It's been a week since Charlot arrived in our lives and, really, we haven't been living in the south of France for this week as much as we've been living in the country of Dog. It's been both a difficult and wonderful week. Difficult because Max came down with a really rotten flu that kept him out of school to Thursday, and wonderful because our very goofy, sweet, lovable Charlot was comic relief the whole time.
Favoured activity: romping through the artichokes
While Max was sweating away, Charlot slept with him or tried to play with him, and generally kept order in the house. That's when he wasn't finding secret places to poop, such as below my desk. Beware rolling a wheeled chair through poop. It's hard to clean. Also, if you're a writer, the occupational hazard of writing something shitty shouldn't really manifest itself in the real world if you want to stay sane.
The love-doctor is in
By the middle of this week, Charlot had learned to sit, and then sit and stay, and he seems to be immensely proud of his ability to learn. Our only problem, apart from the standard puppy troubles (housetraining, overenthusiastic biting) is kennelling him at night. We both hate the idea of keeping him in a box at night, but right now it's necessary or he may decorate the house while we sleep. At first, he didn't protest too much, but last night he cried at intervals the whole night and it was heartbreaking, not to mention difficult to sleep through.
He much prefers a situation like this one:
He much prefers a situation like this one:
Although this is a fuller picture of the sleep habits of Charlot Crookedtail Redhill-Simard:
We'll try our best to tell you more about life in France next time. Although no guarantees, as I'm heading home in a week, for a week, and your next post is probably going to take place in Toronto in February. In the meantime, if you want to feel close to Charlot, you can answer our new survey, which is scientifically proven to be absolutely pointless, and is overseen by Price Waterhouse.
