Today is the last day. I'm not terribly sad because I'm going through massive Chubbs withdraw. Paris is full of doodles (Me and Rebecca's term for dogs). Most are cute a shaggy, even more of them are leashed to a drunk twenty year old passed out on the sidewalk outside of the Bastille. Lots of people feel bad for these homeless dogs, but I figure that if worse come to worse, they'll regain their inner animal and just eat their drunken owner. Which come to think of it would be righting two wrongs. On Rebecca and my first walk around Paris, we crossed paths with a handsome Bulldog. Our reaction to him was bigger than ours to any museum, monument or meal here in Paris. Watching this bully swagger across the street made me smile while crying on the inside for the fact that I couldn't just go home and snuggle my little fart machine. Crying because I know that when I pick him up from Ithaca, he'll be mad at me for making him leave.
All over Paris, the dog owners walk with their dog off leash. Little doodles free to stop and pick up a scrap of food from the ground, then race to catch up to their owners. One afternoon, we watched a dog cross the street, dragging his leash between his legs. His owner stopped, looked down and told him to pick up his leash, which he did dutifully on command. But we've noticed that none of the Bully breeds walk off leash. Even here you can't trust your Bully to follow you. This is his city too and if he wants to take the next left, he's going to take it. See you soon Chubbington. Daddy misses you.