I think this will be a mini-post since it’s about a mini-subject, our French bulldog, Pierre. No, I didn’t name him – before you ask. The kids didn’t name him either. He came from the breeder so encumbered. We considered changing it, but couldn’t agree on a substitute. So, it’s Pierre. You will NEVER hear me calling his name outside the house. If he gets away on a walk, he’ll be loose in the ‘hood until he either decides to come back or his microchip leads him home. “Pierre, come!” is not something that will ever pass my lips. Just sayin’.
The reason he’s the star in today’s post is because we’ve been spending alot more time together. With me home more (have I mentioned I’m unable to meet friends for lunch *sob* or go shopping *sob*???), we’re re-negotiating the terms of our relationship. He thinks I should clearly be walking or petting him more and I think he should smell less dog-like and scoop his own poop. We’re both a little hard-headed and neither one of us is caving at this point, but I think I’m losing ground every day. He’s pretty cute and really good company. See….
He’s a pretty good little friend. He’s faithful and kind. If I’m having a bad day, he totally cares. Soppy, I know – wait for it – especially considering I tell him all the time how silly his big bat ears look and what a pig he sounds like (seriously, he snuffles and snorts like a pig…. ). Relax. He doesn’t understand English. All he hear’s is, “Pierre…. blah blah blah…… blah blah…..Pierre!” He loves the attention and it’s pretty amusing. A win win as they say.
So, I guess what I’m saying is that I’m happy last year wasn’t the Year of Austere or we wouldn’t have bought him. And I’m happy we have him. He’s a sweetie. “Oh, Pi-erre!!
Au revoir de Pierre et moi! xoxo