Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Fitzroy is one year old

This afternoon, at the agricultural cooperative in Saint-Jean-en-Royans, I bought a huge buffalo-hide "bone" as a first birthday present for Fitzroy. As for Sophia, who'll be turning 13 in a fortnight, she's not particularly keen on foodstuffs that are merely chewed. She prefers the stuff you swallow, that fills your belly.

I was hoping to get a photo of Fitzroy fiddling around with his buffalo-hide trophy. But, during the minute or so it took me to go upstairs and fetch my Nikon, Fitzroy had dashed off down to the creek and no doubt buried his "bone" in a safe place. He's a down-to-earth dog, definitely not the kind of creature who likes to get involved in ceremonial photos. The look on Sophia's face, combined with the lovely expression of complicity between the two dogs, gives the impression that they both thought that hiding the object was a smart thing to do.


  1. Happy birthday, Fitzroy! May you live as long as Sophia and beyond.

    William, I think Fitzroy is growing into a fine young man :-)

  2. Storms are brewing over Gamone. Fitzroy and Sophia have free access to the kitchen to enable their soaked hides from getting even wetter. Pointless precaution. Dogs look upon getting wet and muddy as a pleasure and a privilege. And they're right, of course. They know what life's all about. I strive to communicate with them in the sense that becoming as zen as DOG approaches GOD. The calm of Sophia is like the dull ebb of eternal waves on the shores of life. The excitement of Fitzroy is the birth of DNA.

    A few days ago, I picked up a young woman who was hitching a ride at Pont-en-Royans. Within a few minutes, I was astounded to discover that she knew all about me. Some 17 years ago, when she was a little girl in the neighboring ancient village of Rencurel, she remembers that I took away one of her father's little pups, whom I would name Bruno, in honor of the great hermit who continues to guide my ways. Dogs are our destiny.