LETTER FROM PARIS #22 this and that

I am torn between the subject of the Parisian dog, and its exemplary behaviour and the opposite, the less than exemplary behaviour of some Parisians and people everywhere.

My son-in-law has a dog which has totally enraptured him. When he comes home it is almost the first thing he runs to, with cooing and kissing like you have never seen before, except in Paris. Don’t get me wrong: I like dogs. I am not a dog “lover.” There is a difference. The former allows that the animal is an acceptable part of any household provided it is remembered that it is after all, just a dog. The latter does what the “Dog Whisperer” Cesar Millan deplores: elevates the animal to human status and tries to interact with it as if it shared all human emotions. I may be very wrong. While Rick’s treasure, a member of that yappiest of breeds, a Yorkie mixed with Shitzsu, is largely uncontrollable, his counterpart in Paris is an absolute model of decorum. I don’t know what the Parisians do or say to their animals, but it seems to work. A few days ago in that lovely little brasserie behind the apartment we stopped for lunch. Next to us was an elderly woman (look who’s calling someone “elderly”) with her little Yorkshire terrier sitting quietly beside her. It didn’t squirm. It didn’t whine or bark, it didn’t demand \attention. Only when a man who I think the dog knew, came by to pet him, did the little thing b become animated. But there was no out-of-control behaviour. The man left, The dog settled down. It didn’t do what you’d expect: demand to share the food his mistress was putting away. Two days ago on the Metro, another of those breeds sat quietly, completely motionless, under his master’s seat without even enquiring glances at other people. Do the Parisians overdo it? Last year on the Metro a woman was sitting with a I admit, a cute little Jack Russell. A woman sitting across from her stood up and walked over to the dog. After a brief conversation with its owner, she started to caress the dog, even to kiss it. Here in the building where we stay, the concierge has a large dog with light reddish fur (not a chow) that appears to be some kind of Malemute or Samoyed. (I’m no expert on breeds.) The owner says he wins prizes. He lies there without stirring. He doesn’t seem to feel threatened so he does not threaten. Down the street in front of a restaurant is a large black lab that lies there quietly without leaping up to sniff at every passerby. So it’s not I think, that people here don’t anthropomorphize, which confuses the dogs into believing they are people, but somehow they manage to love the animal and at the same time make it understand its true place in the galaxy of living beings. The subject of sidewalk poop is irrelevant.

For the opposite kind of behaviour, the anti-social kind: I am starting to think that there must be a syndrome of some kind attached to the need to decorate. Returning from my piano practice the other day I thought "there must be a Metro station closer than the four block walk I have been taking.” Sure enough, not more than a chip shot from the studio was another “Metropolitan.” I looked up to determine what line it was. The sign showed this: “Ligne heart, Stephanie.” Some young swain had pasted a heart over the number and pasted a well-prepared stick-on label saying the station name was Stephanie. This was a more sophisticated version of the spray-painted love messages some people seem compelled to put on the rock faces of granite along the highways in Muskoka. It leads me to another whole consideration: what is this mania for decoration and self-decoration all about? The mindless decoration of the body by tattooing, and the thoughtless painting called “tagging” that you see everywhere, and of course, not only in Paris. I know, you will be asking would I be tolerant of the ritual body-marking so common among some Africans and among Polynesians.?I have decided (Psychologists beware when I declare that I have "decided”) that only the insecure need to present themselves constantly and to remind themselves and others, that they are people is behind it all.

I say, if you want respect, stop cluttering up our mail boxes and the sides of railcars.

Well, it’s better that than home invasion.