Turns out owning a dog in France is like obtaining an open pass to converse with any and all strangers you meet on the street. Whether you want to or not.
While his little cocker eyes don’t fool me for a second (well, apart from that bit that saw me forking over a bunch of cash to buy him), they seem to work wonders on all passers by that either have a dog, had a dog, want a dog or are quite simply insane. Being, as we are, in France, this figure is somewhere around the 98% mark.
The last few weeks have…not been great to put it diplomatically. And some recent tensions finished off with an unexpected +1. After endless plans going awry of late, I couldn’t muster up the emotional energy to protest the repeat suggestion that we should get a dog -which I’ve been resisting for a while as I don’t think we’re really in the best position to launch into dog ownership. I had little hope that we’d find a suitable canine companion anyway so I just went along with it this time around – until I met my canine kryptonite; a cocker spaniel. Well, there’s zero preparation in the apartment, shoes and cables and dvds lying about as we leave the house with no intention of getting a dog…and come back a lot poorer with an armful of canine…(well, I’m poorer at any rate, somehow I ended up paying for all of this).
To be honest though, I could do with the company and the distraction (and the exercise).
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