Chapter 3 third chapter

The dog is still there.And it quickly became clear that it wanted to stay and knew what to do so that we felt life without it was unimaginable.What a shameless sycophant. Paparazzi (1) When my wife saw this guy for the first time, she was on the way to Mena Village.It walked beside a well-dressed man, with dirty dog ​​hair hanging from the frame, looking even more unsightly.Although its hair is disheveled and there are countless dirty things sticking to its head, an insider can still tell at a glance that it is a poodle named Griffin Xhosa, which is very rare in France. Outside, there is gold and jade in it.

Our family has a Xhosa, but in Provence, this kind of dog is very rare, so the wife stopped to chat with the owner of the dog, she said, what a coincidence, she also has a dog of the same breed . The man lowered his head, looked at the dog that was bathing in the dust at his feet, and unconsciously stepped back a few steps, trying to keep a distance from the pile of dog paws and ears wriggling in the ditch. "Ma'am," he quickly argued, "this is not my dog. We just met on the road, and then this guy followed me all the way. I don't know whose family it belongs to."

When my wife came back from town and told me about the dog, I should have foreseen the trouble that would follow.Dogs were to her what mink coats were to other women, and she longed for a room full of them.There are already two in the family, and I think it is enough. Although she agrees, she is always reluctant.Over the next few days, I noticed my wife was looking hopefully out on the road, hoping that the dog was still around. If a friend from the village hadn't called us, this would have been the end of it.He said that there was a poodle very similar to ours, who was attracted by the ham and pate in the grocery store every day, wandered outside the store, and disappeared at night.No one in the village knew who the owner of the dog was, maybe it was a lost dog.

My wife suffers from "dog crisis syndrome".She once found that all those lost or abandoned dogs would be sent to the "Animal Protection Association". If they were not claimed within a week, they would be "humanely exterminated".How can we let this happen to dogs?What's more, it is a purebred dog of noble birth! I called the Humane Society to inquire, to no avail.The wife began to spend several hours a day looking for bread in the village under the pretext of buying bread, but the dog seemed to have disappeared.When I said it was obviously back home, my wife stared at me like I just said I was going to bake the baby for dinner.I had to keep calling the Humane Society.

Two weeks passed and there was still no news of the dog.My wife has been depressed, and the people in the Humane Society are getting impatient with our daily phone calls.Later, we got some bad news from the grocery store. The dog now lives in the woods, outside the home of a customer of the grocery store, eats leftovers every day, and sleeps in the porch. I've never seen a woman move so quickly.Half an hour later, the wife had returned, with a smile on her face that could be seen from 50 yards away, and a furry passenger sitting beside her.My wife happily got out of the car. She said, "He must be very hungry, he has been gnawing on the seat belt. Look, how cute is he!"

The dog was coaxed out of the car and stood there wagging his tail at everything.It looked scary, it was a ball of hair the size of an Alsatian dog, it was dirty from top to bottom, its hair was knotted everywhere, covered with branches and leaves, its body was so thin that its bones protruded, and it stood out from the bushes. A huge brown nose protrudes from the hair-like hair.It lifted its legs up against the side of the car, kicked the gravel with its paws, and lay down on its stomach, its hind legs stretched human-like.A six-inch pink tongue, with bits of seat belt still stuck to it, dangled lazily from its mouth.

"It's cute!" the wife said again. I stretched out my hand to it, and it jumped up, bit my wrist, and dragged it into the yard with its sharp teeth. "Hey, it likes you." I suggested giving him something else to eat so he could let go of my teeth-marked wrist.It ate up a large bowl of dog food in two or three mouthfuls, gulped and drank the water in the bucket loudly, and then plunged into the grass to wipe its mouth clean.The two bitches in our house were overwhelmed watching it, and so was I. "Poor little guy," said the wife, "we'll have to take him to the vet and get him trimmed again."

In every marriage there are moments of objection to nullity.I made an afternoon appointment with Mrs. Helen, a pet groomer. With this guy's current morals, I'm afraid no decent veterinarian would want to touch him.Hopefully Mrs. Helen has grown used to the country dog's grooming problems. Mrs. Helene was startled at the sight of it, but afterwards she acted heroically.And her other guest, an apricot miniature poodle, whines and hides behind a magazine rack. "Looks like I'd better take care of it first," said Mrs. Helen. "It smells very bad. Where has it been?"

"I think it's the forest." "Hmm." Mrs. Helen wrinkled her nose and put on plastic gloves. "Will you come back in an hour?" I bought a lice-proof collar and sipped a beer at Robin's Café while trying to adjust to the impending future of a family of three dogs.Of course, there's always the possibility of finding the previous dog owner, and I'll just have two dogs and a crazy wife.But in any case, it is not my turn to make a choice.If there is a dog guardian angel, let the angel make the decision. I hope the angel hears my prayers. When I got back the dog was tied up under a tree in Mrs Helen's garden.It squirmed happily as I entered the door.The dog's fur is cut very short, making the head appear larger and the bones more prominent.The only part that isn't heavily trimmed is its stubby tail.He looked angry and special, like one of those cool skinny dogs drawn by kids, but at least he smelled clean now.

Back in the car, it was very excited, sat upright on the seat, leaned over to bite my wrist from time to time, and made a humming sound in its mouth, which I think meant that it was very happy. These sounds were in fact a sign of hunger, for as soon as he got home he threw himself into the big meal prepared for him, and when he had finished he put his leg on the empty bowl, intending to lick off the enamel along with it.The wife looked at it with the expression that a woman would have when she looked at a well-behaved and smart child.I hardened my heart and said we should start looking for its owner.

The discussion went on all through dinner, the dog snoring loudly, sleeping on the wife's feet under the dining table.We agreed to let him sleep in the outhouse tonight, with the door open, and he can leave if he wants to.If it's still there tomorrow morning, we'll call the only Xhosa-owned friend we know locally and get his opinion. Just after dawn, my wife got up, and soon I was woken up, with a fluffy face rubbing against my face.The dog is still there.And it quickly became clear that it wanted to stay and knew what to do so that we felt life without it was unimaginable.What a shameless sycophant. A look at it can make it tremble with joy; a pat on it can make it ecstatic.After two or three days like this, I knew we were going to lose.With mixed feelings, I called Mr. Gregory, whom we met in Apt, and he was with a Xhosa. The couple came to visit my new tenant the next day.Mr. Gregory examined its ears to see if there were any number tattooed inside to identify the dog's lineage and prevent it from getting lost.All serious owners do this, he said, and the numbers are recorded in a computer in Paris, and if you spot a dog with the number tattooed on it, the headquarters will put the owner in touch for you. Mr. Gregory shook his head. "No number, the dog was not recorded and was not well fed. I think he was abandoned, maybe a Christmas present, and then grew too big. This kind of thing often If it happens, it’s better for it to follow you.” The dog patted its ears, shook its body vigorously, and seemed to have no objection. "He's doing well!" said Mrs. Gregory, before making a proposal that would increase my dog ​​population into double digits.She wanted to pair the poor foundling with their little bitch and asked what we would like. I know what my family was thinking, but by then the two women were already planning the affair. Mrs. Gregory said, "You must come to my house, and while the young couple are out . Fortunately, her husband is more practical, "We have to see if they fit together, and then decide..." he said, looking at the dog with the eyes of a future father-in-law.The dog put its fat paw on his lap, and Mrs. Gregory clucked and teased it.The so-called "fait accompli" is like this. Paparazzi (2) After another gurgling sound, Mrs. Gregory said, "We seem to have forgotten something. What's his name? We need to give him a brave name to match him." She patted the dog's head, "Look! Here," the dog turned his eyes to look at her, say 'Victor', or 'Achilles'4? " The dog was lying on all fours, and it was hard to see anything brave about him without a little imagination, but at least he was manly, so we came up with a name. "Let's call him 'Zai Zai', which means young man." "Zaizai, boy, what a name!" said Mrs. Gregory, and it was called Zizai ever since. We decided that in two or three weeks, after Zizai had taken precautionary measures, got his number tattooed, fed him for a while, and looked like a decent suitor, we would take him to see what Mrs. Gregory called his "fiancée" . In the days that followed, apart from trips to the vet and extra treats, the dog spent all his time melting into the family.Every morning, it waits outside the yard gate, howling with excitement that a new day has started, and bites the first wrist that comes into its sight.After a week, it upgraded from sleeping on a blanket outside the house to sleeping in a basket in the yard; within ten days, it successfully occupied the place under the dining table in the house.The other two bitches in my family are even more obedient to it.The wife bought tennis balls for it to play with, but the old man used them to bite.It can chase lizards and sit on the steps of the swimming pool to enjoy the shade, which is a fairy-like day. At last what Mrs Gregory called the "Covenant of Roses" came, and we drove into the rolling countryside above Saignon, where Mr Gregory had converted an old stone stable into a The long row of houses faces the valley and the village of St. Martin-de-Castillon in the distance. Zizai has become fatter and his hair has grown thicker, but he still lacks education.It jumped out of the car, raised its legs to pee under the young saplings that had just been planted, and used its hind paws to scratch at the emerging turf.Mrs. Gregory found it amusing, Mr. Gregory seemed less so, and I noticed that he was eyeing Zaizai with a slightly critical eye as he soon crawled to the back of the house.Their bitch ignored it at all, and started an ambush towards the other two bitches we brought.Zaizai finally climbed to the hill behind the house and jumped onto the roof from there.We went inside for tea and cherries soaked in brandy. "Zai Zai looks good!" said Mr. Gregory. "Simply wonderful!" said Mrs. Gregory. "But..." Mr. Gregory seemed a little worried.He stood up and took out the latest magazine issued by the French Xhosa Club's official organization. There were pictures of Xhosa dogs printed on the most prominent places on each page, some of them had captured birds in their mouths, and some were swimming in the water. , Some obediently sit beside the master. "You see," said Mr. Gregory, "all the dogs here have the typical Xhosa coat, the short-haired, Xhosa-mark." I look at these photos.All dogs have flat, thick coats.I looked at Zaizai, who was pressing his big brown nose against the window glass.The short trimmed hair is growing into gray and brown curly hair, which we think is special.But Mr. Gregory didn't think so. He said: "Unfortunately, Zaizai looks like a sheep. From the neck up, it's a Xhosa, but from the neck down, it's a sheep at all. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid this marriage is not a match. wrong." My wife almost choked on the cherry, Mrs Gregory looked a little downcast, Mr Gregory looked apologetic, and I breathed a sigh of relief.Two dogs and a sheep seem to be just right now. As far as we know, Zaizai is still a bachelor.