Dogs I have known
Pet animals. Dog or Cat, that's the question
If you bring pets in to the family, you take on a big responsibility. And you get tied up, you have to care first for your friend, before you have time to care for yourself. A dog is a flock animal, and master or mistress is the flock leader, who has to think for the flock. A cat is more independent but needs some service. The choice betweeen a dog or a cat is often a question of time and way of life, need of company and given conditions of accomodation. I have had very good relation to both dogs and cats. Two dogs and five cats have throughout the years been a part of the family. Below I will tell about the dogs.
Chess
Here I'll relate a short story about Chess, a little French bulldog, which story I first published in Småfranskan, organ för Fransk Bulldogg Klubb in Sweden.Later I will also write about Bill, a boxer, who for many years was my faithful companion. But now about Chess.
How I remember Chess.
(Drawn from memory after a picture of a similar dog.)
First time I met a frenchie was a summer at the end of the 30ties. A French speaking couple moved in on the second floor of my aunties' house. They brought with them a little white dog with black mask and some black dots on the body, answering to the name of Chess. We become soon great friends and Chess joined in on all our plays. He liked best when we drowe off a croqet-ball for each other, and he growlingly could try to cling to the away-rolling ball. His only drawback was his snuffling, which unmercifully disclosed my hiding-place when playing hide and seek. I was always found first, but made up for it when we were seeking. Nobody could hide for us when we chased in couple.
His master and mistress were hotel owners seeking privacy during the summer season through leasing a flat in the rural area. Madame was a temperamental Frenchwoman from Paris. She was neat and pretty and always well dressed and she looked upon Chess as on one of her accessories. When monsieur was a more sofisticated cosmopolitan of Swedish - French extraction, chain-smoking Gauloises and reading Le Figaro. He answered all her outbursts of temper with a tired: "Oh, mais oui, certainment, Cherie!" Chess pendulated between theese two extremes in an attempt at suiting both. His training was restricted to a cursory knowledge of commands like: Ici, donnez and couché.
I remember the sunday mornings. As the top floor was occupied, I had accidentally my bed in a corner of the large dining-room, the door always ajar. Early I was awaken by Chess pattering in with a slipper in his mouth. Now started the play: "hideing the slipper". The mote impossible places I hid it on, the more funny the play. Chess snuffed like a hoover and barked for joy when he found the hiding place. The play often ended with a dramatic yell from the attic:"Cheri!!! Ma pantoufle!" Whereupon monsieur appeared dressed in elegant silk morning gown, a white tie, fervently smoking. He knocked att my door, made his excuses for his trespassing and appointed: "Chess ici! Donnez!" His departure, slipper in hand, smoke-screened, reminded me very much of the Orient Express leaving Gare l'Oest. Chess soon consoled himself by crawling up in my bed.
Chess was feed in the common kitchen from an enamelled pan put on the limestone floor under the stove. As the pan was emptied a rattling sound announced his demand for topping up. If this was not immediately payed attention to, he pattered into the dining-room and went in under the table. Sunday dinner was a precious moment. With madame eagerly gesticulating, cigarrette in one hand, fork in the other, speaking French with my aunties, and monsieur smoking his endless Gauloises, reading Le Figaro and emitting "Mais oui, Cherie," at strategically places, I could quietly slip a piece of the steak into the mouth of Chess being rewarded with a lick on my hand.
When I was on leave Chess followed me everywhere. I talked Swedish to him,,and he understood. When I chopped wood for the stowe, he jumped after the pieces I threw into the shed, if I went bathing he sat crying on shore till I came up again. Then he catched hold of my towel helping me to get dry again. Did we play croqet he rushed after all rolling balls, but as the were too large for his gap he got frustrated and tried to force them into a tree-root, where he again attacked under savage roaring.
I remember the French bulldog Chess as a nice and open, intelligent, but spoilt and obstinate fellow. He must have been in his best years when we met. With pleasure I remember his fervent snuffling and happy wagging of the tail.
Bill
Bill. A big, nice, light brown boxer.
My first dog was a light brown boxer with a white chest called Bill. It was an utility dog which with great willingness pulled a loaded sleigh. He became so capable, that he was called up for military service. During that period he grew heavy, we could no longer have him indoors and he was relocated to a farm.
