sara Louise

Hunting season is well underway in The LPV. That means that most of the wives here have been abandoned by their husbands for a walk through the forest with a shotgun and a dog, while les sangliers (boar) run for their lives.

Papa’s Wife is one of the hunting widows, so Sunday lunches have gone from seven of us around the table, to only three, which makes for much more quiet and cozy affairs. And since it’s only the three of us, we pop in a DVD when lunch is over. On Sunday afternoons, we are now the ‘No Hunters Allowed Movie Club’. It’s just about the most perfect way to spend a chilly Fall afternoon if you ask me. (There are actually only two members in the club, Papa’s Wife and me. The Husband tends to fall asleep on the couch.)

So far we’ve watched; Giant (one of my all time favorites), Crazy Stupid Love (why hello there Mr. Gosling), Horrible Bosses (or, Comment Tuer Son Boss? as it’s known en français) and Steel Magnolias (Papa’s Wife had never seen it… there were tears, oh so many tears).

These Sundays have been blissful, even if at times they’ve been compromised, like the time La Petite crashed. But of course we didn’t mind that too much. I mean really, she’s adorable, doesn’t take up much room, and doesn’t take more than her share of wine so she’s an excellent lunch guest in my opinion. And sometimes she does ridiculously cute things…

We were having paella… La Petite reached for a mussel, opened the shell, pulled out the mussel, ate half of it, put the other half back in the shell and closed it. She then pushed an encroaching Ruby away while shouting, “No Ruby No” (but being The Husband’s niece, it sounded much more like, “No Wuby No”), then she opened the shell back up, and ate the other half.

It really (weally) was one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen, so I didn’t mind that she had crashed our cozy lunch and the ‘No Hunters Allowed Movie Club’ was on hiatus for the week. Didn’t mind at all.

But I really (weally) did mind the time Papa returned home in time for lunch…

It was a minute past one, Claire Chazal had begun to deliver les nouvelles on the television in the background as we sat down to eat when we heard it… the sound of Papa’s hunting jeep pulling up. The three of us looked at each other with surprised expressions. Papa’s early return could only mean that he  had a successful morning (and we’d be eating boar for weeks on end).

The front door opened and in walked the Jack Russells, Milka and Leo, bells jingling on their collars, followed by a camouflaged Papa, and with them came a smell so awful it can’t be described. All I can say is that they smelled ripe and not in a ripe peach kind of way, they smelled ripe, like in the most awful, rotten kind of way.

Milka and Leo ran around the table, and every time they got near me I’d gag a bit, push my lunch plate a bit farther away from me, and bury my nose in my glass of Bordeaux.

“Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé?” Papa’s Wife demanded.

It turns out Papa did have a successful morning, and while he was (I’m trying to think of a delicate way to put this) ‘taking care of’ the boar, Milka and Leo decided to roll all around in it. Like all around IN IT.

bisou