Saturday, December 9, 2017

Best Friends

Looks like Taffy, my cocker spaniel when I was growing up
There's a homeless chap in our village in the south of France who has a small, ragged poodle as his companion. Awhile ago, we started putting dog biscuits in our pocket, and when we gave the chap a euro or two we also gave him a biscuit for the pooch.

This morning, the man was not in his usual spot on the main street during the marche, as the street is all dug up with construction. Instead, he was near a jewelery store, not far from the row of fruit and veggie vendor stands, on a side street.

As we approached to give him a coin and a biscuit, we noticed there was no dog. Donna-Lane asked him about the "chien," and his answer seemed to suggest that the dog had died.

I know many of us have suffered the pain of losing an animal. A friend in Dallas lost her companion this week, and she was clearly in shock. When we had to put down our teacup poodle, Kissie, who was with us for 17 years in New York and Texas, I cried for three days. But I can't imagine for a man who has so little how devastating the loss of one of the few things he held dear.

Donna-Lane and I discussed getting the man another dog at one of the local rescue shelters. Of course, we would ask him first if he would like a new dog. And, if we got him one and he refused it, we would keep it for ourselves. We've been looking to get a rescue mutt as it is, now that we're scaling back on travel.

When we went to the grocery store later in the day, the man had changed begging positions. Except ... he had a small bundle beside him, and there was fur sticking out from the bundle. Coming out of the grocery store, we gave him a biscuit. Apparently we had misinterpreted his comments in the morning and the dog was still alive.

Having searched the websites of the rescue shelters, of course, we came across a dog or three we might be interested in. We'll go check them out in the morning.

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