J'Adore Le Chien de France

What is America=s fascination with France and its people? Is it the relationship we have had that dates back to our revolution? Is that we are both cultures attempting to reach some level for our people of liberty, equality and fraternity? Or is it that we are fascinated by the quirkiness of French culture, the finicky nature of its people, and the arrogance of French people and culture that is, of course, so similar to America?
Consider the following dichotomy. In 2003 in the furor over the French government's failure to support our government's desire to go to war in Iraq, Americans are making anti-French statements, dumping French wines from restaurant menus and banning AFrench fries from the congressional cafeteria. Yet, two years later, we say like the Tony in the Sopranos, Aforget about it, A sweep it all under the rug, and turn Frenchwomen Don't Get Fat into a national best seller. Go figure.
Since I met my husband seven years ago, I have had many interesting travels throughout France that have only continued to tease my obsessive, aversive, passive-aggressive, fascinating relationship with France and its people.
I contemplate that relationship through the prism of my life. My relationship with America, for example, is more of a family member, one who you know at its core. Sometimes, you can take that relationship for granted. You know that person, like a parent or sister will be there for you when you truly need her. So you can do some ignoring. It is not a relationship that requires effort or cultivation. For travel, you can just get in a car and drive for days or weeks on end and never leave.
France, though, is a different relationship, like an elusive, fabulous, unknowable lover with whom you have a long-distance affair. One that you cannot necessarily live with or marry, to make that commitment, but one that you still return to again and again for that high, that fix of culture, beauty, elegance, and allure. It requires great effort to fly there, to travel, to consider the culture and its meaning. When I am not there, I dream of returning. I continue to bring pieces of that relationship home, to sustain me until I can go again.
From my travels in France, I have observed the most important relationship the French have is with their dogs. Their dogs are everywhere, in restaurants, at the beach, in Louis Vuitton and Cartier, and in the best hotels. In America we are such an unruly bunch we could never have our dogs at McDonalds much less the best restaurants. The dogs would be ill-behaved, like us or our children, loud, with bad manners. The French dogs are civilized, well-behaved, trained to lay under the table while their people eat. They are scolded like children. They are terribly embarrassed when their dogs so much as bark at each other in restaurants, as if acting like a dog was something that could be trained out of them. We take our dogs places so they can socialize, like a childrens playgroup. We Americans have doggie-day care and kennels that cost more than most hotel rooms.

And so, I consider this dichotomy of my life, my relationship with France and its dogs through my favorite hobby - that of an observer, a voyeur of people and human nature. This is a story of love, ephemeral, baffling love. This story is a love story and a dog story . . .