Stuck in France again
I want to bite Mike Vick. While many of my friends back in America are being forced to fight to the death, I am stuck here in France, unable to bite Mike Vick.
So I'll distract myself with food.
They make delicious stuff over here in Aveyron, France Europe. I'm allowed in all the restaurants, the waiters get me a table, a chair, a bowl and then they cook for me. This is a small consolation for not being able to be near enough to Mike Vick to bite him in the butt.
We went to a Hollywood TV star's birthday this year at their house in the country. I think he's 8 or 9 in dog years--pretty old. Every year the TV star rents a chateau for all his friends and friends' dogs and we sit around in the heat for about a hundred hours before we get served. They talk about all kinds of boring stuff while we wait for the goodies to come out.
Mom likes the place but hates the food because all they serve is giant slabs of uncooked meat.
Mom: " This place is so fabulous, so glamorous but is there a vegetable here? A tomato? A leaf of lettuce anywhere within a hundred kilometers? It's all pig face, pig tail, pig's feet, pig sides and terrine de pig! Pigs are like dogs to me. Forget it. Even the potatoes are prepared with chunks of pig lard. "
For five whole days, all these people did was drag us from one Auberge to the next, in a caravan of Hollywood comedy misfits and their dogs. Mom was getting more and more depressed because every single place we went, they had a big, dead pig turning on a spit. It was pretty gruesome, sort of like the pictures you see coming out of Iraq. Everywhere we went, Mom would try really hard to find a chair not facing the dead pig.
All the humans were in the comedy business but they weren't so funny because they were all competing with each other, trying really hard to be funny. It was a jokefest and everybody was taking movies for their "projects."
All of the guests had dogs. One of the dogs in our group enjoys killing cats. I'm all for chasing cats. It's exciting and fun but killing them? Supposedly, this dog has killed dozens of cats in his French village. Mom is really mad that his parents don't stop him from killing French cats. She puts on her Hollywood smiley face in public but back in their room, Mom goes bananas talking to Dad about it.
Mom: "How can they be so nonchalant about it! The other day, I heard it attacking another animal, it was screaming for its life and she just stood there like nothing was happening! There was a murder going on and I said, 'Don't you want to prevent your dog from killing ANOTHER cat?' And she said, no, and just shrugged! I've got to get out of here. She brags about how many cats her dog has killed--talks about them like they're rats or mosquitos."
It's true, French cats are kind of jerky and smelly, sort of like the people but still, I would kind of growl and chase them around a little and freak them out, in a fun way, not bite down or anything drastic like that.
There is somebody I'd like to bite hard though. Mike Vick. In the meantime, I'll bite down on this Tarte aux Pommes, hot with Chantilly.