Le Temps des Cerises

Christmas stockings and Cesar

2006-12-18T22:16:00.000+01:00

I'm a lucky little lady. My Uncle Wilfrid and my Auntie Karine, gave me a lovely stocking to open at Christmas all of my own. It contains a plastic bone, a plastic father christmas, and a completely unplastic - yummy, delicous chewy - shoe! I can't believe my Mum is waiting for Christmas till I am allowed to eat it.
In the meantime there's worrying thngs afoot. My Mum has read - Cesar Milan! No don't get me wrong Cesar is a best mate to dogs; the man's a wolf in human clothing and there's no higher accolade than that! However let's face it Mum, you know all that displine with dogs stuff ; it's all very WELL but he wasn't talking about cavalier king charles SPANIELS! I mean we're not DOGS!
So I mean when I don't want to go for a walkies I don't go for a walkies right?

Elaborating on Rosie Rose

2006-06-10T21:33:00.000+02:00

Now facial features and fashion sense aside, my cousin and I, in many other ways, are chalk and cheese. Rosie's a tracker. She will rush around in ever decreasing circles, snuffing her way to her ' goal'. Ruled by her nose, that girl is. I on the other hand, consider that one's senses are best used in conjunction, at any given time. Take that marvellous twosome the senses of taste and smell.I mean my take on it, is why not quest (smell!) and hoover (taste!) at the same time. This works particularly well in my neighbourhood. You'd be amazed at the amount of baguettes, croissants, and pastries you'll find on the streets ; well crumbs thereof; you just have to keep nose to the ground and - inhale. It's really easy. So Rosie girl, a tip from your older and wiser cousin - expending yourself with no incoming source of energy! Don't go there! It's really quite simple Rosie just remember - quest... and hoover. Quest....and hoover. Got it?

My Cousin Rosie

2006-06-10T21:14:00.000+02:00

This is cousin Rosie. Her Mum is my Auntie Phil, so obviously there is a family resemblance. Would you believe that this is the very same coat we are wearing, even if Rosie has never left the fair isle of Tasmania, and the pic of me is here in Paris! What do you mean the coat seems to be rather a snugger fit on me? Look, can I help it if they lace everything with cream here, and the croissants are so delicious, and don't even start me on the cherryjam crepes and....OK OK so I sent the coat back to cousin Rosie with her slim hummphh waisteline. Doesn't she know that curvy is back in fashion?

A little pause....

2006-05-23T13:51:00.000+02:00

Hello Spring! Here I am! Of course it's been too cold for my poor cold little paws to blog! That's my story and I'm sticking to it!
Now talking of visitors,just the other Sunday my Mum let me know we were having visitors...Now you might forgive a girl for being quite excited to learn that she would be receiving a visit from a tall, blond chap; debonair and handsome from all accounts and named Weston St.James into the bargain! Now a boy like that would know how to treat a lady! Huummmpphh not a bit of it! No sooner in the door, than he seized my favourite ball - the one I cuddle every night - and made off with it into the garden where he proceeded to roll it in the mud!! I soon sought refuge on the lap so thoughtfully provided by his beautiful mistress. And she wears my colours!

Burberry Days

2006-02-07T21:07:00.000+01:00

As you can see, gone are the days when a girl didn’t have a stitch across her back. Get me, in my new Burberry. Am I the Kate Moss of the dogworld or WHAT. As you all know, it has been a pretty chilly winter here in Paris, but I am as snug as a smug bug on a drug in a rug.**

Now my mum went and spent a good deal of our cold winter - in the summer! While she sunned herself in the stifling heat of Tasmania – oh she CLAIMS it’s all chilly over there, even in summer, but who is she trying to kid; lil’ me went to my favourite winter resort The RMV Club (unfortunately they don't have their own website but here is a link in case you don't believe this place exists. I don't believe it either sometimes, since it is the nearest thing to heaven I'VE ever come across. But believe me, the wonderful Mme Bernard and co. are real enough and can be found at:
RMV Club Le Petit Bien 45320 COURTENAY, FRANCE Tel : (33) (0) 2.38.97.07.17.

You little French doggies out there, here is a tip – SPEND YOUR NEXT HOLIDAY AT THE RVM CLUB. It is rather magnificent. A beautiful house in the middle of the countryside, and us dogs roam freely in an (enclosed) garden, sit and sleep on the canapé or bed of our choice. There’s constant attention and all the fresh chicken and green beans a girl can eat. Some of us don’t want to leave. My Mum had to bribe me to come home – how do you think I got this coat??

**(You too can own this beautiful coat - or one just like it! - along with many other wonderful doggy fashions - by insisting that your mum visit Mon Bon Chien, at 12 rue Mademoiselle, 75015 Paris tel/fax 33 (0)1 48 28 40 12. And my advice to all you clever doggies out there, do NOT repeat NOT leave the shop without making your mummy buy you a humungous bag of your favourite flavour biscuits (they've got every flavour possible so they're bound to have your favourite) - scrumptious!! When is it Saturday Mum?

Cuddly Winter Fashions by Cherry

2005-12-06T23:27:00.000+01:00

The New Chanel Model

2005-11-29T22:54:00.000+01:00

Anyway, Nicole and I hardly need horrid old winter coats hiding our beauty ....

No Coat

2005-11-27T20:12:00.000+01:00

It's not funny Uncle Claude! Buy me a coat - now!

When we woke up yesterday - the snow had arrived! Our garden was white and the weather was quite freeeeeezing. So it was to my Mum's intense surprise, when I didn't seem too reluctant to trot down the road for a coffee with her and my uncle Claude. Sure it was a little chilly on a girl's paws but I was stepping out in high hopes of obtaining at least part of a tartine (buttered baguette! yum yum) once we arrived at the cafe; (I had my best pleading eyes on) but it wasn't just that. Truth to tell, I was admiring all the cute little coats that my canine compatriots were wearing in this new brisk weather. It seemed the snow had brought out the latest styles in the fashion-conscious pups of Paris, and every pup I passed had his or her new winter coat on. All sorts of coats. Some beautifully trimmed in fake fur; some no-nonsense Gortex forty-below-Arctic-condition types (generally worn by stocky little French bulldogs); little beige trenchcoats... A perky white Westy in his light blue anorak; a pretty black poodle trotting by in her striking red parka; yes it was a pleasing sight to see that every dog had his coat.

And then - it hit me..... I was entirely naked! No smart new coat adorned my own back! No coat at all. I twisted round, in a moment of shame; trying to get a good look at myself, as if just by looking I could will a little fake fur leopard print number into existence. But it was no good. My back remained stubbornly unadorned by anything more than what Nature had graced me with at birth. And as every Parisenne -canine or otherwise - knows; that is hardly enough! I was shamed! How can a girl show her face again in our street. I think I might sulk for a year.

And do you know what my Mum did later that afternoon after our coffee, cakes and tea (and more tea) with Uncle Claude. Can you guess? Can you? Oh yes, I think you have done. Yes, she went out and bought herself a new coat.

The Princess and the Centime

2005-11-01T23:08:00.000+01:00

Now I'm a pup who likes her creature comforts. I mean all these little Parisian dogs that look positively brisk as they pound the pavement by their human's side. Hhmm I mean a lovely run in the Bois de Boulogne or a nice stroll to the cafe followed by an hour or two lolling under a table, or chasing up crumbs from nearby tables, is one thing, but pavements can get hard on a girl's paws afer a while and be downright damp on occasion. So...when the whim takes me I have a great little plan for avoiding further pavement pounding. I go for the embarrassment angle. My mum can get quite selfconcious so it works a treat! I simply collapse down on my tummy, chin to the ground, and gaze up beseechingly at my mum. She tries to get me to my feet; and when I continue to simply gaze sadly up at her, she lifts me on to my paws. I flop down. She lifts me. I go into my ragdoll routine. She lifts me again, all the while trying to use that stern tone of voice that Auntie Gabrielle tought her. Hah! So people begin to look. Some smile as they walk by. But worse some start to look concerned. ' Il est fatigue ce chien??" a worried lady enquires. My mum assures her that I'm not too fatigued at all, that I am just ' capriceuse" . Hhhmph!! My mum starts to get embarrassed. " They'll think I abuse my dog, Cherry! she says now please!!" I'm still flat out on the pavement, gazing up. Any minute now she'll lift me in her arms just to avoid the embarrassment. Ha I'm a master at this!

So the other day, Mum was again at a loss. She'd tried sternness, her pretend-angry voice, pleading and " look look over there! Cherry! It's Auntie Gabrielle! Let's go!!" I've heard this one before and this time I know it's a ruse! . Determined not to pick me up it seems, yet unwilling for further dragging me along on my tummy, Mum sinks down to her haunches and goes sinto a little reverie by my side. She's like that for some time, gazing at the shops on the opposite side of the street, the people passing by when out of the corner of her eye, she sees that someone is approaching closer than they should... And suddenly a hand in front of her at eye level, outstretched and open with a couple of little golden coins - ten centime pieces proffered. Oh no no monsieur she stammers, struggling to her feet. " Non merci, vous etes gentille!" " No thanks, you're kind!" There's a lot of people sitting in the streets begging in our neighbourhood, sometimes with their dogs ; but I guess my mum just didn't see that she and I were doing quite a good impression of being one of them

Shame she refused really! My mum wandered homeward, (I decided to cooperate) reflecting on the little kindnesses inherent in the human species - an old retired guy looking quite poor himself offering what little he could spare... Me: " oh mum you should have taken it! You could always buy treats for me!"

And there's alway the doggie bag mum!!

The Princess and the Penny

2005-09-22T21:44:00.000+02:00

We loved having Cherry's Aunt Anne over to stay with us from London las weekend. She made such a fuss of my little princess that Cherry didn't want to see her go. And neither did I of course. She called on Thursday night! She was setting off for Saudi Arabia the following morning; and she will be there by now. I can't wait to hear how she's getting on! This is your cue Anne luv !!!

Now Cherry loves to have a good scratch around, before making herself comfortable in her bed. What dog doesn't. HER bed being in this case, Mummy's squashy plum sofa.They say that this is the instinct of any canine who in he wild would have lain in long grass, and needed to turn and turn to flatten it, and create for themselves a cosy and well hidden little nest.

But in the last two days Cherry had been dutifully following her canine instinct to the extreme, whipping her towel up into a veritable cotton frosted icing extravaganza and then finally flopping on top like the ehm cherry on the cake.

So when Mum finally decided to tidy up after her cheeky pup, what did she find when looking under the towel but - two bright English pennies. And now all became clear. Cherry now complains that she is black and blue from sleeping with a penny under her bed. Just like that other delicate young lady in the fairytale who had similar problems with a very small and seemingly inoffensive vegetable, my Cherry has shown that she is indeed of royal blood!

The Fundamental Interconnectness of Things

2005-09-22T21:16:00.000+02:00

.....and with a title like that, you can tell that this is very much my MUM'S post. You wouldn't catch me writing on such an airy-fairy, up in the air, head in the clouds, non-edible topic. I mean what does it mean anyway. Well according to my mum it's nicked directly and unashamedly from Douglas Adams and can, on occasions, have quite a lot to do with .... and pigeons .Huh?

You already know about my mum's penchant for pigeons - She says she can't help it if they will keep swooning in front of her. Put ' em in a pie, I say. But she won't hear of it. No no, we have to go all the way down to Chatillon, which is the other end of the number 13 metro line to the Societe Protectrice des Oiseax de la Ville each time my mum finds one of these injured birds. But the last bird we found in distress not only gave my mum another occasion to leap into action as Bird Saver Extraordnaire but to indulge in another of her favourite activities; musing philosopically on the fundamental interconnectness of things.

LondonAuntAnne, Mum and me were walking by the lake in the Bois de Boulogne when I saw a pigeon floating in the water. This isn't the usual behaviour of pigeons, and this particular pigeon didn't think so either, because he was clearly trying to get OUT. Miserably though, he was not succeeding. Too exhausted, or perhaps damaged, he could not fly from the surface of the water and he was bobbing along, alternately thrashing and resting exhausted. It was only a matter of time.....Well my mum stood there appalled by the water's edge, though whether it was the plight of the pigeon, or the thought that had occurred to her that if she was going to make a significant difference to this pigeon's lifespan she was going to very soon have to jump in, I am not sure. Certainly the thought never crossed her mind to send ME in after it. Do I look like a labrador?

Well would you believe it, while my mum stood at a loss by the water's edge, that pigeon - that little wild bird who wouldn't normally come too near to a human being, flapped and struggled over across the short stretch of water straight to us, where he floated exhausted once again, wings outspread, unable to heave himself up and over the concrete edge. So luckily, my mum was now easily able to scoop him out and soon, he was standing soaked, and trembling, eyes tightly shut, wings folded and chest heaving, on grass not far from the water's edge.

Now, my Mum and LondonAuntAnne debated what to do next, and LondonAuntAnne won the day with the sensible plan of going to the nearest outdoor cafe - a very short distance away - of which the Bois de Boulogne rejoices in several fine examples - all serving delicious baguette cheese sandwiches which My mum and I have sampled many a time. Here, she (LAA) thought, they could get the pigeon some bread and water. What about me I asked them anxiously as I trotted along beside, but they didn't hear my questioning eyes...

The sun was out now and wonderfully warm and Mr Pigeon was able to sun himself, and dry off somewhat, as he stood stock still, eyes still shut, while his breathing slowed, and his trembling subsiding. A man spied our pigeon and came over to offer some old bread given to him by the cafe manager, who luckily seemed to be a friend of his. Then a friend of this person luckily arrived with her family. Soon she too was looking over with interest, concern..... and would you believe it, it turns out she rescues pigeons on a frequent basis, and runs ' em down to our favourite Societé and had been there only the evening before! Luckily! Well she was soon offering to motor Mr Pigeon down. Oh well I could take him on the metro my mum offered valiantly. No, no, this lady wouldn't hear of that and that's how we didn't come home with yet another sick pigeon on Saturday afternoon. My mum has high hopes that he survived to avoid water another day. Daft bird, I say, that's what you get when you mess with water

Anyway, you've got the luckily heavily interspersed through this little blog offering. Yep my Mum believes that Fate, the Universe and/or Something conspired to tee up that pigeon's rescue beautifully in a fundamentally interconnected way. Sigh, look it's not all her fault. She didn't always have someone as sensible as me in her life!

A Patch Unparalleled

2005-08-29T20:52:00.000+02:00

Let me tell you about my summer holidays. They arrived just after Auntie Annie had, and on an exciting Sunday morning, we headed south to a patch of paradise; the lovely Dordogne. I was soooo excited. After driving for about five weeks - Auntie Annie talked about ' a day and a half' but I am sure it was a lot longer than that, we arrived at our destination a farmhouse in a village so small that my Mum reckons it can only lay claim to the name as it has a Mairie open on alternate Wednesdays between 3 and 4:30pm.

Our hosts had ever so kindly provided several chickens for me to chase, and so the minute I was bundled out of the car upon our arrival I was OFF down the country road after those delightfully squawking flapping birds. Mum seemed a bit embarrassed by my efforts to bring some excitement not to mention a good cardio-vascular workout into these birds' dull lives, and scooped me up under her arm on several occasions, apologising red-faced to our hosts, who were quite affable about it, understanding no doubt my efforts in the chickens' favour.
Well I can't continue further without mentioning the excellent dining to be had in this most truly civilised corner of the earth. One evening, as you see, I graciously invited my rather presumptious neighbour to dinner and we dined in style in our private courtyard by the farmhouse. He'd been hinting for an invite since early morning when he first climbed in our kitchen window; honestly, where was his manners; he could have at least used the door but what can you expect from such a youngster. Service was a bit slow as you can see- they only have two legs bless ' em!

The Girls are Back in Town

2005-08-28T22:34:00.000+02:00

I have had a truly stupendous holiday with Mum and Auntie Annie. I'm feeling all relaxed, rested, unrushed, and lazy, all stretched out limbs and soulful eyes - ah it feels good.

I'm all keen to get those paws back to blogging the latest though. Think I'll start ......tomorrow....

Interesting Cities Beginning with "H"

2005-08-03T12:43:00.000+02:00

" I'll keep a look out for her from up here Mum!""

Interesting Cities Beginning with "H"

Auntie Annie is on her way from Hobart, Hong Kong and Helsinki. And in Hampshire, Hurricanes Hardly Hever Happen. Breathy Audrey Hepburnisms aside, it does seem that Auntie Annie has a fondness for interesting cities beginning with the letter H. I am sure that she will like Paris However and we are Hurrying to the Hairport Hysterically Happily on Friday Hafternoon to greet Her. And we can't wait. To be Honest with you it's such a while since I've seen my Harntie Hannie that I'm wondering if I shall recognise her? No of course I shall. She will be the one smelling of Hong Kong and Helsinki with maybe just a vague hint of Hobart still lingering about her! As you know we doggies 'view' the world through our noses!

But talking of smells, I fear that I can feel a bath coming on. About once a month Mum gets that look in her eye, and I hear her purposefully retreat into the bathroom, cupboards opening, water running, lids being screwed off bottles.... in short a bath is being prepared for me. Arghh. I generally hide under the sofa as long as possible and if she does manage to get to me, and I am bathed malgré moi, then I hasten straight for the dusty, dirty underside of our garden terrace, where I can roll away the cleanness (ugh) and the shampoo smells (yuk). I'll emerge all dusty and pleased with myself, ready to greet Harntie Hannie on Friday!

Sir is Indisposed

2005-07-30T11:24:00.000+02:00

In the early hours of this morning, we received a phone call direct from the Top. Yes I am talking about Sir's Place on the Hill. It seemed that incredibly Sir was not feeling his best, and although I knew this to be quite impossible as I happen to know for a fact that Sir is invincible (he told me) my Mum nevertheless seemed to take the phone call seriously enough.

In hushed and serious tones my mum discussed Sir's condition with Auntie Gabrielle and the outcome was - 1 Night Vet ordered out posthaste to the Place on the Hill, to Sir's side.

Well, I can inform you that Sir made a full recovery (in fact I am already inclined to believe I dreamed the whole thing - Sir indisposed?) but all this has given rise on my side to thoughtful meditations on my experiences of Sir both present and past; and on my Mum's, to wild enthusing on the level of organisation of petcare in Paris, our city of light, fine dining and night vets. Isn't that the mark of a civilised society, my mum crowed this morning, that a system exists where she can in the middle of the night call out a vet for a sick cat, who'll arrive at 2a.m., bag of medicaments in hand.In short should one need to order one's GP out at 4 in the morning requiring a little help with a troubling hairball, a heavy dose of ' flu or a bone gone down the wrong way, the place to live is Paris!

But where was I ? Oh yes - Sir. Well he's doing just fine, and I'm sure that the next time I cross his threshold, he will give me a smart whack just to let me know this. You see - sigh - not all cats are like my sister Phoebs as I discovered when when I first met Sir...

It was back in my Melbourne days. I had just about grown into my paws and was full of the joys, of life, love and the noble sport of catschasing. I was able to practise regularly courtesy of my big sister Phoebs, and how could a girl resist? Tee hee she's such a ' fraidy cat Phoebe, , scared of her own shadow, and everybody else's; a pin dropping causes her to leap three feet leap into the air her tail fluffed up like a raccoon's. So - when I heard that my Mum and I were going around to visit Auntie Gabrielle who lived nearby with three cats, I mentally rubbed my paws together in delight. Three. Thrice the sport!

Never was a pup more sadly mistaken. I was hardly in the door, when I came face to face with - Sir. I shall never forget that moment. Not only did Sir not run from me, but he stalked me, chased me, and confined me to the sofa with orders not to move from my Mum's lap for the rest of the evening, under pain of his extreme displeasure. While Auntie Gabrielle and my mum, chatted away and from time to time laughed - yes laughed - at my plight, Sir, and his two tough henchmen tought me the ground rules of his domain, which were basically to sit tight, shut up, and leave when required to. I tried to get down once or twice but each time I hazarded a little expedition to go hunting for crumbs, or perhaps even - sigh I was young - to try to reastablish the natural order of things, Sir was there with a thwack! and a ' what did I tell you?"

My Mum and Auntie Gabrielle will still laughingly hark back to this occasion with other friends, whereupon my Mum will turn my ears inside out - I have naturally coloured and why not admit it rather beautiful streaks of blonde on the underside of my ears and I am thus transformed into an instant blonde - while she reminisces on her story of " Goldilocks and the 3 Bears" - ha flipping ha mum.

Sir explained to me on that first occasion that he was omnipitent and I didn't have any real reason to doubt him however if I had needed any convincing, it came one morning sometime after the joyful occasion of my Auntie Gabrielle's arrival in Paris to live. We went to visit one evening to her little abode right at the top of a tower; true to form my Auntie Gabrielle had transformed this nest into a Princess's Bower, and I used to look forward to my visits there. But that day as I trotted confidentally through the door... yikes... him!! And his henchman Pumpkin. Oh goodness, they had got to Paris. They had crossed the world, managed to track down my Auntie Gabrielle, and move in! Auntie Gabrielle didn't seem too surprised strangely enough in fact she seemed positively pleased at their presence!

And so - sigh - these days visiting at Auntie Gabrielle's Montmartre Idyll, means peeping in warily to see what sort of mood Sir is in, and then taking up defensive positions accordingly - by the door as near to the Emergency Exit as possible, or perching myself gingerly on the sofa, ready to dive into my Mum's arms should the need arise. For continuing to socialise with the lovely Auntie Gabrielle, has to be on the terms of the cat who I have come to know as Sir.

Harry Potter and the Canine Compass

2005-07-28T12:27:00.000+02:00

"You wanted a phoenix Mum?"

My mum just spent two evenings ignoring me. Oh she tried to pretend that she was paying attention and behaving just as she normally would, but I could see how distracted she was.

When my Mum gets home of an evening, the procedure is generally speaking as follows: after our wild greeting where I do a lot of wriggling, smiling, laughing, grunting and leaping around, I get a nice back and neck massage on the couch, I then str-e-e-e-e-tch off the couch, letting my back legs slither down sl0-o-o-o-wly until just the tips of my tippie toes are still in contact with the top of the couch. Finally all four legs are earth-bound and if I'm feeling particularly energetic I sometimes seize something to guard at this point, you know do some growling, shaking and protecting of a fluffy toy or an old sock.

Then the frivolousness is over. I mean a girl has to do something to entertain her mum - she expects it of me you see. But then I need to get down to business. I go to the kitchen, and lie flat on the floor like one of those animal rugs - if I can make that rather horrid allusion - a little cavalier king charles rug - flat on the floor, tail stretched out behind me, paws splayed, with my nose pointing directly at Food. We cavaliers are canine compasses; and our nose always points directly to our magnetic North - the nearest Food Source. Remove the Food, place it in another location, and we immediately swing in that direction, rug-like, nose to the floor, and then we.....wait.

It is a well known human saying that all good things come to those who wait but it is less widely known that it was actually a cavalier king charles spaniel who first invented this saying. And he knew what he was talking about my great-great-great to the power of 45 grand father. His own Master had some waiting to do, and the story has come down through our generations... yes he waited and it paid off. Seems he ended up with England. Well I am less ambitious of course. England.... or a nice piece of chicken pie. No competition really.

Anyway, a few nights ago I swung into action as per normal. My Mum's not (too) daft. She gets it. This is my very well brought up, silent, mannerly, aristocratic....demand for food now. Sooner or later her enquiring face will appear around the kitchen doorway - "Cherry oh there you darling. Oh staring at the fridge again. Is my little possum starving? Is darling's little tummy empty again. Ohhhh , mummy gets her cherie trésor something to eat".

With heart high, and tummy low, I waited expectantly, my nose making its quiet appeal but....no Mum. Where could she have got to; I KNOW she came home. We did the greeting thing. I jumped, I played, I greeted. Why arent'we moving on to the next step?

Finally, I had to get up, poke my own enquiring head around the kitchen door and see what the hold up was. Oh! It was enough to make your ears curl - more. She had her nose stuck in a book. Seems my dinner had been entirely forgotton!

My huge liquid eyes 'ahem'ed silently with all their might. I forced a few tears - not actually that difficult under the circumstances - to make them even more liquid... nothing.

Oh obviously I got my dinner in the end; but the distractedness was evident. My Mum was muttering to herself; her movements as she opened cupboards, fridge door, cut, chopped, presented bowl to floor seemed choppy, hasty; in short she just didnt have her heart in what she was doing. Hmmpph well it didn't stop me paying complete attention to my food. There are only two things in this world that can distract a cavalier king charles spaniel from her food;someone else's food and um some other food.

Well would you believe that the next night it was the same thing. I began to seriously consider that my Mum was finding that dumb old book of hers more interesting than feeding me! But lo! I didn't have to wait TOO long on that second night. She turned the last page, shut the book with a snap, leapt from her seat, and started to feed me fast and furiously, muttering all the time. Endearments to me? No! She was a woman possessed. She started going on about some individuals I've never heard of; Harry Spotter or something; Dumble Doors; Then it became frantic and vocal. I hate her. She can't do this!! No he couldn't have could he? But wait! he wanted Snape to do that. And there was a phoenix - it flew into the blue. And it's going to be two years - two years!!!!

Alarmed now as she really seemd quite ill; I immediately (after finishing my dinner of course) tried to get to the bottom of this; (otherwise I might never have got pudding) . (At this point all you doggies-don't-eat-sweets-freaks out there; I have to tell you that sadly my mum only gives me the healthiest puddings - plain yoghurt, small pieces of fruit and the like - sigh.

Who is this Harry Spotter I thought to be upsetting my mum so; an obnoxious Dalmation perhaps? Hmmph I might have guessed. I mean Dalmations are all very well but you know well they're a rough lot; they hardly have that I don't know je ne sais quoi. I mean they ran behind the coaches right? Who was curled up on a velvet cushion in the coach. Ah you get my point.

Well two nights followed. My Mum has recovered her spirits somewhat and is much more prompt with my meals, but the malady has lingered slightly. She contents herself with just the ghost of a sigh, and the odd shake of her head, and then a sudden smile and a cryptic sentence such as "no no he could not have been that wrong; I don't believe it" ; "the potion might have had something to do with it. And he pleaded with him. He wanted it. It was part of the plan. I mean why else was he frozen?

Last night as I lay on my bed (in which I also let my mum have a small corner as long as she behaves herself and doesnt kick too much) what did I hear but a final, slightly comforted sigh
"it's all about the phoenix isn't it? I mean it's obvious?" and then 'two years though, two long years'.

Hummph I can see these two years are going to be very long indeed.

Like it 'ere

2005-07-21T22:23:00.000+02:00

"I'm not getting off the table till you promise not to move it again!"

Mummy and I are off to the Dordogne with Auntie Annie this summer and it's about time too. My mum has spent too much time lately re-arranging furniture - usually at 3 o clock in the morning, and I really need a holiday from this.

For the moment she's all pleased with herself as she re-arranged it yet again last night - I wonder how long this will last - and she's typing away now, with candles burning everywhere; even outside in the garden. The pink sofa is now the nice warm pink squashy main feature of the room perfectly placed for me to lounge on and survey every corner of my domain. I even let Mum have a go on it a couple of times; graciously retiring to my basket under the table.

What brought on the latest bout of frenzied furniture-moving was a trip on a train to a very large building that was rather delightfully full of sofas and beds and other resting places. My Mum and Auntie Gabrielle kept saying something about '"Like it ' ere" I think; and I must admit I did too.

You see it turned out to be more of a carries than a walkies. When we met up with Auntie Gabrielle, she immediately expressed her concern that dogs might actually not be allowed in this particular place. I tried to assure her that I'm not a dog, I'm a cavalier king charles spaniel but I am not sure if she heard me. Well would you credit it, when we arrived she was absolutely correct and four footed creatures were indeed respectfully requested to decline entering that doorway. Ha in your dreams - what they said was no dogs allowed. We were indignant all round - well Mum and me were and good old Auntie Gabrielle restrained herself from the least I told you so look or comment.

So what did they do but pop me in a stripy pink Habitat shopping bag which set off my fur nicely - although I think my collar clashed slightly between you and me. But what can you do Mum doesn't always SEE these things you know? So all morning long I masqueraded as an item of shopping. The best bit was being wheeled in her trolley. My ears were blowing back in the wind of our passing; other dogs in their trolleys were being left far behind as we whizzed around the Arc de Triomphe on one wheel ... okay okay artistic licence I'm a Pisces pup.

Anyway with a loaded down trolley we headed for the exit. I was by now sharing my vehicle with a few large boxes, several packets of candles, wicker baskets, and two rather large leafy ferns. What a girl has to put up with. But eventually we were home and as I say, my Mum is very pleased with herself. She followed the instructions to the letter in putting together her new little TV stand. The first picture in her little instructions book showed a man who is exlaiming in pain, having just dropped the box on his fingers. After my Mum had achieved this part, sucked her fingers on the floor for a while, she proceeded to follow the rest of the diagrams and put her furniture together .

So as I say, this has all led to yet to another incident of ' all change please!" and I hope this will be the last time before we go down to our holiday home in the Dordogne.

Just a baby at heart

2005-07-10T22:54:00.000+02:00

The Pigeon

2005-07-05T15:27:00.000+02:00

We had a surprise guest recently who came to stay unexpectedly on a Saturday afternoon. He turned out to be the polite, unassuming type (that is he didn't assume to try and eat my food). When I'd established that I couldn't eat his food, and that he wasn't going to eat mine; I didn't find him all that fascinating to be honest however I was intrigued at one point to discover Phoebe doing her best to eat him.

So the story begins when I was trotting home with my Mum. What should we spot but a pigeon fluttering by the very front door to our building. Well it is not such an unusual sight in a big city to see an injured pigeon; but possiblly more unusual to see one that seemed to be doing his best to get in our front door. Well, I was about to tell him that we didn't want lodgers today thank you very much when my Mum's GOOD DEED came upon her and before I could warn her about parasites, mess and the fact that she wouldn't be able to fully attend to my needs AND the pigeon's, she'd scooped him up, and carried him upstairs, with me leaping at her knees, trying to tell her to reflect a little....

The pigeon had a broken wing. He was in good general health, and seemed a youngster but with one wing dragging uselessly by his side. Sure enough my Mum starting fussing about him, looking for cages in her cellar, finding suitable food, giving him the run of the garden, spending hours on the internet looking for pigeon refuges in Paris. Ha! I said, Pigeon refuges in Paris! You'll never find.... but you know she DID!

Le Societe Protectrice des Oiseaux des Villes is a curious establishment in the south of Paris at the very end of a southbound metro line 13. Curious because from the outside you would think that it is was just another in a line of terraced houses in the pleasant enough suburban town called Chatillon. Indeed except for the initials SPOV painted discreetly by the front door and a logo of a flying bird, it looks identical to its neighbours. Inside it couldn't be a more different story. Now I have to tell you that my Mum did not actually take me down to SPOV when she was dropping off our pigeon. She seemed to think that she would have enough trouble without me (huummmpphh!!) - did I tell you I can read her mind by the way? Indeed yes, you didn't think we were just pretty faces, us CKSs did you?

My mum was greeted in a friendly enough fashion by an elderly man who had perhaps one word of French and whose skills in English were perhaps no better. Russian - she thinks - on account of his saying ' da!' enthusiastically when she asked tentatively might he be inviting her to walk up the stairs? So walk up she did, up two steep dark staircases of that rather disapidated old house; the walls lined with bird posters, to the very top to a green door through which could be heard the sound of birds, many many birds.....

This door it turned out led into the main hospital ward; where pigeons of all sizes, descriptions, and ailments were contained in dozens of different cages, along with a smattering of other types of birds, notably a parrot in one of those typical bell-shaped parrot cages who didn't have a feather to his name.... What a strange, pitiful creature he seemed; naked and tender-skinned like that; my Mum's heart gulped, if a heart can be said to gulp.

Alright it might be a bit fanciful to say ' all sizes and descriptions' . Are pigeons so very different one from another? No doubt another pigeon thinks so. Suffice it to say that my Mum's heart was warmed by this evidence of care for one of the more neglected, and misunderstood elements of our city streets, the humble pigeon. She's always liked ' em ; she thinks that they humanise our cities which is a funny thing to say when you think about it! Me? Well, (yawn) as long as they keep their claws off my food I guess I can't see too much of a problem in their existance!

Anyway the happy ending to the story is that our youngster was examined by a very nice girl who had come to greet us as my mum wandered on the stairs, pronounced indeed to have a broken wing, along with lots of parasites (what did I tell you MUM?" ) and was duly powdered, had his wings taped snugly back into the correct position, and deposited into a cage with others of his own age... You see they even think of the generation gap and such problems at this wonderful refuge. I mean this poor youngster wouldn't have wanted to be put in with a group of fuddy-duddy old grand-daddy pigeons talking about the NINETIES or something, now would he?

So on behalf of my Mum a big thank you to those lovely folk at the Societe protectrice des oiseaux des villes, including the elderly lady with the grey braid, who sat quietly amongst the cages, phone to her ear, talking away, and never so much as glanced in my mum's direction while she was there. We wonder if she is the founder of that institution, the little known pigeon saint of the city; who has dedicated her later years to the plight of the city pigeon in all his perils.

Anyway, my Mum misses our pigeon sometimes. Oh come on Mum you have me?!! and would ou believe when she's out walking with me, I sometimes see her casting a furtive eye to the footpaths and gutters, where an injured bird might be lurking.

La Societe protectrice des oiseaux des villes are wonderful friendly bird-loving people who can be found at:
68 rue Gabriel peri, 92320, Chatillon Tel: 01 42 53 27 22.

Phoebe

2005-07-01T13:12:00.000+02:00

Well the time has come to tell you about big sister Phoebe. Phoebs ..what can you say? If she's not hiding behind the sofa, she's ducking behind a curtain; if she's not under the verandah, she's crouching below a line of washing my Mum's left out. She brings new depths of meaning to the phrase 'scaredy-cat" . My mum says it's because of her deprived kittenhood; she didn't get the necessary sibling socialisation when she was tiny; that's the way my mum talks sometimes.... Yawwnn ... hey though she's great fun to chase!

Her name - Phoebe. Yeah you guessed it. Our Mum is a Friends' fan! Nothing more complicated than that. But she could have been Michelle, Angel or Molly. Why? Because my mum was thinking of naming her after the place where she was found as a tiny tiny scrap of life - in a zipped up bag in a tunnel of the metro Michel-Ange Molitor. A zipped up bag, you ask, in Wildian accents. Yes that's right; we will never know how she spent the first month of her life; but one evening in 1996, one homeward commuter traipsing through the metro tunnel in that quiet area of Paris's 16th arrondissement, her ears no doubt assailed by the usual array of noises common to any metro station; was surprised to have them assailed by quiet different tones: a tiny kitten's desparate mews. The commuter was one Doris Schomb, a kindly German woman who was amazed to find, when tentatively approaching and eventually unzipping the mewing bag, a tiny ball of fur crawling out and clinging to her with its desparate kitten claws .

She came into my mum's life the following morning when looking through her work's private ads, she saw Doris's Abandoned Kitten Ad and, as she tells it, her heart melted and she knew it was the right moment to put both hers and the kitten's life to rights, by adopting her. My mum found herself the proud owner o the tiny furball later that evening. The tiny creature still had her milky blue eyes - or rather one of them was obviously so; the other she rarely opened fully. Whether it was paining her or merely gummed up was difficult to tell....

More soon

Do I LOOK Scary?

2005-06-04T14:23:00.000+02:00

The laughing cavalier

I once read that there is only one creature which has NEVER been known to evoke a phobia in a human being; apparantly there is no medical case on record in which the humble, harmless, bleating lamb has ever been known to peturb a human mind. "Ha!" I would've have said with a toss of my curls, "the author who wrote THAT had obviously never heard of a cavalier king charles spaniel." Until Friday night....

My mum had arrived home late. Late and tired. Oh dear. this didn't bode well. Half past eight and I hadn't even been fed yet. And then there is always the worry - that she might sink down onto the sofa and fall asleep. Forgetting to feed me AND depriving me of a comfy sleeping place! Not that this has ever happened yet, but you never know. It is any self respecting CKSs deep abiding fear that one evening he may be required to go without dinner...

So mummy receives a phone call and the words ' auntie Gabrielle' are mentioned. Yaayyy we're off! And yayyyy I've eaten first. My Elysium, mon paradis sur Terre is not far - you see I KNOW where we're going. Yes I can feel it in the air - tonight is a Le Temps des Cerises night!!

Our Goal to be found a short walk-stopping only for alternate lampposts sniff stops, (I only stop for five minutes at every SECOND one I'm not an UNREASONABLE pup); and of course I do have just the little short chats with new friends along the way - of no more than ten minutes or so duration each one - I was in a HURRY - I mean of course I don't inlcude the times when I have to lie down in the road for a bit; just to check if my paws are still looking good, and in general to ponder things; My mum has taken to calling me her little Pondercherry. She thinks its funny.

So in no time at all we're there. Ah, bliss, we have arrived at .....Le Temps des Cerises (my favourite little restaurant in the world run by the Madeleine and Jean Paul ! Yes yes my doggieblog title is well named, for indeed it IS the Time of the Cherries. I make my dramatic entrance, and rush straight to Bliss on Earth otherwise known as Jean Paul's Kitchen. And yes HE has seen me and His arms are open. As I gallop towards them, I am aware of a squeak somewhere to my left but nothing serious enough to distract me from the delights that await me. But lo as, all smiles, I greet Jean Paul and ask how He is, and how His pasta and ham are, I am vaguely aware that my mum is having a serious conversation with a woman who it seems is the author of the said squeak who has since vacated her table for a position as close to the wall as she can manage the furtherest possible from - ME! Huh! I mean do I LOOK like a tarantula? The woman is begging my mum to leash me, keep me under control; she's cringing against the wall. Her boyfriend is nodding seriously.

Hhhmmm it seems that the author HAD heard of CKSs; and would you credit it, there I am obliged to spend the rest of the evening quietly by my mum's side, on leash, and even need to be pulled to a far corner by Auntie Gabrielle and Mum as the chick - as Auntie Gabrielle would say - later makes her exit into the night. Ignoble I feel. But Jean Paul DOES bring me a lovely big bowl of ham and pasta to calm my shattered nerves.

I Arrived in a Snowstorm

2005-05-31T12:47:00.000+02:00

Paris life is just my cup of tea, but I have to admit I hada pretty surprising start. Being an Upmarket Pet, naturally I'm a poised, worldly individual who adapted with the greatest of ease, to a life of well, ease, strolling the Paris streets, being adored by cafe waiters, who serve me first before my mum. However, it has to be said the first snows of my experience were a little bit of a shock to me. I arrived on the 1st day of the year of the very cold winter of 03. Once we'd sorted out all the formalities getting me home in my crate in a taxi, and my mum was free to take me outside for the first time in over a day - it is a loooooooong plane ride from where I come from - I was surprised to discover that it was not only no longer summer, with no sun shining, and a grey leaden sky, but cold whirling flakes were falling on me thick and fast, and I was wading through the damn things. Paw deep in freezing cold snow! I didn't have a vast experience of snow in my Melbourne years - I should say my Melbourne year as I'd only had one of them, being before that time a mere twinkle etc.
Naturally I was not putting up with this sort of nonsense so I had to get my mum to carry me.

I got used to it all later. In no time at all I was gambolling through the snow in the Bois de Boulogne, but that first day was a shock which I won't forget.

We had snow again this winter. In my little Montmartre garden - alright in my little ONLY-A SHORT-FIFTEEN MINUTE HIKE UP A VERY STEEP HILL TO MONTMARTRE garden if you must be picky. This was Phoebe;s (she's my big sister, and she's ...well you know big sisters. What can you say?) first experience of snow but of course I was an old hand and chuckled at her picking her way gingerly through the shallow drifts sniffing cautiously as she went. I'll show you the photos soon!

Cafe Life

2005-05-31T12:34:00.000+02:00

I have to say that it is quite a doggie's paradise here in Paris.There isn't a restaurant in the city which shuts its doors to me and a walk out at the weekend with my Mum is hardly complete without a stop in cafe, preferably one with a resident dog so I can have a chat. I do like to have a nice croissant and creme of a Saturday morning. Sometimes my Mum has got only walking on her mind, or even WORSE only shopping, and I have to remind her quite firmly that we need a coffee break. I do this quite simply by heading determinedly towards the inviting looking cafe doorway of my choice, and gazing inwards. I just hold this stance while my mum goes though her little routine. "Cherry we're not stopping for a coffee. Cherry we can't afford a coffee today. Cherry we need to look for SHOES. Cherry come on, come, come good girl. Oh alright then, let's have a coffee. Will that table there do" ? Ah, bliss the required stop has been achieved. Told you. She's a complete pushover. Now all I need to do is get the waiter's attention for my bowl of water, speak with the resident dog, and await the crumbs under the table. Ah cafe life. Took to it like a duck to water.">

Cherry the Wonderdog

2005-05-29T18:06:00.000+02:00

Has it been done yet? Has a pooch taken pen to paw and blogged? When my Mummy suggested that a pup could amuse herself, in those lazy afternoon hours after her Uncle Wilfred had left her tucked up in her cosy canape chez elle, I scoffed. What did I think blogging was a bad idea? No, no. I scoffed. My food. I always scoff my food and when she was asking me that question, I happened to be eating my remaining dinner. OK Phoebe's remaining dinner. Mummy? Uncle Wilfrid? Phoebe? I'm not explaining myself very well here am I`? OK OK. I think I am going to have to go back to the very beginning, and, as there isn't any more food to finish up right now, and it might be oh half an hour or more before I manage to find something more - trailing after my mum to catch crumbs when she's in the kitchen for example ; kitchen crumb catching is one of my favourite activities - well, where was I? Oh yes as it might be half an hour before I manage to find something further to eat, I might as well start now... they call me Cherry the Wonderdog - and I live in Paris.