Here I am living the good life, and sharing it with others. There is never a dull moment at our farm house bed and breakfast in deepest rural France, and our pet Pointer, Molly, makes a fair contribution to our busy lifestyle.

Pointers: the supreme hunting dog makes a great family pet!

Long before we moved to France, I dreamed of owning a dog, and trailed through the internet trying to decide on the breed for us. I knew that we were looking for a place in rural France with barns, out-buildings and land and that we could give a larger dog the space and exercise it needs. On the one hand, as a novice dog-owner I was not willing to take on a really big dog, but on the other I didn't really want a lap dog either. I did have, however, quite fixed ideas of what I liked in a dog - and what I disliked. Here is my list:

• not too big or too small
• short hair - less mess on carpets, no grooming
• hard mouth - dislike slobber
• good temper - have son, then aged 5
• athletic - like a slim, sleek dog
• beauty - after all I am an artist
• healthy - wanted to avoid over-bred dogs that have genetic disorders. No need to run up avoidable vets bills
  
• sensible - love red setters, but all the information about the breed suggested they are too flighty - one neurotic member of the family is enough - I need a dog to keep my feet firmly on the ground
• intelligent and easy to train. Well, Molly is intelligent and, as for the training, I think 99% of any blame for a badly trained dog lies with the owners and not the dog.

They say that people look like their dogs. In my case I knew how I wanted to look - slim, elegant, sleek with clean lines and a well-defined musculature - I chose the Posh Spice of the dog world. The English Pointer was my ideal dog.

All the above was really day-dreaming, the reality to be saved for some time in the not too near future when we were solvent, settle and in control of our lives. Then fate stepped in. Shortly after we arrived in Videix, I went to the local electrical shop in Rochechouart to buy a TV, and there, next to the counter, was a pointer just like Molly. My son loved this dog. It was quiet, affectionate and patient with the attentions of a child. Before I had cottoned on to what was happening, my little boy, never a shrinking violet, marched up to the counter and asked if we could buy the dog. Of course, she was not for sale, but she was about to have pups and they offered to give us one if we wanted.

We were not settled, solvent or in control of our lives, but on the other hand, it all seemed a bit too much of a coincidence to totally ignor. I swear I didn't tell my son about my secret plan to buy a dog, let alone a pointer! So I went home, discussed it with my husband and then decided to take the puppy. After all, my son was an only child and lonely. Molly was to be his 'little sister.' We said YES!

Do better than I did when you look for a mate for your dog. Our chimney sweep had long been an admirer of Molly and came around regularly to clean our chimney and to propose his dog as a suitable suitor. He said the dog came from good stock, had all its papers and, as a hunter himself and French to boot, I assumed that he knew the ropes. NOT A BIT! Do your homework and see the pedigree papers for yourself. It is worth selecting a good mate for your dog. In his favour, Ulio has a great lineage full of champions and is trained to hunt.

Molly played hard to get. Twice we had the dog over after having carefully calculated the 10th day after coming on heat, and twice we failed to see any action other than a great deal of growling and baring of teeth on Molly's part. Time and timing were of the essence, after all our dog was getting on in years, so we decided to have Ulio to stay for the entire on-heat period - a nice two weeks holiday at a B&B. My main worry was that Ulio had, to my mind, a short snout, and was much too slobbery.

This time the deed was done and it soon became evident that Molly was a mum-to-be. We took her to the vet for advice and she was deemed to be in good health. We were told that pointers usually give birth without problems, to feed her on puppy food, and to worm her periodically. Off we went home with sack of food and worming tablets.

The time grew near, I got out the books on whelping and pups, and the day soon arrived. Molly was agitated, tearing her bed (more than usual) and didn't want to be left alone at all. And this went on ...and on. One of our Bed and Breakfast guests at the time was a midwife, and my husband was a doctor, so Molly had all the expert help one could hope for - short of the vet. Nothing happened and my husband did actually tell me to phone the vet, and I admit I just hoped all would just go smoothly eventually. We waited until evening, still nothing. I phoned my sister whose dog had had several litters of pups. She assured me that the pups would arrive during the night. Next morning still nothing so we took the poor dog off the the vets. Once there the vet took one look at Molly and whipped her in for an emergency cesaerian, taking time only to chide me for not having acted sooner - as if I did not feel bad enough already! We were sent home and told to phone again that evening. When we called at five, Molly was OK and ready for visitors, we were told. Off we went to visit the patient and were shocked to be told that, upon reflection, they thought that mum and pups should all go home with us there and then!

At first Molly refused to acknowlege the existance of the pups, but at least allowed them to feed. We had to get up regularly through the night to stroke their nether regions to encourage them to 'wee and poo'. We also checked that they were all together and none had wriggled behind their mum. As she recovered a bit from her operation, Molly began to show the minimum amount of interest and do her duty. She fed them and kept them clean. That was it.

Days and nights passed and soon we began to be kept awake at night by terrible snarling (on the part of Molly) and squeeking (on the part of the pups). We were very alarmed. Molly has a lovely temprement and in all the years she had been with us we barely heard a growl, much less a snap, yet here were the most horrific noises coming from the kitchen. Every time we awoke to this drama, several times a night, we expected to see the pups dead, bitten to death by their own mother - but no. This dog's snarl was evidently much worse than her bite and the pups remained alive, but very, very wary. Evidently Molly did not take kindly to having her sleep interrupted.This is one tough mama and it made me look again at the model of motherhood we have had passed down to us. Am I too soft on my son? Would he work harder at school, keep his room tidier and help more around the house if he had his head bitten more often???

This was the photograph I took to try to sell the pups. Thought it best to get in there early and find some nice people to reserve the pups. It was at this point that I came up against all the regulations the French beaurocrats could throw at a couple of tiny pups - and the regulations were not inconsiderable. This is a new story to be told in full in future articles! Believe me, the French regs around selling puppies definately needs an article all to itself. For the moment, I will cut it down to two facts. A - I should have had servicing certificates right at the start, and B - I should have checked the dog's pedigree papers with my own eyes because at this point I discovered he didn't have the final, and decisive paper. So - my pups were not pedigree puppies in the eyes of the French state and couldn't be sold as such. This was a real downer and I began to imagine life with three pointers in the house. More sleepless nights.

It soon became evident that the puppies all had very different characters. The boy, the one with the black marking on his body, was the placid one. The one with the black head was the naughty one! She was the first to climb out of her box, the first one to escape from any container and the fastest one, taking any opportunity to get up to mischief in a flash. The other female had brown markings and she was good as gold. This was the puppy I wanted to keep, we called her Cocoline, although the placid male dog would have made the best pet and the fast and feisty black-headed one, (we called her Naughty Susan for obvious reasons) had all the makings of a great Chien du Chasse - or hunting dog.

This was the last picture we took of the pups together. Soon, the owner of the father came for the male puppy we named 'Spot' - I know not very original, but it wasn't to be his "real" name - and then there were two. But the drama was not yet over and more of the story must be saved for Part 2 - the Puppies' Tale! Suffice it to say we all felt a bit sad to see the little chap go, but also relieved as the puppies were becoming more than just a handful. Molly had come around a bit as they grew into teenages and could play her rough games, still didn't have much time for them. As far as she was concerned they were old enough to leave home so she could resume her single life again. See the video below for a good example of their relationship!