Dog owners abound across France. I think I’ve seen three cats and perhaps three thousand dogs. In Paris it seems that everyone is walking on the sidewalk with their dogs on leashes, and it’s true about the popularity of the French bulldog. Most of them wouldn’t even glance our way and were too haughty to allow themselves to be petted.
A terribly chic man listens to the pop up violin concerto in Paris along with his chien, of course a bulldog.
Ruth’s puppy Lvis (aka “Elvis”) tried to eat everything he could find during our indigo dyeing workshop. But who could resist those eyes?
A German tourist’s dog enjoying the cool stone floor in Chez Serge in Carpentras.
This bulldog acted like he was going to be friendly and sniffed when she put her hand out, but Barbara came close to losing a finger. He and his owner had an attitude.
But the best was Annie’s dog who was so terribly upset that we were in his house, that he was exiled behind the closed doors of her bedroom. When we asked his name, she told us it was Dexter, because he reminded her of a serial killer.