Donovan in front of Napoleon's tomb in Paris
I found this piece cleaning out my Word files. I wrote it in 2002 BB (before blog) and Donovan passed in 2006, but her birthday is coming up, so in memoriam to my baby, here it is:
A (French) dog’s tale.
By Donovan (as dictated to Isabella)
Let’s get is straight from the start – it was not my idea to come here. I was quite happy in Michigan chasing chipmunks and stealing my pal's, Ras toys; I like messing with his head. But then The Couple I take care of, the alpha female and the omega male, came back from one of their hunting trips (They always smell of food when They come home!) and started cooing how much I’d like Paris. Of course They left out the part about the hellish plane ride, but I’ll spare you the sorry details – let’s just say They’ve been making up for it ever since.
But truth be told – I LOVE PARIS! I am basically a very social creature and love to be with people and here The Couple takes me everywhere they go. Sometimes They overdo it and drag me from one end of town to the other and that’s when I collapse the moment we get home and refuse to go out again for the rest of the day. I’m pooped.
But you would be too, with my routine. I sleep next to Their bed – one night by Her side, the next by His (it drives Them crazy, how I know who’s turn it is) and wake Them up precisely at 6:42 each morning. They grumble and complain, but I know what’s best for Them – we are not in Paris to sleep our time away! So I get my breakfast (love that French “Royal Canine” – it has much more fat and therefore flavor than my usual fare) and then I take the Male for a walk. We visit many neat places like the Champs de Mars gardens in front of the Eiffel and the promenade gardens in front of Les Invalides (I tried several times to poop on the Napoleon’s tomb, but the Male does not let me – you’d think that guy was an emperor or something). I meet many of the regulars there and we sniff butts until it’s time for the bakery to open. That’s when we pick-up this hot, very aromatic bread of the day (the alpha tells us which one – a baguette, batard, un demi, ancien, pain) and come home for Their breakfast. Then our visitors come – some smell of new furniture and some carry tool chests, no matter, for me it just means one more pair of hands to be petted with.
Most days after breakfast we go shopping. I tolerate department stores, because I hang out with Them, I suffer through grocery stores because They make me lie down next to the cashiers and wait for Them (thank God for the female customers who stop by to pet me and speak in those sexy tongues) but mostly I love marchés and the kind vendors who throw me their scraps. Then, all being tired and hungry, we stop at a café – and you’d be surprised how many tasty morsels you can find under the table. I also get some of Their leftovers and let me tell you – French food rocks!
In the afternoon, The Couple ventures out on their own (hopefully I have trained Them well and They’ll be able to look after each other) and I take a long nap on Their bed, which is strictly forbidden, but I’ve been doing it for ages (I think the alpha is getting wise to it, but the omega hasn’t gotten a clue, as usual…).
The only negative to living here are the many demonstrations in our neighborhood. With all the ministries and foreign embassies around, there’s a protest or two each week (mostly calling for social reforms), but they’re sure loud about it – megaphones, singing, and firecrackers. I’m not fond of all that noise, but The Couple tells me to get used to it, cause “we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto”, whoever he is.
After my dinner, it’s time for another walk, mostly along the river, where all the tourists take our pictures as the “typical Parisians out strolling with their dog”. This makes My Couple hysterical. Sometimes we visit our friends and their cat, Piper, who’s very fat and any kind of dog and cat routine like chasing, is out of the question. So basically, we just lie there, staring at each other, trying to guess how much each weighs. Once in a while I manage to sneak into their kitchen and eat some cat food which makes all of Them very mad – what’s the big deal, the cat could stand to loose some pounds.
Well, aside from about a half an hour or so of playtime (it makes Them so happy when I play fetch with them, so I keep doing it) that is my day in a nutshell. Not bad, huh? They keep warning me that all of that might change once They start Their school and other activities (They’re already volunteering at some place called WICE – www.wice-paris.org), but the simple truth remains – I’m a Parisian at heart and will always love it here! I finally understand why our Michigan neighbors were saying before we left there – “aaaah, to be Isabella’s dog…”
