Christmas stockings and Cesar

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

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

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....

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

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

The New Chanel Model

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

No Coat

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.