Dog Days

Every morning, Attila sneaks across the road to Roger's to visit Roger's dog Miss.
And most days, Attila steals something from Roger's.

Little innocent Antoinette remains at our house, sitting on the terrace. If I see her outside alone when Attila has abandoned her, I always let her in the house to reward her.

This morning, Attila left and I let Antoinette inside. A few moments later, I looked out the kitchen window and saw Attila running down the lane, towards our house with something big in his mouth. I could see that Roger had left his garage door open, and I was a bit annoyed at Attila that I was going to have to alter my schedule to return whatever had been stolen.

As Attila approached the house, I could see that he was carrying a large LOG in his mouth. How he got it in there and was able to run with it, I have no idea. He placed the log near the door to the livingroom, where I stack the wood for the wood stove.

I thanked Attila profusely, telling him that was the best thing he'd ever stolen from Roger's . . .I have no use for Roger's underwear, or a single boot, or Miss' food bowl . . .but cut logs, those I can use. I encouraged him to visit the other neighbors' woodpiles.

And to think that the Husband accuses me of not having adequately trained these dogs. Wait until Attila demonstrates that he's capable of collecting, and stacking all the wood we need for our wood furnace! The Husband will be thrilled that he can cross that chore off his "honey do" list.

Antoinette and I drove to a village 17km away this morning. I was worried that she might puke on the curvy road; and she soon proved that my fears were justified. She puked, but just a little bit and being the polite dog that she is, she quickly ate it. So the experience wasn't too traumatic for me or the car.

I found my destination. The home of a British woman who is editing my novel for me. She gave me a tour of her lovely home on the edge of the medival village.

She told me she was thinking of moving to a different village.

"Why?" I asked. "It seems so perfect here."
"There are too many British!" she replied.
I was happy to learn that even the British are Anglo-phobes. Makes my xenophobia seem justified.

On the way back, Antoinette puked again. This time a much larger portion than she was able to completely clean up.

Ah, my glamorous French life!