Canine Blackmail; Houses; Drive, She Said

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

     As happy as I was when cycling last Sunday, when I got home I received an unpleasant surprise: the  neighbors let me know that Beau had done nothing but bark and cry from a few minutes after I left to my return three hours later.  I was mortified, particularly as my neighbor, Élodie, is on her summer vacation.  Being awakened at 7:45 a.m. by a crying dog is not what she hoped her Sunday morning would be about.

     I have consulted with my veterinarian, Dr. Mougin, who referred me to Sabine Faget, a veterinarian specializing in behavioral issues who practices in the Narbonne area, an hour from here.  She is on vacation until the last week in August, so I will have to wait until Thursday, August 28 before I can see her.  However, Dr. Mougin made me feel much better when he told me that in the first year he and his wife lived with Harry, their Jack Russell, they boarded him once a week, so they could get a break from his antics.   Coming from a veterinarian, it was good to hear that even they have problems with their dogs.

     And Dr. Mougin endorsed my two-week vacation from Beau.  "Yes", I am going away: to San Remo for a week in the middle of the fourteen nights Beau will spend with Madame Froment, an elderly woman who boards two dogs at a time in her home in La Redorte, a few kilometers from here.

     The only thing about Madame Froment, is that when you visit her for the introductory visit, she will sit you down for an hour and ask you anything and everything about your dog.  --But since you like to talk and she does, too, you will get along fine!  Dr. Mougin said, with a smile.  --No wonder he is one of my favorite people!

     The truth is, while Beau is marvelous outdoors, at home he's a tyrant, making it difficult for me to eat my meals, to work on the computer or speak on the telephone.  Seeing a specialist in canine behavior now, just before his first birthday, will hopefully save me more grief in the future.  --And anyway, I'm tired of being blackmailed by a Boykin.

                                                                    ***

     As Jeannot and his wife, Gisèle, had hoped I would. I did go to see the rugs I wrote of in my last post.   Their house is a twenty-year old Mediterranean style house with pool and garden, immaculately kept.  For much of his career in the salt business, Jeannot and Gisèle lived in Tunis, where they raised their two daughters.  One is an attorney for the Institut Pasteur in Paris, the other still lives in Tunis.  Clearly, it was a place they all loved living in.

     The rugs were beautiful, but very large, and not at all suitable for me.  Packed away, I only saw photos, but that was compensated for by the pleasure of spending time with Jeannot and Gisèle and taking in their decorating scheme.

     The style was a mix of modern and antique, with a giant gilded blackamoor standing guard by the fireplace, an enormous dining table and several chairs, an inlaid drop-leaf desk and a bureau bookcase, all made of exquisite woods and beautifully lacquered.  It is very much the house of hautes bourgeoises.  Having invested in these heirlooms, they now find themselves in the disappointing position of being unable to hand them down to their daughters, neither of whom live in spaces large enough for them.  As a result, the rugs and the furniture will find their way to Troc, the consignment store in Carcassonne.

    --Which is where Carol Williams, whom I met for the first time Monday, bought the lead crystal chandeliers and the furnishings for her house on rue Montgaillard.   I have seen Carol before, jogging around the football field while I exercise Beau, but today we crossed paths and struck up an acquaintance. 

     Carol is an Australian of English descent, a lawyer and the mother of two girls.  Her house, the dining room of which can be seen from the street, looks well-appointed from the outside, but it is only when inside that it is possible to appreciate its size: eight bedrooms, seven baths, a dining room, a TV room, and an enormous kitchen off which is a huge terrace that looks over the abbey.  The house is positively grand.  Carol facetiously calls it "Kangaroo Towers".  She is setting it up as a guest house for Australians under the name "Lilybelle" --the name of her granddaughter.  Every room is beautifully decorated and light pours in from all angles, surprisingly for a house in the heart of the village.

     And I thought my house was large!

                                                                  ***

     I must admit that, not having anticipated how little would be going on in the Minervois in August, I have found myself unhappily at loose ends.  With Beau's separation anxiety perhaps putting a stop to any cycling with the club for at least this week, I decided I had to get out of the house and the Minervois.

     So I drove to Collioure, the once-unknown fishing village made famous by Matisee, Derain, Picasso and other twentieth century artists.  Beau in tow (he has his own seat belt), we set off and made it in two hours, as the GPS promised.

     When the Pyrenées come into view, it becomes clear that Caunes' slopes are just high hills.  The Pyrenées loom, stark and steep.  Wine is grown on the mountainsides, but the plantings look meager and dry.  Collioure was easy enough to get to, a hilly beach town, jammed with cars snaking along the main road.   There was no place to park, so I turned around, and headed back to Caunes, making a quick side trip to Perpignan.

     The Pyrenées around Perpignan are made of a whitish clay, which makes them look even more barren than those by the Mediterranean.  Perpignan itself is a startlingly modern city with low-rise buildings that would be perfectly at home in Florida's new towns.  The buildings are predominantly white and look to be less than fifty years old.  Greater metropolitan Perpignan has about 300,000 people, and people on the streets move like city folk.  They don't dawdle, the way the Carcassonnais and the Narbonnais do.

     Perpignan is still part of the Midi, but the Pyrenées give an entirely different feeling to the terrain.  The landscape is not lush, the way the Minervois is.  There are no cereal grains grown, as in the nearby Tarn department.  The barrenness of the mountains is all around, but the roads and the buildings are all modern and well-kept.  In the winter, the French Pyrenées are a mecca for skiers, and indeed, Perpignan reminds me more of Denver, Colorado than medieval France.