Talking of strokes, I have learnt my own version. When my fur coat became rather too much in the heat, we swam in a large puddle called a lake amongst many other people doing their own stroke. Mine is called Doggy Paddle and, as well as learning not to drink all the water in the lake, apparently I should avoid other swimmers who may not appreciate my method of drying off without a towel. It was good to get wet without soap for once.
Each night we would walk in a different ‘Département’. In one, a small white curly dog with a ridiculous haircut (I think it was called a poodoo) made eyes at me but I was hastily removed from the scene before I could find out what scent she was wearing.My lessons at ‘sit’ and ‘stay’ are coming along nicely; at times with ‘fetch’ I am a little too eager and have, as the Boss likes to say, ‘jumped the gun’ and lost sight of my quarry, however the Boss found his when we visited several buildings called ‘wineries’ which I thought would be full of miserable dogs complaining vocally, but found only silence mingled with a fruity perfume. These visits always ended happily with the Boss carrying away a box of bottles full of a liquid I do not get to taste, but he does. If he had a tail he would be wagging it.