I’ve gone green!

I hope you’ve noticed that the colour scheme of my blog has changed. That’s because I’m now environmentally correct—and that’s because my dad’s calculated that my epic journey from Barbados to France resulted in 1.2 tonnes of carbon polluting the atmosphere. Gosh! That seems like an awful lot—and all I did was go to sleep. Anyway, I’ve decided I should do my bit to save the planet. So, no more flights for me. What a sacrifice (not).

What are you going to do to save the planet?

And, another thing

I don’t know if you’ve visited the Vizsla web site (if not, why not?) but, just in case, I think I should draw your attention to the following passage:

The Vizsla is a rather privileged canine and holds a very high place in Hungarian sporting circles and is not expected to sleep outside at the finish of its day of work. The Vizsla always lived with the family, and was as much a part of the family as the children. It has been said that the Vizsla must live with the family if the family is to benefit (deserve) the loyalty and affection the Vizsla has to bestow…

Exactly! So why I can’t sleep on the bed?

Well, so who's posh?

Now that I’m ‘official’, I’ve been reading my new documents and discovered that I’m not ‘a puppy of uncertain pedigree’, whatever that means. I’m a Vizsla/Lurcher cross—and that’s a fact because it’s written in my passport!

So what, you may ask, is a Vizsla? Well, in a word, posh! I stole this introduction from the web site of the Hungarian Vizsla Society http://www.vizsla.org.uk/history.htm:

The Vizsla belongs in dogdom's aristocracy; he shows it in dignified bearing and proves it in recorded history. While the Vizsla is new to the Western World it is perhaps the oldest bred of the great European Vorstehund group of shorthaired pointing and retrieving dogs. The Vizsla achieved recognition as a breed centuries ago. However, the breed was never popularized in an American sense, but was rather restricted to the nobility. There is a long though unheralded history behind this unusual breed. Primitive carvings in stone in the Carpathian regions - estimated 1,000 years old - show the Magyar hunter, his falcon and his Vizsla. The Magyar Vizslas (Hungarian Pointers) honor their nomadic masters who roamed the Carpathian plains and valleys ten centuries ago. Herdsmen and hunters, these early Hungarians began the development of companion-hunting dogs to find, point, and retrieve native game, and to track wounded large game. Successive generations continued the development of the breed and by the Thirteenth Century the beautiful golden Vizsla was a distinct breed, recognized and prized as a companion-field dog...

So there!

On the web site, there’s a picture of some of my cousins, taken by Trevor White. This picture’s appeared on the BBC, apparently. I hope Mr White doesn’t mind if I borrow it.

I’m sure you can see the uncanny resemblance.

As for the other part of my legacy—the Lurcher bit—well, the news on that is not so good. Lurcher means thief, apparently. Moi, une voleur! Surely not. (You can tell my French is coming on.) I’m sure there’s some mistake. I’ll have to do more research. And now I have to learn Hungarian!

My first complaint!

Crumbs! Mr Robin Morgan, the Very Important editor of The Sunday Times Magazine, has complained that the picture of him I used in my blog (see my post, My important friends) makes him look "like a playground stalker" - whatever that means. My dad says I have to take this complaint seriously because Mr Morgan works for somebody called Rupert Murdoch, and if you get on the wrong side of him, apparently, you're toast! So, I thought I should post a new photograph of Mr Morgan that shows he's not a playground stalker. I think he looks like a... Well, what do you think?

It’s official: I’m a European citizen!

I went to the Clinique Veterinaire de la Bastide this morning for a check up and for booster jabs I needed, apparently. My vet is called Dr. Patrice Frely and he seems a very nice man. He didn’t hurt me at all, even when he put something that looked like a torch in my ears.

This is Patrice checking out my heart with his stethoscope, which tickled a bit. He said my heart is very strong and that everything else is working well. And then – and this the exciting bit – he said he was going to give me my very own European Union passport, with my very own number!

Don’t you think that’s cool!

In the doghouse

I have to add something to my list of likes/dislikes (see my first post): I like to eat DVDs, allegedly!

I say “allegedly” because the so-called evidence—the tattered remains of “Hideous Kinky” starring Kate Winslet—were found on my sofa. But nobody saw me actually eating it. It could have been one of the cats, couldn’t it?

Apparently not.

My dad wasn’t too mad because “Hideous Kinky” wasn’t one of his favourites. But, he says, if I even sniff any of his Jodie Foster movies, then I’m toast. Gulp!

I’m going to the vet this morning to have a check-up and get my French passport. I’ll let you know how it goes.

My Important Friends

I have influential friends, apparently. It turns out the reason I have my new life in France is, indirectly, because of a man called Robin Morgan, who is a Very Important Person because he’s the editor of The Sunday Times Magazine, whatever that is. It was Robin who introduced my new mum and dad to Laura in Barbados—and the rest is history. So, THANK YOU, ROBIN!

This is a picture of Robin that I found on my dad’s camera. I’m not sure it’s the best one of him. I’ll see if I can find another one.

Another Very Important Person is Simon Cowell who makes people cry on television, apparently, by being very rude about the way they sing. But he’s not unkind to puppies and he supports The Hope Sanctuary. Just before I left Barbados, Simon cut the ribbon at a ceremony to launch the Hope-Martin Neutering Bus which Laura manages and which is going to help 3,500 dogs this year. Wow, that’s a lot of dogs!

THANK YOU, SIMON!

How do I look?

This was me on my walk this morning when I went to visit a chapel that's set in the middle of a field. Why? I've no idea but I enjoyed all the smells I found along the way.

Chapel in a field

My house

I made it!

So, here I am. After a journey that went on forever I finally arrived in Paris yesterday morning. Then I had to wait in my carrier in something called a bonded warehouse until my new mum and dad got me cleared through Customs. (That wasn't too bad because there were some nice men in the warehouse who gave me lots of strokes and kept me warm.) Then we had to get a taxi from the warehouse to the train station and wait for something called a TGV, which goes very fast. Or at least I think it does because, to be honest, after a while I fell asleep. Finally, at Avignon we got into my dad's car, where I sat on the backseat looking at the countryside, which is nothing like Barbados at all!

Now I'm here in my new house in my new village, which I like a lot. I've already met the people who run the cafe and the pharmacy and the travel agency, and a little black and white dog called Snoopy who took a couple of sniffs of me and then wandered away.

Apparently, I live with three cats who are supposed to be my new friends but I've only caught sight of one of them - and she ran a mile. That doesn't seem very friendly to me! I would have run after her so we could play but my dad had hold of my collar, so I couldn't. Maybe next time?

Anyway, I've got plenty of places to sleep. There is a sofa in my dad's office which I'm allowed to lie on, and another sofa on the mezzanine, which I'm not - but I did anyway. And I've got a blanket on the floor of my mum and dad's bedroom so I can keep an eye on them.

I haven't been allowed to explore the ground floor yet - I think that's where the cats may live - but I will as soon as I get the chance.

All in all, I think I'm going to very happy here, even if I do miss Laura. I wonder when she'll come to see me?

My big day's arrived

Well, today's the day I'm due to leave my home in Barbados and begin my new life. I'm flying to Miami this afternoon and then spending tonight with some nice people called Pet Limo. Then tomorrow evening, at 18:05, I get on another plane and fly all the way to Paris. That takes all night, apparently, and I won't arrive until 09:00, though it's not as long as it seems because Laura says there is a six-hour time difference - whatever that means! Anyway, my new mum and dad will be waiting for me at the airport, I hope.

Wish me luck!

I've got a friend!

I got an email today - honestly - from a dog called Grizzle who wants to be my friend. He/she (Grizzle didn't say) lives in somewhere called England, where, my mum says, they play cricket, rather badly.

I hope Grizzle is a boy, because I'd rather like a boyfriend, but it really doesn't matter. Grizzle says he/she will come to France to see me - which is amazing, since I'm not even there yet.

This is a picture of Grizzle, a picture of her mum, and a picture of her dad, who appears in a TV show called "Broken News", apparently. Why is the news broken? I don't understand.

It's official!

My mum, Laura, has received the following email from a nice lady at American Airlines:


From: "Annette Browne"
Subject: RE: Date: Tue, 2 Jan 2007 15:35:59 -0400

Dog is booked for Jan 08 BGI-MIA AA1078 08/01 MIA -CDG AA62 09/01
Annette

The "dog" is me and what the message means, apparently, is that I'm flying on a plane from Barbados to Miami (where?) on January 8 and then on to Paris on American Airlines flight AA62--which doesn't arrive until the next day! (How far can it be?)

Laura says that Paris is the capital of France and that's where my new mum and dad will be waiting for me. My friend, Max, says France is where all poodles come from. I'm not sure what that means.

Anyway, my big adventure is about to begin, apparently. Gulp!