The diurnal clock.

Up and out early. It's pitch dark now at six in the morning,summer seamlessly segueing into autumn.The two boyz follow me to the gate but quickly turn back to catch up on their sleep - both of them out like a light on the doorstep. They operate on a fixed diurnal clock. Darkness = Sleep, Daylight = Sleep with breaks for food, games and tickles .

The rain I felt was a certainty yesterday failed to arrive. Today we're back to bright blue skies and heat - by ten o'clock we're already well into the 30's.Another day of coaxing the digital controls on the irrigation system into life and balancing the water inflow into the underground cisterns.

Off to the valet with the dog car .The latest in a string of attempts to get rid of the strange,decidedly unpleasant smell that has been growing ever more noticeable over the last week. A thorough search behind and under the seats, in the glove box,around the spare tyre and in the engine compartment failed to find evidence of the malodorous source. The boyz clearly hid their 'discovery' extremely carefully this time. The car returned cleaner ( if not clean) and smelling of that strange perfume that is peculiar to freshly valeted cars. No sign of the pungent item although I fear it will return. The boyz are back asleep. Tired out after a thirty minute 'splosh' game and trying to work out the miracle of how a ball transubstantiates into a water loving fish and back again .

Digby is now lying regally on top of his freshly laundered bed , snoring like a trooper, with Wilf dozing uncomplaining on the bare tiles below him . Wilf seems to sleep with a smile on his face - transported to a dream world in which we run a restaurant and he is the kitchen dog tasked with trying all the dishes and sauces and cakes and....

No prizes for guessing which of the two brothers is the smartest.

The marvellous cleaning lady is due to arrive in quarter of an hour. In readiness the boyz beds have been collected up from the floor of the hallway and piled at the front door to be taken down to the laundry room for some heavy duty steam cleaning. On my way out to the bar to pick up copies of the Corriere and Herald Tribune I happened to note that Digby has managed to make himself supremely comfortable and is sitting on top of the piled up beds directing the households coming and goings. This is the canine worlds Roman emperor approach to life. Wilf seems happy to stretch out on the terracotta floors - not that he has any option. No prizes for guessing which of these two boyz is the most intelligent. Brain over brawn.

Autumn has arrived. It's not cold (24 degrees at seven am ) but a wind has sprung up and the blue skies have given way to grey cloud. The rain which I forecast failed to arrive yesterday so I confidently predict that it will come today!

Rain, memories and unanswerable questions.

Flung open the french doors onto the terrace expecting yet another day of bright blue skies, but no - there are a few real,grey,grumpy rain bearing clouds out there. If the promise of rain holds true our days can be filled with something other than running backwards and forwards making sure the new and hugely expensive (and complicated) irrigation system is working properly. Note for the future when the installation guy says " it's all automatic all you have to do is ..." beware. This is shorthand for it isn't really automatic and is actually hugely labour intensive.Roll on sweet rain!

Despite the presence of hunters Wilf was finally coaxed out into the courtyard with the promise of a ballgame and a digestive biscuit. As he's nearly nine we decided that there was no harm in giving him extra attention - at that age who cares about reinforced behaviour ? He lay with his head resting on the 'fonts' feet until the gunfire eased off but was on edge for the rest of the day. He started his repetitive ear scratching last night for the first time in months - a sure sign of stress! Thankfully the hunters aren't around today.

My eldest brother called from Scotland last night for one of our 'wee' chats. In passing he mentioned that it was today 70 years ago that our parents got engaged. What a day to choose - the day that Britain entered the war against the Nazis. Neither he,nor I,knew whether the date had been planned ahead of time or had suddenly and impetuously been decided on as the world lurched into madness. My mothers diaries talk about it being a beautiful Scottish day, of a wireless being brought into church so the congregation could listen to Prime Minister Chamberlains speech declaring war at 11.15, and of the lunch afterwards trying to be hearty and congratulatory but overshadowed by the enormity of what was happening . We both felt rather frustrated that when they were alive we never asked these questions, we had our own lives to lead and were far too busy bringing up our own families. Now they've gone we want the answers but will never get them.Would we have been as adept at changing careers,uprooting ourselves and tearing up carefully planned futures ? Memories and unanswerable questions.

Wilfs old fears return.

It's the start of the hunting season today and the hills and fields around the house are echoing with the sound of gunfire. Wilf who was always such a happy carefree spirit has been hiding under the kitchen table all morning refusing to come outside to join us for breakfast. Clearly the memories of Aprils robbery and the gunfire in the house have taken more of a psychological toll on him than we'd anticipated. Any thoughts on what to do? If we pay him more attention it reinforces the fear, if we ignore him we feel horrible! I hate to see the boy so upset. Surprisingly Digby seems less frightened than his big brother although that said he is lying at my feet (or should I say joined to my feet) under the desk as I type this.

The hunters claim that they don't kill for pleasure but provide a useful and necessary service by keeping the population of wild boar under control. If left unchecked the cinghiali would charge through the vineyards munching on the young grapes and pulling down the highly valuable vines. I'd believe this story if it wasn't for the fact that the hunters feed the pregnant females with maize in the mating season,effectively taming them as easy targets. It isn't the first time, nor the last, that the basest of motives will be dressed up in the mantle of good citizenship. A bit like slaughter posing as Martha Stewart.

Criticism is impossible as a powerful pro-hunting lobby in Umbria is generously sponsored by the large local gun manufacturers in the Terni valley just to the south of here. Needless to say this makes them a very powerful voice in the land.

There are an alarming number of accidents each year as safety is unheard of and what laws there are are ignored or unenforced. Hunters are supposed to shoot away from,rather than towards,houses and be at least 100 metres away when they fire.As we looked out from the breakfast terrace across the fields this morning it was clear that neither of these rules was being obeyed.

Two years ago we nearly lost Wilf - he had eaten some poisoned meatballs put down by the hunters under the olive trees outside the house to kill foxes. We got him to the vet just in time. It makes me really angry and frustrated that they feel they can use our land in such a dangerous, cavalier fashion.

When your brother ignores you - cuddle a sheep.

Cooler weather arrived yesterday with the thermometer holding steady around 35 degrees. The two boyz seemed positively energised by the return of relatively mild conditions. Wilf went racing down the drive,ears trailing in the slipstream, after a rabbit that wandered out of the lavender beds - he showed a turn of speed and agility that surprised me, the rabbit, and possibly himself. I didn't think the old fellow still had it in him.

One of the most interesting things about having two brothers from the same litter is just how completely different their characters can be. This facet of canine psychology certainly holds true with the two boyz. Wilf is fiercely independent, sometimes forgets to run around things preferring instead to run through them, and is always up for an adventure. If Wilf is an athlete Digby by contrast can perhaps better be described as an aesthete. Yes, he likes to play catch and will happily participate in the 'splosh' game but his real love, apart from eating, being the centre of attention and having endless cuddles,is to find a soft toy and retire with it into a quiet corner away from the rumbustious antics of his older sibling. He spent much of yesterday down by the pool in sweet communion with a stuffed sheep from which he would not be parted - despite Wilfs best efforts to steal it from him. Digby has learnt that the only way to cope with his brothers brawn is to outsmart him.

The British Prime Minister has announced this morning that as a result of his policies the worst of the economic crisis is behind us and that growth will return at the end of 2009. That's ok then. I wonder when the campaign for next years elections will begin? Surely, only a cynic would assume it's already started.