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When I said that my second dog, Fitzroy, was a Border Collie, the regard of the former mayor of Rochechinard was suddenly illuminated as if I had informed him that I shared my abode at Gamone with an Arabian princess fit for the imprisoned prince Zizim. "Ah, I've always dreamed about owning a Border Collie!" In an instant, I was reminded that a privileged human like me has to merit, as it were, the presence of a dog such as Fitzroy (and my dear Sophia, too, of course, but in a slightly less technical sense).
The Welsh shepherd William who reared Fitzroy up in the French Alps had warned me that I would be acquiring a demanding dog, in constant need of affection, but I didn't really know, a year ago, what this might mean. Today, I'm happy to understand perfectly that Fitzroy is indeed a most demanding dog, who's happiest of all when he's just a meter or so so from my feet… as at the present moment, for example.
At a certain moment in the evening, Fitzroy seems to find it quite natural that he should exit the warm house in order to spend his night in solitude, out under the stars, in the vague company of the donkeys.
Truly, Fitzroy has become my personal guru. We have a highly physical relationship, based upon an abundance of cuddles, caresses and canine kisses. Silently (well, with a few occasional barks), my mentor Fitzroy has taught me to smile at life, and to seek constantly the energetic side of things. I would be happy to believe that I merit Fitzroy.