DO DOGS KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?

             

Do dogs know what time it is?

Well, I think they do, but I'm a dogaholic, so maybe I tend to overrate my dogs' IQ...

Anyway, let me give you a few examples, and then you'll tell me if my dogs are really smart, or if I need to be cured.

When the clock strikes 5pm, Canaille, my English Springer Spaniel, starts pawing up and down the kitchen.

Is he smart enough to count the strokes of the bell or to read the time on the oven clock?

I don't know, but Dearhubby, who is more down-to-earth, says that Canaille is just able to count the rumblings of his stomach!

Quite true that his stomach rules the roost, but I can't help thinking that he must have swallowed a Swiss cuckoo clock, cause, even if he is sleeping like a log and snoring like a trooper, at 5pm sharp he wakes up with a start, stares at me as if saying " What's up, dog? ", and then rushes to his bowl.

Apart from clocking in at bowl times, timing our sleep is his other great concern.

He must know the creaky adage that " every hour of sleep before midnight is worth two after midnight ", cause around 10.30pm, he starts dragging his basket all around the room to let us know it is curfew time.

If we ignore him, then half-an-hour later he strikes up a kind of whining lullaby which sometimes turns out to be more efficient than any sleeping pill!

So, does Canaille just keep a watch on us, or does he know what time it is?

Well, I can't say, but the clock is ticking, and I want to tell you about Ulysse, my Coton of Tuléar.

Ulysse really deserves his name. Like the legendary Greek hero, he is always ready to go on long journeys, and he has already had many incredible adventures*.

Always eager to get some fresh air and sniff the latest news of his nearby buddies, this cute little dog must have a clock hidden somewhere, cause at 9am, 3pm and 7pm he starts nuzzling against my slippers as if saying " Hey you, is your watch slow or what? Don't you see it's time to put on your shoes and set off? ".

We have a huge garden, but I guess Ulysse thinks frolicing there is  just good for Wimpy Canaille, cause every day at 9am, 3pm and 7pm, his wagging tail and question mark-looking eyes give me the signal for departure.

Walking times must be as regular as clockwork, whatever the weather is, and that's where the shoe pinches...

If Ulysse knows what time it is, he isn't able to read the barometer, and what was to happen happened.

Last Thursday afternoon it was pouring down, so at 3pm when Ulysse started his kind of " scalp dance " around me, I just opened the kitchen glass door to let him out and do what he had to do in the garden.

A quarter of an hour later, I received a phone-call from an old neighbour of mine I'm used to visiting every afternoon when going with Ulysse on our 3pm walk.

" Hello Penelope, guess who is in my place! ", she said. Then she added,

" Let me give you a clue. He was named after a great Greek traveller, and he really tries to honour him!".

Jeez! Ulysse!!

Yes, guys, my four-pawed adventurer, had managed to sneak out of the garden , and had taken a ten minutes'walk to pay his daily visit to my neighbour! 

Is Ulysse' s motto " There is no time but the right time ", or is he going through that awkward teenage phase and seeking independence?

Well, Ulysse is nearly 15, which means for his breed 80 in human age, so a bit late to behave like a teen!

What do you think of all that? Are my dogs really smart, or am I an incorrigible dogaholic?

Let me know, and in the meantime if you want to read more about Ulysse 's adventures, have a look at the post " Happy, he who like Ulysse " dated 03/20/2016, and " Can cats and dogs get along? " dated 

11/17/2017.

Have fun!

                               

WHY MY DOG LOVES BIRDS

Canaille, my English Springer Spaniel, has been to the groomer, and guess what was hiding under his furry coat?

A sneaky roll of fat, you know that kind of flabby stuff which pops out only in Summer when you want to slip into last year swimming costume!

For Canaille, that brand-new spare tire is not that surprising, cause that poor guy suffers from a chronic disease : food-obsession!

His pesky cravings don't leave him a moment's rest. They strike unexpectedly and keep waking him up in the middle of his countless power naps. Then, no way to get back to sleep again.

The urge to eat is so strong that he has to get out of his comfy basket and make a beeline to the kitchen, just in case the treat drawer or the fridge door would have been left open.

Unfortunately, most of the time, he gets out of the place , empty-pawed (for non-dog-speaking readers, that means empty-handed).

That's when his inner Dyson suggests a fallback solution which leads him under the table in search of crumbs. Believe me, he works much better than my hoover!

But fake hunger pangs can't be content with crumbs, of course!

That's why Canaille has mastered the finer art of begging, and that's why Christmas and New Year parties have played havoc on his waistline, too!

So, to avoid the vet's scales' rude figures, I have decided to put our food-obsessed buddy on a strict diet.

No more treats, no more food scraps, just two meals a day, period!

Well, I should have remembered that early year diets are doomed to fail...

Resisting our dieter's imploring eyes quickly turned into a constant ordeal, and to crown it all and to make me feel uber-guilty, last Sunday our poor doggy spent quite a while drooling in front of the oven where a chicken was spit-roasting!

As suggested on a website, and to help him ignore the sassy poultry, I offered him some long sticks of raw carrots.

That triggered a total misunderstanding!

Canaille thought he had to replace the food processor, chewed the carrots till he turned them into grated ones, left them on the tiles, and went out of the kitchen looking rather bummed out.

Anyway, in spite of all his attempts to move me, I didn't give him an inch for a whole week, but what was to happen happened...

We are used to keeping pet food in a kind of storeroom in the basement, and two days ago I got sidetracked and left the door ajar.

Then  guess what!

Hey, come on, I agree with you, Canaille is quite smart, but yet not smart enough to open his canned food!

But, after all, maybe he tried to, and as he couldn't, he made the decision to calm down his tastebuds with one of the seed balls we had just bought for the wild birds nestling in our garden!

Well, apparently Canaille has a strong stomach, but I don't, so since I discovered his theft, I keep an eye on him for fear he would...fly away!

I'll keep you informed, but remember that dieting doesn't mean eating like a bird!

ARE FRENCH PEOPLE DOG-FRIENDLY?

Are French people dog-friendly?

Well, even though I'm French, I find it a bit difficult to give you an unbiased answer, cause I come from a family of dogaholics who, whenever they meet a dog, first greet him, talk to him, play with him, and, then, at last, realize that there's somebody at the other end of the leash!

Anyway, I tend to think that in my country everybody has an inner 

dog-lover ready to make friends with any dog pawing around.

Let me give you an example.

The very first time we took the train with Jolux (the cocker who turned my fear of dogs into a dog-devotion), he was just a three-month-old puppy, and our journey to the countryside went swimmingly.

We had booked his own ticket (quite cheap for a dog weighing less than 6 kilos), and bought a bag where he could curl up and feel comfy.

When the ticket inspector asked for our three tickets, he looked at our dog, muttered a vague "ok ", and went away.

Our holidays in Auvergne were fabulous. The hotel was dog-friendly, of course, but still now I wonder if the hotel manager was not an anonymous dogaholic, cause whenever we came across him, he never failed to greet our dog with a " Hi, good boy, how are you today? ", and often spoiled him with a biscuit.

The people we met, while walking through the breathtaking places of that region, often made a beeline towards us to say hello to...our dog!

Unfortunately, one month later when we got on the train back home, we had to face the facts ...

Thanks to the hotel manager's treats, and the chef's table scraps, as well, Jolux, the tiny puppy, had turned into a plump cocker and couldn't fit into his bag!

Well, we thought that if he laid still at our feet, everything would be ok, but the ticket collector would have none of it, and asked us to put our pet into his bag.

The passengers nearby told him that Jolux was as good as gold, and didn't disturb them, but the inspector was uncompromising, and said that pets must travel  in a bag, that was the rule!

After vain efforts to put our dog's four paws into his bag, it appeared quite clearly that he had made the most of his holidays, and had gone a bit too far on the chubby side.

That was the only excuse we could find to coax the hard-nosed inspector.

He gave us a stern frown, came close to our dog, squatted near him as if ready to squeeze him into the damned bag.

We were holding our breath, expecting Jolux wouldn't bark, or even worse, start peeing cause of that scary stranger facing him!

Nothing of that kind!

Our well-bred and well-fed dog turned the wagging tail button on, then pawed at the inspector gently, and that's when the French railway employee's inner dog popped out and said :

" You're really a cute boy, a bit podgy, for sure, but I was born in Auvergne, and I know there's no way to resist all the regional yummy specialties. Have a nice journey, and tell your owners to buy a stretchier bag next time you travel by train ".

So, if you ask me if French people are dog-friendly, I think I can answer :

" Yes, we are! ".

Don't believe me? Have a look at the link below!

http://blog.dublindog.com/2015/02/16/the-worlds-most-dog-friendly-countries/

DO LOVE AND TRUST GO TOGETHER?

I'm a dogaholic, and I have built such a strong bond with my two dogs,

Ulysse and Canaille, that I would do anything for them, and they would do anything for me.

Well, that's what I used to think, but after what happened last week, things are no longer that clear, and I guess I shouldn't take their devotion for granted...

Let me walk you through, and then you will tell me if my disquiet is right or wrong.

Some time ago I told you about my driving licence, and how I couldn't take it, because of a scared stiff instructor threatening to resign if I was to have one more lesson.

Whenever I stepped into the driving-school, the poor guy got  as white as a sheet, as if he was about to be sent to the scaffold.

I didn't want to be his executioner, so I bade farewell to my licence, and to my pipe-dream of going on a road trip with Ulysse and Canaille, and writing a travelogue in the style of " Travels with Charley " by John Steinbeck (come on, I'm joking, I'm not that big-headed).

As years go by, I've got used to being the front seat passenger, but my craving for being the girl version of James Dean in a remake of

" Rebel without a Cause " is still brewing...

Then, last week as I was decluttering the car, I couldn't help sitting down at the steering wheel, you know just to see what it is like.

So, there I was, holding the wheel in a casual " road trip " way, when Ulysse, who had been sleeping in his control tower, I mean the parcel shelf, woke up, caught sight of me behind the wheel, and ...sprang out of the car as if he had seen a ghost!

I was a bit puzzled, but I thought he just wanted to enjoy a break in his basket, so I took him back home and got back to my cleaning mission.

Alone? Of course, not!

My dogs think that wherever I am, they need to secure the place, and stick to me whatever I do, so Canaille took over from Ulysse.

He jumped onto the back seat, eager to go on a new blissful adventure with Dearhubby, but as his favourite chauffeur was not turning up, he got bored and indulged in forty winks.

One minute later he was snoring!

Sound asleep? That's what I thought, but as I was putting my hands on the steering wheel , that time for an ultimate wipe and not for a daydream, Canaille woke up with a start, stared at me, then barked out of fear, jumped out and rushed back home (to warn Dearhubby that Mum, aka the backseat driver, was about to play the road-hog?).

That's when I realized what my two doggies were driving at.

Actually, they put a total blind faith in me as a walker, a cook, a groomer, a playing partner, a cuddle-maker, but as a chauffeur, there's still a long way to go (on foot, of course!).

You see, while typing the last words of this post, I suddenly wonder if it is not their way to tell me that I should keep far from the steering wheel, and devote my drive to their sanity...

What do you think?