For weeks, our intrepid little adventurer has strolled along the streets of Paris, sat quietly in many a cafe and has learned the doorways of all her favorite boulangeries. She is our little ambassador and ice-breaker. People have yet to refuse us a seat in a restaurant or on a bus when we have her with us. Waitstaff LOVE her and spoil her. Our friends in the cafe next door always wave a little more vigorously (and you must live in Paris to appreciate the distinction) when we walk by with her. And the most remarkable thing happens on the sidewalks; Parisians who would rather charge into little old ladies or biker leather wearing punks than alter their trajectory on a crowded sidewalk, YIELD to our little girl. They actually move aside and if she has really impressed, smile at her! Incroyable!
She never fails to get a reaction from people. Ooh, le petit chien! Tres Mignon! Children are drawn to her and want to pet her, play with her and on a couple of occasions take her home. We are asked if the kids and as often, adults can pet with her. She happily complies. The most frequently asked question is how old is she. Reilly is almost 5 years old and most folks are surprised by this, having thought she is a playful puppy...cinq mois, oui?...non, cinq ans! Next, we impress with her repertoire of tricks and behaviors. I have trained her to sit, stay, lie down, and sit pretty using hand signals...this gets big reactions...oohs and aahs, like we are magicians. People also ask what kind of dog is she. West Highland Terrier/Poodle mix is the answer and we would get funny looks and nods of heads. This didn't really register as odd as both Bill and I assumed something was lost in translation or people hadn't previously thought of this breeding combination.
We learned that the head tilts and retreats from our encounters had a greater reason than the Parisians are tired of the Americans and their cute dog. Parisians are dog snobs. It didn't hit us until we took Reilly to a highly recommended local dog groomer. Reilly has hair not fur and needs regular grooming to manage for health and beauty's sake. When we entered Au Paradis Canin and asked for a rendez-vous for her, the owner and lead groomer, who speaks English as well as I speak French, inquired about Rei's pedigree. I told her she was a Westie/Poodle mix and looking at the other dogs in the shop and the reaction from the groomers, this was apparently a small problem. This salon only caters to purebreds. On the grooming tables were a Westie, a Yorkie and a Silky Terrier and on the floor a Bedlington Terrier and a Shetland Collie...no mutts. "Is this a problem?" I asked. After the briefest, most pregnant pause on record, Caroline, up for a challange (and perhaps pitying these poor misguided Americans), assured us she would make Reilly look like a proper terrier, perhaps more like a Schnauzer than a Westie...maybe like a Scottie. She would see as she groomed Reilly, what her true 'self' would be! Whew! We made the appointment and in a bit of a daze, we walked out wondering exactly what we were getting Reilly into.
In a city of nearly 300,000 dogs (figure according to another blogger), this salon de toilettage is renowned for their championship styling teams for show dogs and pure breeds. Caroline has won awards for her work and she only grooms the dog using scissors! No razors...impressive and it takes at least 3 hours to do the job. So on the fateful day, we took our little trooper who really was miserable from overly long hair over to Paradis and quickly departed, leaving her in the creative hands of the maitresse du salon.
Just as a side note, having learned about the French proclivity for pure blood, yesterday Bill and I studied the dogs we encountered at Paris' Bois du Bologne, a large forest with lakes, walking trails and oodles of entertainment for families. It is also one of the few areas where letting your dog off leash is okay and relatively safe. Like in the States, many people here think their kids and dogs are perfect and don't see a their dog charging our dog, who is on her leash as their problem...yup it is our problem...but back to our observations. In the course of the afternoon we saw several Parson Jack Russel Terriers, West Highland Terriers, Beagles, English Foxhounds, German Shepherds, Cocker Spaniels, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel, a Belgian Malinois...a gazillion retrievers, Labs and Goldens, long haired dachshunds, wired haired dachshunds, a Hooch dog, French Bull terriers and many more...all appearing to be pure bred dogs...only one mutt among the bunch...Reilly-roo! But I swear to you, more people pointed her out and we heard, tres gentil, mignon, awww...la petite!...I guess it is like seeing the Mona Lisa and then seeing the reproduction t-shirts, posters, post cards...the impact is dulled...but Reilly is a true original...she carries herself like a little princess, but give her a couple of tennis balls to chase and her rough and tumble side shines through!
Back to our dog's tail./tale..after a worried afternoon, although we did indulge by having lunch at BIA (Breakfast In America), a real American diner down the street from the salon...we returned to retrieve our baby. We walked into the salon and each of the groomers, with Caroline, leading the way, smiled at us with canary eating grins. "Are you ready to see your beautiful little doggie? Are you ready for the miracle?". Uh...yes?
Ta dah!
Caroline felt that from this mound of hair, a Schnauzer-ish terrier should emerge. We were so surprised we forgot to pick up her harness, hooking her leash to her collar... a very big no, no in my book. Bill paid the bill. Her coif cost almost as much as my cut and color! We made another apppointment for 6 weeks later and in a bit of a stupor, wondering if we really had the right dog, walked home. We had to go back the next day to get her harness!
Along the way, Reilly strutted her stuff. She was clean, coiffed and perfumed. The grime that regular weekly bathings could not remove had been stripped from her and she was really, really, clean. People walking along the sidewalks noticed her instantly and murmured little comments and compliments. At the boulangerie, where we stopped to get some bread...more so in order for Bill to give her a treat than our need for a loaf...everyone pointed and politely laughed at le petit chien...tres mignon (very cute). And in her rock star style, Reilly sat patiently waiting for her bread...but once in Bill's hand, did her little dance for the crouton (the end of the baguette). Ooh, la, la...laughter and smiles from her adoring public!
Finally, we settled in at home, Reilly nestled on my lap, wiped out from her day of beauty. Bill and I looked at her, looked at each other and laughed...who is this dog!? She looked cute, but just didn't look like Reilly. A week has gone by and we are used to her appearance now and her personality is shining through, reassuring us that, indeed we have the right dog. But next time, I think I will insist that Caroline find Reilly's inner Westie instead.
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