Cha Cha wants to give a

shout out (woo!)
to sa mére in Paris.

Sa mére is a famous Québécoise playwright,
who jaunts about the globe, soaking up the limelight,
which is supposed to be very good for the complexion.

Cha Cha has a thing for the squeaky green frog princess,
and sa mére thinks it is beautiful.

______

Action shots of the girls at play.







Notice, Sophie can't be bothered to stand up.
These days, she seems to prefer her play lying down.





Cha Cha tried it out, but found it over-rated.



sa mére = her mom

Tigre brought the strangeness that is Dragonheart to my attention a few months back and now again.

Is this the feline equivalent of Tadpole???

With apologies to Wally, for subjecting him to a video of a "goddamned cat" so soon after barfing.

Back to our regularly scheduled program....

.

Larry King ..... Daily Show ...... Larry King ..... Daily Show ........
hmmmmm
This is a tough one.

For the curious and sick in the head, here is a photo of my franken-finger.
For the squeamish, you can quickly scroll past it to the photo of the bunny.

Note: I didn't have a proper manicure prior to the near amputation, so .......

The Juicy Bits

Let's see. What did I say I would talk about?

• Charlot
• a party
• a smoky fireman
• stitches
• Boston Terrorists
• a hospital emergency room
• Cha Cha
• summer hair cuts
• a bobtail
• the fleur de lis

Charlot and the Fleur de Lis
Check.

If you've been following along, Charlot (Charlie in English) is staying here this weekend, and it is a long weekend because of St. Jean Baptiste Day, which is a French holiday, and since I live in the French province of Quebec, we are required by law to celebrate, hence the fleur de lis, which is the symbol (x4) on the flag.



A Party, Boston Terrorist and a Bobtail

There was a party, here, at Chez Sophie. But let me be clear. It was not a St. Jean Baptiste Party and it was not a dog party. It was a people party, and although there were francophones and dogs present, the sole purpose of this party was to warm the house. Party, check.

But as usual, the beasts took over.
Sophie was already feeling like her space had been invaded when these two crazy pups showed up.

Can you find the TWO dogs in the photo?

The big guy is Ziggy. He's just over 1 year old and is the sweetest Old English Sheep Dog ever. He lives just around the corner and we see him several times a week. For those of you not up on your Old English Sheep Dog lingo, they are also called Bobtails. Bobtail, check.

The little one is Lola, only 5 months old. She's harder to spot. Notice the Doofus-like spot on her head. hmmmmmmm. Boston Terrorist, check.

_____

An aside.
Sophie and I got to bed at 4 a.m.,
only to be awoken at 8 a.m. by Sir Charlot, arriving for his retreat.

After a night of revelry and keeping the dogs out of the artichoke dip,
there's nothing quite like a 130 lb. Bouvier jumping on the bed
and flopping down on top of you.

But I digress.
_____

This next bit involves no dogs whatsoever, so if you can't handle a dog-free moment, now would be the time to fix yourself a snack and come back later.

A smoky fireman, stitches, and a hospital emergency room

I was having a quiet moment, cutting baguette (a long crusty piece of bread) when suddenly, out of nowhere, I attempted to amputate my finger, which required three sutures and four hours in emergency ward of the Royal Victoria Hospital, which is hands down, one of the scariest looking hospitals around, even though it looks quite beautiful in this photograph. Stitches, check.

My friend Alanna was gracious enough to zip me over in her zippy Honda civic, and even gave me her most recent copy of Bitch magazine to read while waiting. Hospital emergency room, check.

The triage nurse was a very happy francophone guy. When I told him I was a total wimp, he didn't know the word, so we had to ask the woman at the admitting desk. She translated it as "le prende dramatique," which basically means drama queen, which isn't really what I meant, but hey, close enough, and when they stuck those freezing needles in my finger (five of them, to be exact) and gave me a tetanus shot, I was feeling quite like things had taken turn for the dramatic. No check here, but interesting aside, nonetheless.

I'm not sure if I was in shock or just dog-tired, but when the admitting nurse asked me for my mother's first name, I drew a total blank. But I didn't want her to know I'd drawn a blank since it seemed ridiculous to forget one's mother's first name, so I tried to buy some time by saying things like, "Pardon?" or "Was that her first name or last name that you wanted?" or "Pardon?" I'm not sure if she was wise to me, but I did eventually remember. Again, no check, although perhaps a brain scan would be in order.

The wait was pretty dull, considering it was St. Jean Baptiste weekend. Three young guys played cards and slapped each a lot. No money was changing hands, so really, how much fun could it really have been. (apologies to those with gambling addiction ... humour can sometimes be a cold, harsh beast)

Then a boy was looking for his lost girlfriend. Then a girl was looking for her lost boyfriend. If only one of them just sat down and waited, they eventually would have found each other. There was only one moaning guy somewhere down the hall (aren't there usually few of these?)

Just when the snooze fest was getting into full swing, the room erupted with excitement as a fireman in full fire gear was rushed in. There were loads of paramedics and lots of action, and not even one second of waiting, and zoom, he was rolled off in the direction of the moaning guy. The smoky smell lingered for some time and there was much mumbling among the staff. Then his fire gear was carried out by some guy in a crew-neck, black knit sweater. More details were not forthcoming, but aside from the near amputation, it was the highlight of the evening (if you consider amputation a highlight). A smoky fireman, check.

And this brings us to...

Cha Cha and Summer Hair Cuts

And guess who got one?

Cha Cha!
check and check

In the midst of everything, she popped by to show off her new do, play a bit of tug with Sophie, and check out the franken-finger.



Cha Cha arrives tomorrow for Day One of her month long visit, which happens to be the same day that Sir Charlot checks out.


Well, really, Charlot just goes back to sleeping next door instead of on my chest. I wonder what it will be like to breathe again?


Note: No dogs were injured in the making of this post.

Size might matter after all.

When I went for a walk with Maria and her dog Wimsey in Central Park, it was just as Wimsey wrote in his blog. People stopped us constantly to ask about him, pet him, and otherwise commune with him. He is, after all, quite a massive hound.

I find the same walking the streets of Montreal with Sir Charlot.
At 130 lbs., he is massive even for a Bouvier!
Sophie is getting no attention at all,
and loves the indifference.

Here, Charlot is pictured with wine bottle (for scale).

Note: No dog drank wine in the making of this blog. The same cannot be said for the apes.

Our Weekend Guest

Sir Charlot, un Bouvier des Flandres
His moms have gone off to NY.
His brother Tricky is with his grandparents.
Clearly, Charlot got the best deal of all.
He's here!

______

In my next post, I will tell the tale of a rather exciting and crazy weekend involving Charlot, a party, a smoky fireman, stitches, Boston terrierests, a hospital emergency room, Cha Cha, summer hair cuts, a bobtail and the fleur de lis. But since the weekend here isn't over until tomorrow, I will save all the juicy bits for later.

Happy St. Jean Baptiste Day!

Disclaimer: No dogs were injured in the making of this post. I can't say the same for the apes.

Sneak Preview

of our weekend guest.

Note: For scale, one pad = one quarter (more or less)

Should Sophie Barf?



Thoughts?

Sophie is reacquainting herself
with notions of
size, scale, and perspective.

Max,
a bit incredulous about the whole thing,
is just being a dude.

Introducing Max

Max is staying with us for two whole days, which is hugely exciting.

______

Max Quick Facts:
Boy,
Maltese,
1+ years old,
7 lbs.,
10x lighter than Sophie

Sophie Quick Facts:
Girl,
Former foreign film star, Russian ballerina and contortionist,
68 lbs,
10x heavier than Max

______

TRESPASSER!

Oddly enough, even though Sophie will
try to disembowel any dog she doesn't know,
she has no problem at all with a beast in her box.
(Wally, take note)

And this is a trespasser with taste,
as far as Sophie is concerned.
He went right past the squeaky green frog princess
and the holy roller
to find the gold at the back of the box:
the tennis ball.

____

This handsome young fella is Toby.
He was rescued from the SPCA when his mom was cajoled into
moving from California to Montreal.
She agreed, but only if she could have a Toby.

Sophie met him about a year ago in the dog park.

They bonded over running for the ball,
when she still got to do such carefree things.

Here, Sophie is suggesting he knock before just rushing in,

but in all honesty, it's just her playing the grumpy mama role.
She really doesn't care.

Sophie's Blog is Long Overdue

First, I am long overdue in reporting on my meeting with the miraculous Wimsey hound dog. He truly is a massive drooling beast and I have pictures to prove it! Of course, they are all on old fashioned 35mm film and awaiting developing. I hear there is someone in a donut shop in Northern Ontario who can still handle that old fangled technology. So .... a Wimsey update will be forthcoming sometime in the next couple of months, I hope. For now, just know that Wimsey is tres cool!!!!!!


Second is the long overdue, long lost story of Cha Cha's life, and as soon as restore some version of photoshop to my computer, I will tell you all about it. I sort of had some wine, and the counter was sort of full of moving boxes, and I sort of set my lovely new MacBook on the counter, but I sort of accidentally dropped it on the floor, and the damn floor sort of shattered the screen ... so I had to buy a new one, and then the data wouldn't transfer and, well, this story just gets too long to tell. But the upside is, soon to come is the long overdue, long lost story of Cha Cha.

In the meantime...

Coming soon to a Montreal loft near you:

1. Charlot, the Bouvier, will be here for a weekend, next weekend.
2. Cha Cha will be staying with us for the whole month of July!
3. Max might be staying with us for a weekend sometime in July too.

UPDATE!!!!!
Max the Maltese will be here on Sunday for two whole days! Woo Hoo!!!!

Sophie is finally home from her retreat and she's exhausted!

Contemplating the religious life is hard work, but in the end, she decided it just wasn't for her. She likes the idea of the yummy food and the massive private garden, but that whole silence thing (it's a Carmelite order and they don't speak) kind of sucks. Not that Sophie talks a lot, but she's not sure she'd be allowed to hang with Cha Cha and the rest of her friends.

So off to the nunnery with some other mutt!

We interrupt this blog for a brief message from Sophie's owner....

Tonight,
while having dinner in the Meat Packing District
in New York City,
she saw Patrick Dempsey.

He's really teeny.
Hardly anything but a speck on the sidewalk.

Guess who I'm meeting tomorrow!

Sophie needed some time to contemplate the religious life and requested a retreat to Possum Place, where she could be on her own to think.

Left on my own, I decided to go to NY. So as not to stand out like a sore thumb as a Canadian in the Big Apple, I decided my best option was to dress up as a sea otter.

We got trouble.

Everyday, we walk past the monastery and every day, Sophie stops just inside the front gates. At first, I thought she was eyeing up the pristine green lawn and thinking about how much fun it would be to burn some pee spots into it, but that's not it at all.


As it turns out, she thinks she's had a calling and keeps hearing god yelling "Hey Sophie!", "Hey Sophie!" I'm not sure if I should tell her that it's only the gardener yelling "ça suffit" (that's enough).



She also thinks that since she's never had sex (and likely never will), she may as well become a nun. I really don't have much of an argument for that one.

The Box, the sequel

Charlot, the neighbour Bouvier, appears to be taken with the box as well.....

.... but he's actually obsessing about a great big giant marrow bone and a blue, squeaky mouse locked inside.

__________

I really wanted to post the picture below instead of the one above, because it more adequately demonstrates the sheer size of this giant dog, who probably wonders why Sophie likes to hang out in a shoe box. BUT I couldn't because of all the dog hair on the floor. It totally gives away the disasterous amount of shedding Sophie does and the measly amount of vacuuming I've been doing ... of late. On a regular day, I get up and vacuum and mop the floors even before coffee, then I usually wash the windows, and if I've had a really good sleep, I throw a new coat of paint on the walls.

Well really, who doesn't?