Friday, January 18, 2008

Best Friend

I've long become used to seeing Parisian dogs everywhere. I no longer stare when I see a poodle skittering under a table in a restaurant, or a yappy terrier following their owner into a boulangerie. I'm used to seeing silky ears pop out of shopping caddies, or a dark wet nose and a couple of black eyes stare at me from under an arm in a Métro car. I may never get used to dog poop everywhere but I no longer notice the dogs themselves, even the most ridiculous ones that strut around town with plaid blankets strapped to their backs or are carried tucked into handbags and wrapped with scarves like just another fashion accessory.

And yet, I'll admit that I did do a double take when I ran into a dog in my physical therapist's waiting room the other day. Which was the patient, the tired, bespectacled woman reading Gala or her scruffy companion?

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