Solving the communications problem between myself and Sushie, the visiting French bulldog, has become something of an obsession. While the two vets happily spend hours chatting away, we dogs lie glaring at each other.
I tried everything I know in the way of codes to make an impression on that bulldog, but nothing worked. Blank stares and liberal dribbling on the carpet were all I got in response.
The impasse was becoming embarrassing. After all, Sushie was in some ways my guest and I was expected to take over a few of the duties of his owner and introduce him to my favourite walks.
I was sure he would follow me if I indicated that this was my intention. Language was not needed, just a sharp nod of the head should do it. How wrong I was.
The few times I made him understand that were going out, the stroll was carried out in complete silence - not my idea of fun and I am sure Sushie felt the same, although I had no way of finding out.
Time for some thinking outside the box, as the Vet is fond of saying. Lateral thinking was the answer, I thought. If I cannot communicate who should be able to make Sushie understand? Did I know anyone in our canine world who might come to the rescue. I wandered out into the garden and for once Sushie followed without prompting.
As I paced round and round thinking hard, Sushie sat down and had a good scratch, then a wide yawn and finally a contented wheeze before falling fast asleep. Funny manners these foreigners.
Then it came to me just like a lightening flash from that part of the sky where dog deities dwell. I knew an Old English Sheepdog, now well past retirement but still not suffering from full dementia, who belonged to an old soldier living a few villages away. I had heard say that he was a former member of the French Foreign Legion, that elite fighting force the French run – and train - in their own language no matter where the recruits originally come from. That way they have to learn the language
The dog, Brutus, accompanies the old soldier everywhere and on quite a few occasions when our paths have crossed I have heard this foreign language being spoken to the dog.
The Vet was intrigued by the pair when they first came to his surgery. I heard him telling Mary our housekeeper that the old boy was a bit passed it, but did insist on talking to his dog in French. He - the owner - often arrived at our place with a chest full of medals pinned to his jacket and the Vet, jealous as always of anyone who has seen real army service, always wanted to know their history.
According to what he later related to Mary the owner had fought all over the world and spoke French to his dog because it reminded him of the “good old days”.
This was my answer.
Getting in touch with Brutus was no easy matter, but with the help of Gus, my second in command, he was approached and invited to a gang meeting .
I should make it clear that Brutus was what they call bi-lingual – the only dog I have ever come across who was equally at home in two languages – three if you count our own codes.
I have always considered myself pretty smart but even I have only one language plus the codes and made a resolution there and then to teach myself French, German, Italian or any one of those tongues they speak across the Channel.
Brutus came to our emergency meeting and before a fascinated gang proceeded to yell, bark and moan in a way completely unknown to us. In addition he made long sweeps of his tail in both directions in a pattern we were not familiar with.
Whatever it all meant – Gus thought we might have to call the Vet as the noises were getting so loud that we all felt unwell – it did the trick. Sushie suddenly became equally as agitated and joined in the horrible chorus.
They were actually communicating.
The rest of the visit went off without a hitch, although we were all relieved when Sushie and his master returned to their strange country with an even more weird language.
