PARIS, France — A lot of things struck me about France in general and about Paris in particular during my trip there last month with my friend Julie.
The architecture, the history, the food, the wine, the language, the culture — and did I mention the food?
Then there were the dogs.
It’s no secret my affection for all things canine goes back a long way and that dogs have been and continue to be a huge part of daily life here on Rusty Metal Farm.
It’s an affinity shared by many. We live in a country where, according to numerous online sites, we are projected to spend $60 billion — that’s with a “B” — on our pets this year alone.
But from what we observed in Paris, we have a long way to go in putting our kibble where our mouths are.
For one thing, the dogs of Paris are allowed pretty much everywhere, from cafes to grocery stores.
We would see them walking the streets on leads, laying down patiently as their people sipped wine or coffee in a cafe, browsing open air markets and on the metro trains.
These dogs are polite, well-mannered and obviously well taken care of.
Parisian dogs also have a certain air about them — a certain je ne sais quoi, if you will.
While dogs in the states gambol about in parks, chase sticks and sniff each other in dog-only appropriate spots, it’s not at all hard to imagine the dogs of Paris eschewing all that as they are seated with great dignity reading Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Victor Hugo or Emile Zola.
They reek of existential angst.
The first dog I spotted after landing was a gorgeous silver Siberian husky.
Now, as a musher I’ve known a fair amount of Siberians, and they are a goofy, friendly, affectionate dog.
This one? I have never seen the level of disdain or felt so judged for my shortcomings by a dog in my life.
Julie and I saw him more than once in the neighborhood in which we were staying, and each time we knew we were falling short in his estimation.
If that husky was disdainful, the little French bulldog puppy we saw a few times on our street was downright contemptuous.
On one of our walks we met up with the pup and his owners, and Julie bent down to pet the little guy as he trotted past.
His reaction was priceless.
He gave Julie a very un-puppy-like “if looks could kill” glare, and then — I am not making this up — in a huff used his hind leg to literally brush off the area on which Julie’s hand had touched him.
Sadly, Julie’s back had been turned so she missed all that, but once I had stopped laughing I was able to fill her in: “Yes, mon ami, you have just been dissed by a bulldog puppy.”
Of course, not every encounter was so frosty.
Admiring the statue of Joan of Arc near the Louvre one rainy morning we met up with Pinot Grigio, a happy and very fluffy bichon frise.
We are not sure what we liked better — the dog or his name.
That same day, while enjoying our glass of wine at a cafe, we saw a slender woman ride up on a bicycle with a malamute trotting obediently next to her on his leash.
I could not resist and, camera in hand, walked over to admire him.
His name was Baloo, and the woman told me it was her dream to one day have a team of sled dogs.
For his part, Baloo could not have been more friendly and kindly posed for a photograph.
But our favorite dog of all was Forrest, the welcome beagle, at Aux Verres de Contact, a small restaurant where we enjoyed an amazing supper one night.
Forrest was stationed at the entryway of the restaurant and deigned to let us pat his head as we stepped around him.
We were just studying the menu when the owner of the place and of Forrest went rushing out after the little dog who had decided to follow a little girl down the street.
Around the time our first course arrived, Forrest had caught the eye of a sweet little corgi and was ambling off after her.
This time the owner put the dog in what can only be described as a doggy timeout, a move that Forrest did not take with good grace.
Tied to a stool near the small bar area, the dog plunked himself down in the exact spot to be most in the way of the employees who spent the rest of the night stepping over and around the sulking beagle.
Eating out in Paris is never a rushed affair, and we spent several hours at Aux Verres de Contact and with each passing minute Forrest managed to look more downtrodden and oppressed.
I doubt the most wretched prisoner in the pre-French Revolution Bastille could have matched his level of despair.
Forrest did manage his own act of rebellion.
When his owner’s back was turned and the kitchen staff looking elsewhere, he poked his head onto the rack holding dirty dishes and snagged something tasty off of a plate.
From where Julie and I were seated, it appeared to be a far, far better snack than he had ever snacked on before.
Given Parisians’ love of their dogs and how dog-friendly that city is, it’s little wonder one of my favorite dog-related quotes is attributed to former French President Charles de Gaulle, who said, “The better I get to know men, the more I find myself loving dogs.”
Julia Bayly of Fort Kent is an award-winning writer and photographer, who writes part time for Bangor Daily News. Her column appears here every other Friday. She can be reached by email at jbayly@bangordailynews.com.
