The Dogs of Paris
Robert Altman's "Ready to Wear" notwithstanding, I have only seen one serious pile of dog poop in three weeks. I have seen a lot of dogs, though, and thought I should take the opportunity to make a few observations about them. The Parisians seem to like small dogs best. I would say 90% of those I've seen have been in the "toy" dog category. Miniature poodles, of course, shitzu types, terriers of various descriptions, though only the small ones, no airedales or wheatens. Lots of Yorkies.
What has surprised me is that I've seen more dogs in disrepair, more genuinely scruffy dogs, more really disreputable dogs here in three weeks than in a lifetime in Canada. For a city that prides itself on fashion and grooming, and whose people seem on the outside at least to be quite fastidious, noone seems to pay much attention to the condition of their dogs. This is not just dogs in some need of a haircut, but dogs who are half bald and have skin problems, dogs that look as if they are one solid matt, as well as dogs with just plain bad haircuts.
Yet the Parisians quite obviously adore their dogs and give them privileges we in Canada can only dream of. At Mont St Michel, the couple at the table next to me at the fancy restaurant brought their miniature poodle (name of Gadget, I found out later) in with them. Gadget mostly slept quietly under the table all evening, but once or twice popped out and gave a plaintive paw to his owners, and once came over to say good evening to me. I was of course delighted, but could only think of the coffee shop in Victoria that closed down because it encouraged people to bring dogs in to a space shared with those who were actually drinking coffee... heaven forbid. Meanwhile, in Paris there are dogs on the Metro, dogs in shops, dogs everywhere having nice walks on the streets. Heaven. Now if they could only get a decent haircut...