Short story
As so many stories have been written about Po-Paï, we will let you discover some. During several months, a short story was published. They do not follow systematically a chronological order.
Thank
you to let us know your remarks.
Forgive us for the few mistakes of the English translation and do not hesitate to indicate us the corrections to do if any.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Story of October 2002 (continuation of the September month story)
Puppy show
April, Sunday 25th, 11.30 p.m.: we came back from the North of
France where we spent a weekend. The plane which was one hour late, two days of
conversations in family, these cumbersome luggage, all that made me tired a
little and all I want is to sleep. Before, I have a look in the mail box. Sacred,
the mail box: it bears all my hopes, I am always waiting for capital new having
a simple aspect of paper (papers, always).
There is a letter for Catherine from her dad. She opens it and I see a
big smile illuminating her face in spite of this exhausting weekend, this same
type of smile that she gives me when I have just said or made a small great
thing. Some pictures emerge from the envelope.
Contact!
I saw quickly what it is about: on the pictures, we can only see hair
balls.
With these photos, is a message written by Michel, Catherine's dad:
“Here are the first pictures (not very good but not very easy to take)
of PO-PAÏ and his mom whose name may be NISSAN? (be checked). You can have a
first idea before the discovery. Kisses for you and kind regards to François.”
After
this text, there is a brief commentary of Chantal, Catherine’s mom:
“The
mom was loosing her hairs, so, the dad was more beautiful but I didn't have
enough pellicule. Kisses.”
Follow
the signatures of Dominique and Olivier, Catherine's two brothers. They added
the mention: “hair in the nose” to make a rhyme with a previous
sentence.
My
dear! My dear! Take it easy! I find it’s too much in one go. Don't forget that
I am in full psychological conditioning. I was here, very calm, writing to tell
that I write, I meticulously got ready to our mate's arrival and suddenly: BANG!
You make me skipping all the stages. I have to deal with a sportsmen band, my
dear! And they think that my poet's poor heart can cope all as much as they can.
Let's
take slowly the things in the order.
By
the end, so! Why not?
I
reread: “Hair in the nose”. I effectively think it is often about "hair"
in this story. There is first the one of Dominique's nose (it is his writing).
Then, there are those of a mom who is loosing them. Would it be about you
Chantal? No, of course, I don't want to put you in a bad mood (“in bad hair”,
as the French say). I know you have now small health problem but you would not
allow I give such confidences. I am sure you will pick up again (“take the
hair of the beast” in French language). A fraction more (“to a closed hair”
in French), I would have committed a beautiful blunder and these customers of
all hair will succeed to compromise me. It is sometimes better to be bone-idle
(“to have a hair in the hand” in French) than to pour out yourself in
incredible writings which will end up stripping off myself (“putting me in
hair” in French) financially and which will let me only three hairs on my head
because of a precocious baldness.
Hair!
To the line… Point! To the line (forgive me).
Let's
go on. With these hairs, there are a “more beautiful dad” and “a
“breakdown of photos”. It’s a hard rebus.
While
rereading the text, I see: “Michel's kisses”. This, I understand. Everything
goes well.
I
read again and I see a certain “PO-PAÏ”. Would He therefore have already a
baptismal name? His mom would be named NISSAN and it is again about photos
“not very good but not easy to take”.
Trembling
a little, I take the three pictures to examine them more attentively. Two of
them represent a puppy chow (catastrophic pronunciation if “hair on tongue”
because in French you say: “un chiot chow-chow”); the third, an adult chow
who is everything, except shaggy. I”ll not talk again about hairs that
bristles on my forearms, which get wet under my armpits, which provoke itches in
the most intimate places of my anatomy. No! Enough with hairs otherwise you are
going indeed to fall on my hair (“tomber sur le poil” in French).
Worried,
I look at Catherine:
“Why
this adult chow has the fur so bare?
-
It is normal. After the first litter, a female sloughs.”
Ouf!
I was afraid for a minute that one palms off to us a patient, a degenerate and a
rickety. I go on:
-
Ah! And here it is…
-
Yes, yes! It is He! Really a plush!
He,
that means You. My first contact with You is done through a paper called picture.
So, You see, I was right to anticipate and dedicate a small text about papers
theme. We can do nothing without it, I told You.
It’s
true that these pictures could have been a little tidier, Michel is right. You
deserved at least a close shot, You. You are photographed so far as if the
photographer was afraid to be bitten. However,You don't look very nasty on this
picture. In addition, You seem to do of it to You, but to do of it to You! Not
even a look to the objective, fallen head, You seem to be interested more by
earthworms than by the camera assigned to give us the most flattering picture of
You.
I
attentively watched on the 15 cm x 10 cm format of the picture. You, You only
occupy a 3 cm x 2 cm space. In proportions, You represent 4% of the total
surface of the picture. You look like a ball of wool with four paws. I very well
observed to verify if there was not a thread of wool unwound in the event one
would have photographed a ball of wool indeed.
And
who took these clichés? Chantal? Chantal, you always so neat, so considerate
and rigorously well organized? I am going to offer you a telephoto at the first
occasion. In addition, you make us the stroke of the breakdown (of film photo).
I would yet have well appreciated to see some supplementary shots of the chow
junior under different angles. Would it be a stratagem destined to inflate the
effect of surprise?
Did
you see,You, how one manhandles You from the beginnig? Ah! it is really time for
Catherine and me to take things in hands.
Then,
it is about the name which has been assigned to You. Catherine already told me
that we were in the year of the “P”. During twelve months, usual practise is
to assign a name beginning by “P” to each dog born during the same period.
It allows to have a good indication of the age. So it will be done!
Catherine's
parents and her two brothers decided to offer her a chow for her birthday. A
contact has been taken with a breeder who lives in Saint-Étienne (Catherine's
family lives in Lyon) and an option has been taken. Following my hesitations,
the owners decided to tattoo the puppy who has been nicknamed “Païko”
because of his Chinese origins. In a first time, Catherine decided to call it
“Poupain” (nickname that I am assigned, I remind you) but she judged that
there would be usurpation of title. So, she opted for “Popeye”.
Michel,
who is very perfectionist and scrupulous, probably spelled “PO-PAÏ”,
fearing of the yellow peril. Is better to remain in conformity with traditions.
PO-PAÏ…
With
your chinoiseries, I am very embarrassed to type these letters on a keyboard: a
hyphen, a “I” dieresis and two capitals. Do you understand that I will have
to do it hundreds, or even thousands of times in this book? No mercy for the
busy boy that I am.
Then,
You y'ena are Po-Paï? Ti y'ena call You like Popeye sinewy marine li to the
pipe, hey my friend!
Doesn't
hurt you my Cushy Kid, I admit that Catherine chose very well this nickname of
Popeye because you have together at least a point in common: the face crumpled.
You only lack the pipe between the teeth to look like this hero brawler and
rectifier of wrongs. He dopes himself with spinach, and You?
Do
you think I put You in a tin? (“to take the mickey out of You” in good
English) But no! The only tin of which I was speaking is that one of spinach.
Good!
Let’s go for Po-Paï!
I
suppose I must estimate that I should be glad because if You wanted to be
inspired indeed by the Asian culture, You only have the embarrassment of the
choice for the consonances and spellings.
With
Po-Paï, my typing on keyboard would have been even more laborious.
Another
variant also: Pôh-Païh. The “h” is mute and its presence is merely
decorative.
You
also could have chosen: Pop-Aïe. What luck You have to not be of Spanish origin
because Your name would be written: Pop-Aïe, Aïe, Aïe, Aïe, Aïe!
If
one had asked my opinion, with a crank style franco chinoiseries, I would have
written Your name: Pôh-Pahïng while giving to the concerned persons teaching
of diction and gesture. Pôh-Pahïng must be pronounced with a Gascon manner
while not expressing the “g” phonetically but while letting drag the
“ein” in an awful grin rigolard. Advisable ambiance: foie gras, cassoulet
and Bordeaux big vintage.
Poôô….
oôoh-Paï must symbolize the wonder and the devotion. Bow and contemplation
recommended.
As
for Poôô… oôôh-Païiiiii, it is reserved to the Mandarins chows-chows a
few snobinards who absolutely want that one knows that they are part of the
famous category of the literate persons.
Finally, there is a last spelling that would have put everybody okay even those most peevish: Poôôh-Païiiii… Hi!… Hi! Hi!… Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!
For
the time being, I have to consider myself lucky while writing it: Po-Paï.
Hello
Po-Paï! Welcome among
us!
_________________________________________________________________________________
Story of September 2002 (continuation of the August month story)
D - 8
Eight days to wait. Catherine does not speak to me anymore about
chow-chow. Would she have changed her mind? In this case, editing these pages
would become completely inopportune. I wrote in the biggest secret to be able to
offer her this booklet the day of her birthday.
In
fact, it would certainly be more judicious to offer it at the precise moment
where our new mate will be with us.
It is all the same terrifying to have in front of yourself someone to
whom you cannot say anything, someone who does not tell you anything about her
project and someone you want to please but without knowing in the same time if
this pleasure will be appreciated as is.
Good
blood! How complicated it is!
Is it necessary to show her my writings? Is it necessary to talk again
about the dog? Undoubtedly, I would betray myself because I clarify my thoughts
too much.
What can I do? What can I do?
_________________________________________________________________________________
Story of August 2002 (continuation of the July month story)
D - 9
As I done for the district, I run my eye over each place in the apartment
where You will be going to snuggle up.
The bed appears to me as an INESCAPABLE place. The first night, we will
probably put You between both of us so that You do not feel alone. Won't You be
too much embarrassed by interfering like that in our couple’s intimacy? Unless
You want to isolate Yourself as, according to the indications I collected, You
are very distant. But no… You will only be a small baby and all babies of the
world ask for the arms of a mom and a dad, even the babies dogs and even the
babies chows-chows coming from the faraway and mysterious China.
Tell
me, will You leave me alone with Catherine even though, from time to time?
You will urgently need a snug basket with a cushion. You will claim to
get Your own toys, which You will be alone to enjoy. Your wicker basket will be
Your first vital space where You will feel indeed at home. Unless You wish
straightaway, have a small doghouse? What do you think about it? I am quickly
able, you know, to build to You a nice small house with some wood panels where
You will feel well sheltered. I will ask advice to Catherine who will give me
her instructions.
You will be under a strict obligation to do few passages on the sofa.
Armchair and sofas are the places where the humans spend the most of their time
in a flat. It is because of the TV, do You know?, these moving things that one
watches on the big box screen that You see here. Will be necessary that I clear
You the eyes because with all these hairs that You have in front of You, You
won't be able to follow any televised broadcast with us.
In the kitchen, You will often come to snoop around because it is a place
where the dog’s kit usually is. You will see it is a fantastic place where we
prepare heaps of good things. Dogs usually are not allowed to come in. Many
people are pleased to be there and for a number of them, it is the epicentre of
happiness thanks to the preparation of tasty little dishes.
There is maybe a place that You will not like a lot: the bathroom. There
is very nice equipment allowing us to be clean and to smell good all day long.
You, You will probably consider the tub and the shower as instruments of
torture. However, do not worry, when Your torment will be finished, how nice You
will smell!
There are however fateful places that I cannot localize for the time
being: the places victims of Your first needs. We have a balcony but I do not
think that it will be there the judicious place where Your adorable buttock will
come to sign his forfeit. It is well known: You always do where Your mistress
does not want; that means: on the moquette in priority, on the carpets while
aiming well, on the armchairs, the bed, the sofas, the chairs. No: not on the
table. Yes? Would you be able of it?
We
will need the patience of a saint but we have it.
Many
newspapers will be necessary, some recommendations, a little severity and a zest
of authority. You will probably gather a little Your eyebrows but it will be
necessary nevertheless to submit You to a minimum of discipline. Anyway, while
better examining the picture, I noticed that You already have a very pleated
forehead and frilly eyebrows. You already know what awaiting You, don’t You?
Great! I will not be anymore the single one to get bawled out about dog droppings’ stories!
_________________________________________________________________________________
Story of july 2002 (continuation of the june month story)
D - 10
April
25th: till ten days to May 5th. From now on, as in the
situations’ suspense, I can begin my countdown: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1,
bip! I live my prenatal period in a way. It is my period of writer pregnancy, I
wait in front of my white page, pen in hand, that You want to enter on stage so
that I can tell. We are minus ten "D" day.
Where are You at this time, poor bow-how who we are about to separate
from His parents? At least You will have spent two months with Your mom and
suddenly, we are about to destroy Your restful quietude. You will definitely
sulk us, hate us maybe and You will be excusable. This adoption will start by a
cruel separation for You. These strangers that we still are for You, will make
their best to compensate the warmth of the first family bed.
It only remains ten times twenty-four hours before seeing each of my
daily gestures conditioned by Your presence. I have really the impression to
wait for a child's arrival and I suspect that it is quite similar for Catherine.
Long before that You arrive, You already instituted a note of charm within our
couple thanks to this love letter.
The designation of the name of Your race, chow-chow, predestines You
definitely to become the family's pet (in French language that sounds better
because « pet » means « chouchou »). Try not to eclipse
me too much to Catherine's eyes because You won't compete with me on the same
equal foot: You have four of them, I only have two of them.
To keep Your statute of star, it will be necessary to ensure. Few dogs
can be proud to be the principal character of a book even before to have begun
to evolve. You are the top billing and for Your act, You cannot disappoint Your
public. Your performance should have to be of high-level otherwise… We might
not go as far as returning You to Your parents while bawling “reimburse!”
but mistrust nevertheless.
I am joking, of course. Who ever You are, we will love You.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Story of june 2002 (continuation of the may month story)
You will laugh if I tell You what I immediately did after I read
Catherine’s letter. Yes, yes!, I’m talking to You again, You the chow-chow
inspiration’s generating for us, poor humans. You who gave to Catherine the
desire to write. And I, what do You believe that I am going to do? To seat idly
by?
I thus said that I will make You smile while telling You the first of my
reactions. I opened a desk’s drawer containing different coloured folders.
Automatically, I looked for one of them which would have Your fur’s colour. I
need a russet-red, fawn-coloured, flecked with brown one. These damned
stationery’s office suppliers do not have imagination: red, green, yellow or
blue. Out of there, nothing! Ah yes! here is an orange red which is rather close
to Your hair’s colour. The brownish patches will miss but anyway!, we do with
what we have.
And what do You believe that I do with this orange red folder without
brownish patches? You guessed: I put in it Catherine’s love letter. And then?
Of course: I slip a bunch of white sheets to scribble them. And to talk about
what? About You, of course.
With me, a book borns like that: the decision is taken in two tenths of a
second. To end it, a million of more time is needed, but don’t rack Your
brains, it is a question of organization. To answer Catherine’s small letter
(because, of course, I have to answer), two hundred pages will be necessary at
the lowest estimate. Ratio from one to two hundreds: it’s indeed the
proportionality which has to be preserved with a woman if you want that she
respects you, isn't it? If woman and man were really on the same equal footing
in all the scales of value, it’s better to form an unisexual society and not
to make a difference between one and the other.
To revert on my subject "papers", I must explain You something.
Our whole poor human’s life is strewn with papers. There are those that we
keep and there are those that we throw away. Among those that we preciously keep,
there is what I will write now. Your case appeared to be sufficiently
interesting to me for devoting You at least two hundred pages of 13 X 20
centimetres size that our descendants will delightfully read near the
chimney’s corner during winter’s evenings. Moreover, as I explained, the
nice letter that Catherine wrote, constitutes for me a sufficiently significant
event to devoting her a book. You are a lord or you are not.
I thus took an orange russet-red folder to file in my first manuscripts.
Before Your arrival, I decided to give Catherine for her birthday (on May the 5th,
let us point out it) a small booklet of about fifty pages which will constitute
to some extent an introduction to the work that I will devote to You. In this
booklet, I wish that Catherine detects on me a minimum of sentimentality and
that people do not usually perceive because of my quarrelsome reactions. The
real lout does not have any perception’s acuity. You understood, my Old Boy,
that all these papers which I scribbled allow me to imagine that I will be one
day a best-seller’s writer and especially allow me to have the certainty to be
only a failure as a lout.
Paper: it is what You were first, nice chow-chow. You were a picture
fixed on the wall. This same picture that I conspicuously looked at the day of
my argument with Catherine about You. Paper You will be again at Your birth
because the pure canine races never reproduce without hard copy and certificates
of all kinds. Papers will then follow You for vaccinations, vet’s visits and
especially, if You conceive little babies thereafter. The life is thus made
nowadays: impossible to release the single fart in the nature without a paper to
authenticate the scenario with the date and time, and the precise circumstances.
With the data-processing advent, it became even worse.
And it seems that we were not sufficiently obstructed with papers because
I decided to produce others about You. You take Your future master for a nut,
don’t You?
Perhaps not as much as You believe it.
During more than half a century of existence, I handled and saw a
constant stream of tens of thousands papers: school books, reports, diplomas,
social security files, family benefits, automobile licenses, insurance
certificates, newspapers, various certificates, administrative mails, claims and
others. I kept nothing of all of that because they do not have any more value in
my heart. I threw away everything. Would You believe me that I did not even want
to keep papers of the Bank of France commonly called "banknotes" or
"money"? Thrown out! All thrown out!
Now, I preserve only papers which contribute to my immediate happiness.
First, there is the paper of Catherine.
Then, there will be the book which I decided to devote You with all the
photographs that we will take of You
_________________________________________________________________________________
Story of may 2002 (continuation of the april month story)
My first dog of my own
April,
the 20th. This morning, delicately put on the computer’s keyboard,
I see an envelope marked: "For François".
As it is not post stamped and as I quickly think, I deduce from it that
it is an internal missive.
As I did not act evil lately, I deduce from it that it is a “billet
doux” (moreover, the words which are not soft are barely written: they are
verbally thrown at your face).
And as in this apartment there are only Catherine and myself, I deduce from it that the signatory of this love letter can only be... You have won!
I open the envelope. Useful detail as I could have very well read it only
later. This detail also enable to keep suspense always very useful in
bestsellers. And who say that what I am writing will not be a bestseller, hey?
I thus open and as I opened, I read. We could continue like that a long
time; I have a highly sense of the present moment: I write to you that I will
read and you will read what I will write...
Joke put aside, I am moved. Not frequent the love letters from Catherine.
Digging well in my memory, I only count..., hum!... How much? So little? It is
true that she never knew me soldier, neither boarder in the college, nor in
displacement in Amazonia. We were never waiting for a divorce either (fingers
crossed!) and consequently: no registered letter.
It is the first time that the Sweet Catherine write me a letter! What a
news! I am talking about "letter" because it is really one. Reassure
yourself Catherine, I did not forget for as much the birthday cards, the
"post-it" and culinary recommendations hastily written on a table’s
corner. There, it is indeed a letter, a true one.
Here it is:
My
first dog of my own.
Does
this title evoke something for you? Surely. In any case, I am sure that you now
understand this small (I even can say big) excitation which I am feeling. On the
other hand this title, I want also to modify it because I would like to say:
“our first dog of our own”. Thanks to you, I will realize a dream which is
close to my heart since many years. Since I’m five years old (and even before),
I dream only of dogs; since I’m nine years old, my eyes make sparks as soon as
I see a chow. (And since I am thirty-two years old and half, my eyes make sparks
when I see my "Poupain”)*. A first step in my life was concretised seven
years and half ago, now, we will both cross a new step
We
will have sometimes a few difficult moments in the education of this newcomer as
we will have to substitute for his parents but I am sure that they will quickly
be forgotten when seeing the jokes of our young favourite. I am impatiently
waiting the moment when we will be the three together and I am in a hurry to see
the “duet” of charmers which you will make.
I
do not have the same facility as you to transcribe on a white page all the
emotions which overcome me but perhaps you will understand all that I want to
say by:
Thank
you, thank you with all my heart to have said yes!
Catherine
“Does this title evoke something for you?” Of course that it
evokes something for me. In order to put the reader in the picture about, let us
provide him the few necessary elements and by the same occasion, allow me to
assure you that you aimed just by establishing this judicious comparison.
I write that I write (I already said it a few moments ago). Actually, I
do it for a specialized review intended for the publishing world and I care the
heading "auto published". I explain how I manufactured from beginning
to end my first books in an artisanal way. Writing, manufactured, published and
even diffused. I tell it with tender feeling and emotion as if it were about one
childbirth. I am on the way of living of my writings, think that! The first
article that I wrote is titled: “My first book of my own”.
Well done, Catherine!
Well done again for the add: “our first dog of our own”.
Well done always for the eyes which shine as much for the "Poupain"
as for the chow (Poupain is my nickname).
Do not misunderstand my reactions: I also have a deep love for dogs. It's
a pity that they make us so much cry when they disappear. I am ashamed to say
that I undoubtedly cried more for this adorable companion than for the loss of
certain closed relatives. But it is incredible, I recognize it, to not want to
know love for fear of suffering in the event of separation. With reasoning like
these, much of single people await the soul mate a whole life
Thank you for the eyes which shine when I appear. More shining, I will
endeavour to be.
All the same... Eyes which have shone for more than seven years when they
see me... Will be necessary that I look at myself more in detail in a mirror.
“... now, we will both cross a new step” Like you, Catherine,
I am perfectly aware that something will change in our life. I did not besides
imagine that an event like this one can monopolize me so much. It seems that
with the age, the small facts of the everyday life are perceived with more
acuity. Is it the age of reason about which one speaks so much or would I become
"nunuche"? (simpleton)
Note by the way, Sweet Catherine, that when I address you by writing, you
are not even entitled to "T" capital letter contrary to "the
other" which soon will join us. Do not see discrimination from me there. By
using the capital letter for the chow, I wanted to compensate the first name
that I do not yet know. I already deify our small favourite.
"... and I am in a hurry to see the duet of charmers which you
will make” Thus, it will be a male? I had not even questioned
myself. I also realize that you still see me like a "charmer". As at
the first day? It is great for a man to learn this confidence from a woman who
already lives since several years with him. Me who thought of being more often a
bear than a Don Juan. Did I need the arrival of a dog to learn it? Would You not
be a trained chemist, You the chow?, because You acted like a revealing on the
level of the women, a catalyst on the level of the couples’ harmony, a binder
on the level of tenderness and a "sublimator" of the love.
"I do not have the same facility as you to transcribe on a white
page all emotions which overcome me...”
Not too many compliments Catherine! In less than ten lines, you declare that
your guy is good looking and moreover, he would have artistic predispositions
we’ll say. All that makes a lot in only once. I even do not dare to imagine
that it is a female strategy to definitively persuade the recalcitrant.
You have as much facility as me for writing but you have had less
occasions than me to do it. If you address me a page of writing every seven
years, it is true that you do not have much choice in the vocabulary to qualify
the frames of mind. However, what an impact a letter, a simple letter! See the
result: it touched me so much that I feel the need to make you the written
comments.
When I realized the magic effect produced by the writing, I effectively
started to fill pages and pages. I have the feeling since, to live a double
life, to enjoy more the lived moments, to crystallize the present moment, to
taste by advance the future situations and especially, especially: to leave a
trace for always. And among the good moments which remain to be tasted, there is
Him.
“Thank
you, thank you with all my heart to have said yes!” Sorry
to have had for a time the appearance of a despot. My reserves were not
formulated to exert a misplaced authority of puppet master. In my reaction,
there was more nostalgia than irritation. We will have the occasion to revert to
it because I intend to follow our newcomer step by step and to use my
writer-journalist-reporter’s aptitudes that you seem to appreciate.
Thank you Catherine for your small word very moving.
* Poupain is François’ nickname
_________________________________________________________________________________
Story of april 2002 (continuation of the march month story)
Putting the district under a microscope
This same day, April 19th, I caught myself to do a curious
census. I put the district under a microscope to locate the places worthy of You
and ready to receive Your wee and excrements.
What worries me the more is to live in an apartment without having a
miserable small garden at disposal. I had myself many difficulties of getting
used to live on the sixth floor of an extremely comfortable building however.
This residence has many assets: maintained parks, swimming pool, a sea view, off
the centre town, traffic less. And all that with the prestige to live in Nice
and to enjoy the exceptional climate of the French Riviera. Do You realize the
chance?
I nevertheless miss a vital space: a garden that I can care of, a lawn, a
kitchen garden, anything but a few tens square meters of ground which would
belong to You, only to You. It is what worried me the more when Your arrival was
considered. A dog necessarily goes with a garden. I am undoubtedly wrong to
reason like this but, by atavism, I always felt the need to touch and smell the
fresh ground.
I know that I am wrong to confine myself to this point of view as if
everyone would have the same, France would have more than half of dogs and cats
who would not be adopted. I always have been a little claustrophobic and I never
could remain locked up a long time in these concrete cages. Based on this
observation, I do not want that those I love feel the same thing.
Thus, I am surprised today to see that I am methodically inspecting the
accesses of the residence. Each square inch counts when you live in Nice, you
can see it while wading about in these permanent molasses, which they dare to
designate as “car traffic”. And You should see rowing them all the day long!
If You would be able to see them, without any doubt You would say to me that
they behave like “men” and cats.
My Poor Old Chap! I have not seen many punts bands where You will be able
to gambol freely! While leaving the apartment, I will keep You on a leash with
precaution to prevent You from trampling in Your fellows’ droppings. The few
rare common parts of the residence where is growing a maintained grass have
became urinal and dropping corners where it is not good to venture especially
with four legs. Myself, I have only two and sometimes, it happens to me to walk
in “happiness”. The probability that this occurs to You is mathematically
twice more significant. I now better understand why the evening Catherine often
asks me to remove my “crush-shit” in the apartment to not dirty the fitted
carpet. Will she decide to put You special slippers to go and make Your
business?
My Poor Old Chap, my Poor Old Chap! What a promiscuity! I always suffered
from it and I feel that it will be worse with Your arrival. I dream of a remote
house in the backcountry with many hectares of open spaces where we could play
about. I will show You these magic places where men do not walk on ones others’
head.
However, we have a superb botanical park just nearby: it is not allowed
to pets. I am observing it in this precise moment. I glance at a discrete place
where I will be able to cut out the fence so that we can slip there discreetly.
I think that I have found it. I will go there later with cutting pliers to make
my infamy.
This being, I see no other large roomy parks around the residence. Only
tiny grounds just good enough to be hurriedly sprinkled of urine. For the big
job, it will be necessary to find an acceptable area. Hey!, tell me: how big is
a chow’s dropping? You are not yet here and You already make me cover quite
crappy subjects.
Acknowledge all the same with me that I cannot systematically bring You
along by car when You have an urgent need! I will not anyhow take you along to
shit with the car while making myself (the same thing) in the traffic? Yes?…
Well, so will I! We will benefit from it to make long, long, long strolls.
However, however... There is perhaps a place which I located six or seven
minutes of walk from here. I really noticed it a few moments ago while passing
by motorbike in front of it because I made the effort to observe. Not that far
of our premises there is indeed a small park in which I never put my feet. These
are places where I practically never attend. With Your arrival, it seems that I
become a little less selective. I will see with Catherine what worth this small
space of games, in theory reserved to little children. After all, for a small
period, You will remain a little baby, won’t you?
_________________________________________________________________________________
Story of march 2002 (continuation of the february month story)
Thus, I gave up after having held good. I have a way "of holding
good" which lets me think that I am more a diplomat than a warrior.
We are April the 18th, Catherine’s birthday will be on May the 5th. I
have a little more than fifteen days to prepare myself psychologically to Your
arrival. It is short.
The 19th April, surreptitiously, I opened books explaining all on the
bow-wow, wow!, wow!, wow! (You will note by the way that You really turned over
me the head, You, the wow chow bow- chow... No: You, the bow-wow chow-chow).
Conscientiously, I take the French dictionary “Larousse” and read:
"chow-chow, dog of company of Chinese’s race origin". Hey! It’s
why you are slitted eyes. You eat a lot of rice? Hi! hi! hi! hi! You
make me laugh like a Chinese. I am getting slit eyes like You.
Conscientiously, I take the French dictionary “Robert” and I read...
No! I read nothing. Nothing about chow, neither in an old “Robert”, nor in
the actual “Robert” (an illustrated one). With sixty thousand words, they
did not even succeed in talking about You. The sixty thousand first perhaps?
Conscientiously, I take an old good work from 1959 published by the
Larousse Bookshop. You are entitled almost two pages! You are rather well quoted
by the Larousse’s house. Would the russet color of Your fur be there for
something?
I note in the meantime that this book was offered to Catherine by her
Granny. Dedication on first page:
My Sweet Catherine,
In remember of your grand' father who transmitted you his love for dogs.
His dog, Echec*, was his greatest friend
Granny
* I
learned later on that this dog was named as is because of his two basic colors,
those of a chess-board: the white and the black (“jeu d’échecs” means
“chess-board” in English and “échec” means also “failure”). It
would be a straw even though to baptize a noble companion with a name which
means "lack of success". It is as if me, I were called "failure",
do you realize? (Yeah! This one, I could not miss it in any event. My true name
is François RATAJ and “ratage” means “failing” in French). It is
why, I use pseudonyms.
Thus, they had all leagued against me! It is a plot orchestrated already
since a long time! There is no date to this dedication but I suppose that
Catherine’s deep attraction for these faithful companions is not of yesterday.
Conscientiously again, I detail this article about You, You, the
ladykiller. For the specialists, You belong to the Spitz’s family, advanced
branch of the wolf. Hey! I begin to like You: I fancy wolves and their cruel
glance! If in addition You are "advanced", then we both will well get
on. Let us continue... Dash it! It appears that "the Chow has not really
the appearance of the wolf and his origin must probably comes from a former
stock of this animal". So, I said to myself: with such an old fatty looking,
You have nothing of a predator.
They assure me that You really come from China. Tell me, a "wow! wow!"
in Chinese, that gives "woueng! woueng!"? (Hi! hi! hi! hi!) Will
you teach me Your mother tongue? And about tongue, it appears that Yours is
blue-black... That leaves traces if You lick our face?
It seems that You are a totally exceptional guy because (I quote): "Your
heavy-framed, Your cat’s foot and this strangely low bulge, almost abnormal,
which gives to the Chow’s walking the possibility of pushing the fingers
behind as if the articulation were reversed..." All that, for me, it is
Chinese. Ho! yes: excuse me! I had forgotten where You came from; it is why we
wade in “chinoiseries” (“hair-splitting” in French). Well! we will not
go on to split hair because on picture, You have a bloody elegant air and it is
the main thing.
Let us continue our reading. You are regarded as the must of utility dog:
sampans, junks or home watchdog; gun dog for the sable that You are able to wait
during days and nights at the bottom of tree on which it has taken refuge;
towing dog, draft dog, and finally - sad destiny - edible dog.
I reassure You immediately: we will not carve You in our plates. From now
on, I want to know the exact composition of all the chopped steaks which will
pass in this house. It is thus necessary to fight a plague much more serious
than that of the insane cow: the chow dishes. By precaution, in future we will
eat cold - and salads, as often as possible -
Gobble up dog! At the price that it costs!
I very much appreciate that one regards You as a watchdog. I also note
that You are patient and brave. They also had You haul and trail heaps of
burdens as I see. Tell me: You often had a… dog life, eh?
For the home guard, don’t worry, I am here
For hunting, we will see what You can do when I will brawl with You with
bolsters’ blows.
The author of the article specifies us: "the Chow, one sees, was put
at all sauces". What a dog’s joke! Don’t be afraid, doggie which I do
not yet know: I never cook. The only sauce that I will have to propose to You
and that You will appreciate without any doubt will be the “age” (sausage).
Poor unhappy! It’s said of You that You barely enjoyed the affection of
a master "It is why he withdrew into himself; conscious of his dignity, he
well wants to be useful but not as a slave." It is quite true that You have
a very dignified air, almost haughty and that You seem to permanently keep Your
distances. If You would be able to cross the arms, to knowtow to
somebody and to largely laugh, You would look like a mandarin.
I also learn that You became a company "doggie" due to a
rigorous selection and to learnedly supervised crossings. In other words, "Mister"
does not come from bastard’s race, "Mister" does not frequent
anybody, "Mister" does not grant his favours to the first person
coming. I hope that You will condescend to accept to live in our home, I hope
that You will tolerate me and that You will not look sulky all the day long.
Sincerely, I start to distress... For the opposite reason, this time: at the
beginning, I was anxious when learning Your possible arrival; now, I am anxious
because I am afraid that You may refuse to come.
"Scowl": it is the English translation of "looking
sulky" and "bad mood". It is also the expression which You have
generally or at least, the impression that You give, always according to the
specialists of the question. Well! You and me, we will often make the pair and I
know a girl who will not be in the party. Her, who is making such an amount of
joy about Your arrival...
It is explained to me that You sincerely become attached to Your masters
but that You are never exuberant in Your demonstrations. The chow doesn’t like,
when the majority of the dogs like, to get a cuddle, he is calm, a little "cat".
Oh! Hey! You do not make "miaou!" do you?
I finish the reading of the chapter dedicated to You: "He is a good
guard, very scornful towards foreigners, but he can pass from impassibility to
the sharpest action. Of an exceptionally clean naturalness, of a perfect
education, the chow-chow is not only the perfect type of the watchdog: he is the
most beautiful and the more attaching of companions " (the repetition of
the term “perfect” and expression “the more...” would tend to complex me
but let us not be touchy.)
Well…, well…
After all these considerations, my conclusion is the following: the only
animal to be tamed in this house, it is me. I have a nature wilder than any wolf
and it is not a nice doggie as You who will destabilize our home. May be, it
will be You who will be able to tame me...
_________________________________________________________________________________
Story of february 2002:
You know, You, before You arrived, You had already sown the disturbance.
You were not yet among us that our small quietude of quite quiet couple was
abused.
It is April the 20th 1999 and when Catherine talked to me for
the first time about You, it was fifteen days ago. It was a Sunday, I remember
it well. She told me about a canine exhibition to see in Nice. That could be
done, although I do not like too much to contemplate animals in captivity.
When she announced me her intention to adopt a dog, I exploded. And not
any dog: a chow! I failed to strangle me with a miserable mouthful
of bread . We were quietly having our breakfast, the sun was shining, the
district was waken up gently, the sea was scintillating in the distance and
suddenly: boom! It is as if you had placed a stick of dynamite under my buttocks.
“What? A dog in an apartment? But you are not serious I hope? And a
chow a top of that! But you completely talk non-sense! I have too much respect
for the animals to see them confined in a narrow space like this one! Moreover,
I prefer keep silent because all this appears too idiotic to me!”
I suffocated. A multitude of counter arguments were hustled in my head.
There were so many that I did not present a single one in a coherent way and
especially, in a posed way. In a posed and circumspect way, because in any case,
Catherine did not deserve such a reaction. She kept silent and it was worse than
if she had continued to speak to me about her project. Me, I forced myself to
say nothing more. We botched up the breakfast without any additional comment.
There was a large black cloud in my head: it was You. I even believe that
I saw some flashes there.
And here is the way how the estrangement settles in couples. Even in
ours, constituted of two intelligent adults (yes, yes!), respectful of one
another, posed, sensible and all and all.
The afternoon, Catherine went to her canine exhibition. Without me.
I waited three days before she talks to me again of this thorny subject.
She did not.
It is me who evoked the subject again the fourth day. I re-sifted several
tens the “for” and the “against”. I always found more “against” than
“for”. I calmly exposed all the consecutive negative aspects to such an
engagement: lack of space in an apartment, no garden, quasi permanent presence
necessary during the day, overheating in summer, dog’s hair everywhere
especially for a chow, etc, etc...
Catherine said nothing any more. Always very discrete, Catherine.
You, You reverted to charge on April the 17th.
That morning, pointing to at a photo of a chow fixed on the wall,
Catherine says:
“Do you know, for my birthday, I will have a small companion like this
one.”
Bong!
I failed to answer:
“Then, it will be him or me!”
I boxed the blow again. We were at the breakfast again: again, it stayed
through my throat. But what I did not do again, it’s to shut.
Consequently, my explanations of last week were not enough? You come back
to charge, You? Since a week, Catherine and I live in an atmosphere of half a
sulk because of You. Usually, this atmosphere of light tension does not exist
between us. One can count on the fingers of a hand the few arguments which had
in seven years of common life.
Thus this is a balanced couple which serenely lives since several years
and whose perfect harmony is challenged by some hairy animal which only exists
for the time being on a picture! Perhaps, he is not born yet and he already
stirs up ill-feeling in our family? Admit nevertheless that this matter becomes
as dense as the fur of that grinning chow’s face which seems to make fun of
you continuously.
At
this time, I turned over to examine the picture and to check if we would talk
about the same thing. It is true that it has a good face this rogue and it is
true that it seems to smile permanently. Curiously, I always felt a great
tenderness while contemplating this picture.
“So, it will be him or me!” In extremis, I retained this thought in
my throat. On the other hand, I started again my rosary of the other day by
showing that the constraints..., by insisting on the vital space which..., by
imagining all these hair that..., by commenting on the fact that if... and bla,
bla, bla and bla, bla, bla...
She started to weep... I shut up. Not proud the animal (I do not speak
about You, I speak about me).
I stood firm until the following day afternoon.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Story of january2002:
How many meal per day do you have Raï-Ma*? I have only one per day. I
have one with François and one with Catherine. That makes only one meal with
each one. Saturdays and Sundays, it is different. They are both at home, it is
weekend, and to celebrate it, I am able to consume twice in the course of the
day. The devil take miserliness! As
French gastronomists that we are, we need from time to time to have a ball.
During the week, Catherine never returns home for lunch. She works too
far away to be able to do the round trip.
So, in the course of the day, François keeps me company. For lunch, he
is very irregular. Sometimes, he does not eat, purely and simply. Sometimes, he
swallows a trick quickly made in a corner. Sometimes, he seats down at the table
or on the balcony to swallow a heated dish of the day before. He is not very
difficult my master François and rather expeditious in his way to eat.
Sometimes, he makes to himself a small ceremonial out of this lunch. This
morning, he worked a lot, he felt satisfied and he has decided to cook himself a
small good chow-down for lunch. It is because he was able to write many funny
short stories about me Raï-Ma. That gives him an appetite and then, he is
hungry like an ogre.
So, this midday, François will have a bean feast. Royally, he moves
towards a kitchen cupboard, extirpates a tin of cassoulet and opens it. I told
you Raï-Ma that my master François is not fussy. Actually, he appreciates the
good cooking like everyone but he hates cooking. Though he can do heaps of
things Francois, he balks at fiddling the pans. Let us not seek to understand,
it is like that.
The can of cassoulet so constitutes an extra among the usual menus of
François. He opens the can and directly puts its content in a plate. The whole
will be heated in the microwave. He does not even dare to make it heat with soft
fire in a pan as per the dieticians advise.
All these subtleties hardly worry me since all that smells very good
anyway. As soon as François opened this tin, I was already trailing around his
legs. Just with the odors, I understand that the French cooking has a worldwide
reputation. After all, one is not obliged to know in detail how the mets arrived
in the plate. My master does not make fuss but what he is preparing looks
excellent. Much better in any case than my royal croquettes of the canine house
of the same name.
Today, it is really the great luxury as François puts his ration of
cassoulet on a plate and he is ready to taste the whole in front of the
television while following the TV news. It is what we usually named: a TV-tray.
That barely happens to him but today, he wants to follow the last progress of
the war in Afghanistan. The
representatives of the mankind are like that Raï-Ma: they need to know what
happens thousands miles away from home. To me, my small universe is enough.
His cassoulet steaming in the plate, the plate on the tray, François
puts down the whole on the small coffee table in the living room and also puts
down his bottom on the sofa placed just behind. He switches the TV on. Myself, I
come and inspect. Hem!, does not look too bad this trick!
View the height of the sitting room’s table, I have an overlook on the
situation:
When I was young
Raï-Ma,
I hardly saw what they put on this small table. I had to stretch up the muzzle
to smell or then, I had to put my front paws on the edge of the table to look.
Today, in the force of the age, I have really a dominant position.
Another than me would put his muzzle straight in the plate. I, not. I
look at...
I should tell you Raï-Ma that I already ate. Before preparing his own
meal, François already served me my mess tin. He would have never eaten first.
François is a very delicate boy; a little unforeseeable, but very delicate.
It is why I contemplate what he is about to eat with a certain reserve. I
am not famished to the point to be a freeloader. In any case, I would beg as
that is not of my habits. I am too proud to beg. I would be horrified to be
treated as a dog!
François starts to eat.
I quietly seat down aside and I look:
Indeed, I like this
sitting room table because I have the right height to see François eating. On
his fork, he takes a ration of beans and lifts it to his mouth: “Hummm!"
he says with greediness. He adds: "Delicious this tinned cassoulet!"
He also specifies: "Better than a home made cassoulet!" And he finally
adds: "And quickly cooked on top of that!".
You are telling me Raï-Ma! Quickly prepared, I want well to
believe it. And to day, he heated up the tin’s contents. Sometimes, I saw him
eating the cold grub directly in the can...
François has a delicious. I myself do not move. I am staying like
someone who is not there
François takes some crumb of bread and plunges it into the plate to
sponge sauce. In fact, these things cannot be done in society but since we are
between us, the devil takes suitability! Even if it is not a very distinguished
way of eating, it is not me who will say that François has sometimes hussar’s
manners.
I observe his wiped bread ball going from the plate toward his mouth.
That made "schlourp!" when he shoves the whole in his largely
opened mouth. Eh François! And this sauce stain that you just made on the
carpet there? You saw it at least? No, you didn’t! Too busy with stuffing your
face? And what Catherine will say this evening while coming back and looking
down at the carpet? Again one will say that Po-Paï did that, didn’t he? With
his enormous mane, Po-Paï splashes all around, Po-Paï mucks up, Po-Paï spots
everywhere. But Catherine will not say anything to Po-Paï because she forgives
Po-Paï everything. But, if she knows that it is you François who...
OK!
For this time again, I will say nothing.
Let us remain vigilant: he tucks into a second ration of beans.
Let us be attentive: he begins to cut a sausage...
Precisely, it is this sausage that I located a few minutes ago. In fact,
I only looked at it, I had eyes only for it, I looked lovingly at it, I cosseted
it, I was already seeing it in my very salivating mouth, I was tasting it, I was...
François cuts a piece of MY sausage and is ready to put it into his
mouth with his fork. I myself stop looking at the sausage and I fix François in
the eyes. Always without saying anything. Francois, who was alternatively
looking since a few moments at the TV and at his plate, makes a gesture which
will have irreversible consequences: he looks at me!
Our glances cross in...
And then Raï-Ma, it is necessary that you well understand the
continuation of the operations. Since François brought his plate, I remained
impassive. But there is "impassive" and "impassive". In fact,
my impassibility gives me this expression:
It is the same
expression that François painted in the past. This painting is called
"Mercy":
With an air like that
one, one gives me God without confession. So, you will understand well Raï-Ma
that between God and a small piece of sausage, there is no possible comparison.
Who can do more, can do less. Let us be logical: if I am able to obtain God,
there is no reason so that I cannot obtain the small piece of sausage which goes
with.
At the end of his fork, the piece of sausage suddenly stopped its race.
Undecided, François looks first at the TV screen, then his sausage’s piece,
and finally at me. He stares at me. He right looks at me in the eyes. So do I:
We look at ourselves like that during long seconds which appear to be an
eternity. It is in these cases that François sees my small truffle in the shape
of a small heart:
And in fact, he is
even able to distinguish a small broken heart there:
A small broken heart
which beseeches...
I believed that I saw François blushing a little.
François puts the piece of sausage in his mouth. With his tongue, he
cleans the sauce trickling down from the end of sausage.
Delicately, with his two fingers, he takes the piece of sausage and
carefully directs it towards my mouth. Always without stumbling, I majestically
half-open the jaws, pull out my tongue and wait. François has to slightly raise
from the sofa to go to me. With plenty of delicacy, I accept to receive this
small piece of sausage which suddenly failed to go elsewhere.
The first of the series...
It is only a beginning Raï-Ma, what do you believe! Once that my
technique is implemented, there is nothing more to do. As you see, I did not do
a lot at the beginning. Just let things go. All things come to those who wait. I
don’t ask anything; it is to the other to understand that he has to give.
From now on, no need to stupidly look at the plate and its contents. I
have only one thing to do: fix eyes into’s François.
"Oh! this piece of bacon there! It was just the one that I wanted!
And this piece of sausage! It is an hour that I located it! And don’t forget
this small juicy piece there, I located it the first!"
This is what he has to understand each time that he will put the fork to
his mouth. If you manage to make your master feel guilty Raï-Ma, it is won!
With Francois, all this goes wonderfully.
And Raï-Ma, I have an ally of weight with me. I mean: television. I told
you that François follows the news very closely in this moment because of the
terrorist’s attempts, of the Afghanistan’s war and all the other conflicts
on this poor Earth that the humans can destroy just by their madness. With all
these elements, for me the game is easier.
When I look at Francois, my eyes do not have to reflect the satisfaction
of the one who ate well and who has well gorged himself. Quite the opposite, it
is necessary that my glance is the one of a starveling, of a child dying of
hunger just as those that François has seen on TV while following the last
unfolding of the Afghanistan’s war. It is necessary that the victims of the
humane catastrophe and me, make only one. It is necessary that François gets
the impression that I belong to the television report.
This is a cassoulet which gets stuck in your throat, eh! My poor François!
Come on!, give me all! You will make you sick!
Po-Paï
Nice,
25/11/01
*
Raï-Ma is my fiancée. She is a wonderful female chow-chow who lives eight
hundred miles away from us.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Story of december 2001:
Who said chows-chows do not obey? Without doubt, Po-Paï follows his
master. Two small conditions however have to be met.
Firstly, it has to be raining. A drizzle or a heavy downpour, it doesn’t matter, a few drops are enough.
Secondly,
you have to have an umbrella, a brolly big enough to shelter two people.
When
these two conditions are met, you’ll soon see your chow-chow rubbing against
you as he follows you under the umbrella. This means Po-Paï staying quietly
close to my legs in order to avoid getting wet as least as possible.
Before,
it couldn’t work: I used to take a small umbrella!
Indeed, not long ago, I noticed this change in Po-Paï’s attitude. As always, it’s the small details of daily life which can give you a quality of life or not, whether you notice them or not. It is all the difference between an undisciplined chow-chow and a Po-Paï walking loyally alongside his master.
Before, when it rained, I never’ used to take a brolly. Before getting to know Po-Paï, I never used an umbrella because I knew that I was not made of sugar and I never thought that a few drops of water was going to melt me. It was like that: the umbrella for me was never part of the basic essentials. On the contrary, I though that a few drops of rain on my face and body had a hugely refreshing effect. One is wild or one is not. Me, I am.
I have been civilised since Po-Paï has been in my company. This chow-chow looked so disgusted when this refreshing water from the sky fell on his back that I wondered if I would not have a more distinguished look about me if I took shelter. Like a lot of people, I realised that the rain has something gloomy, unpleasant and very uncomfortable. Before, I used not to pay any attention but from the moment I saw Po-Paï’s reaction, I decided to protect myself.
I therefore decided to take a small easily transportable brolly that can slip into one’s pocket when closed. Unfortunately, this small brolly, when opened, could only shelter me. It wasn’t large enough to shelter Po-Paï as well.
Since the day I borrowed Catherine’s multi-coloured umbrella which looked like a parasol, everything changed. Po-Paï quickly understood what was best for him. He knew that by staying right alongside me, his magnificent fur would scarcely get wet. He follows his master like all loyal doggies.
All things considered, I don’t like this image of us: a sullen Po-Paï sticking closely to François who is sheltering in a snobbish way under a woman’s umbrella. I would prefer stayed true to ourselves, that is:
- it’s raining, I wildly pull the leash in a grumbling manner in order to take out Po-Paï who is doing his utmost to stay put because he doesn’t want to get wet.
- I am still grumbling because when Po-Paï is wet he doesn’t want neither piss or shit.
- I am grumbling because I am all wet and seeing this chow-chow sulk puts me in a bad mood.
- finally, I am grumbling because when we come home we dirty all the apartment.
But do we feel good after having dried ourselves, isn’t right Po-Paï my boy?
Take back your brolly Catherine, you might cause us to lose our personality.
End of story