A dog's life. Neuville-Day to Attigny

There is an old saying in Belgium apparently, that one goes south for holidays so that one can “live like a god in France”.

I am fairly certain now, having searched every known corner of the internet for a god with a Perkins as a propulsion method, that we don’t actually live in that manner although in all probability the expression has been corrupted from the original which once read: “living like a dog in France”.   There can be no doubt that in France, dogs are in charge.  They go places where they would not be allowed to venture in other places.

Certainly there are some similarities of habit between us and them. We seem to spend a lot of the day variously lying in the sun or the shade depending on which was warmer or cooler, thinking only of our next meal, trying desperately to forget from the strains of another eight kilometres travelled. 

There may have been other choices in Attigny this evening when we decided to dine out, but the first place with an “open” sign was a pizza specialist, with a wood fired oven, decor comprising a mix of stuffed badgers, medieval weaponry and tasteful lithographs of dismembered warriors above each table, while a choir hidden inside a musical device sang “Silent Night” in the background for good measure and there was a dog in charge.  

It was a very large dog as it happens, one whose job seemed to be variously warning customers that leaving without making payment was not an option, nor for that matter was returning after hours to obtain a refund when no one else was around.   He managed to convey this message while not actually moving from his spot between the oven, the kitchen, the bar and the till, ensuring that everyone who had business in any of those places had to step over or around him to actually attend to that business.   

He was probably responsible for the decor and the music as well we suspect.