Wednesday, 11 February 2009

The French and Their Dogs

Woody's thinking of ways to get me to take him for a walk!

One of the things I love about my life here is that I am free to take the dog on very early morning walks in the woods. The dawn breaks around 7.24 am here at the moment (ask me how I know that!) As the only English in this "coin" (corner) I'm considered highly eccentric since the French don't bother to walk their dogs, except on hunting days of course, but there's enough material there for a separate post - so that'll have to wait.

I don't pass many houses on my walks, but one that I go by from time to time is fairly typical. There's a tiny house sitting on an enormous plot of land with three massive dogs: a great dane, a rottweiller and an alsatian which never go further than the front garden and the garage where they sleep. These dogs are enraged by our passage and I'm convinced they'll have the fence down one day. I hope they aren't as vicious as they seem; they wag their tales whilst foaming at the mouth and alternately whimper and bark. Part of me (the bit that isn't terrified) feels sorry for them! They aren't alone. Whenever we cut through this little hamlet between the woods and the house, we set up a chain reaction of barking dogs!

Strangely, the nicest people I've met in France were at the dog training class where I took Woody just after we adopted him from the dog rescue home. Follow this link:

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