“You know what they say about big toofs…”

Dent de Chien (Dog Tooth) is a perennial herb found in Europe and Asia. It’s latin name “dens-canis” is taken from its elongated bulb, shaped like a white dog tooth.

Flowering from March-June, its leaves are elliptical and green with brown or red spots. In france, Dent de Chien is found lower hills and sub-alpine areas. It is common in the Pyrenees, but found more in the Alps and Jura mountains, which is where the chiens de Wild Dingo live.  Typically, it’s found in shaded woods, moorland and grassy lawns.  Ornamental in use, the plant easily multiples by ants! Yes, ants. It drops its seeds about 20 cm around the mother and ants, who carry it far away in hopes of eating and bury it.

And that is your Alpine Education for the day.

“Did you miss me Juno?”
“If missing you means being ecstatic because I won’t be eating salad yet again for second dinner, like we’ve done for the past 14 days, then yah, I missed you.”

Don’t practice your Olympic Ribbon Gymnastics routine with your dog’s leash.

“WTF is going on? Did anyone cue any music? I haven’t practiced my agility in ages!”
“Don’t’ worry Big Boy. This is just Pop’s wacky leash walking style.”

Do practice being a normal person walking her dogs.

“Sigh. That’s so much better.”

Don’t play Cat’s Cradle with your dog’s leash.

“Pop, do you even have your learner’s permit to drive us?”
“Daddy-O, isn’t it obvious? So let’s put it in cruise control and over ride that driver!”

Do promise your dogs a tasty reward for smiling for the camera.

“Princess, Mom says to smile, so let’s smile!”
“Don’t be such a kiss up Daddy-O. Hold out for the good stuff.  It’s a good thing she already said the magic words: Swiss Cheese!”

Don’t try to force the husky to do anything she doesn’t want to.
“Look, I told you. There isn’t enough cheese, ice cream or baguettes in all of Switzerland to make me walk behind that Formosan German Shepherd!”
“Princess, I promise I won’t cut the cheese!”

Do act smug and make the entire process look easy.
“Princess, walking Mom sure is a lot of work.”
“Nonsense Big Boy. I’ve got her wrapped around my white paw.”

Surprise: ”What the heck just came out of my Jodhpurs?”

Embarrassment:  ”Did anyone hear that?”

Denial: “These trees make the oddest sounds and smells.”

Victory:  ”Humans will believe anything.”

“Nice Tuff-Skins little fella,” snorts Juno.

Leave it the husky to point out that some fashion trends in Switzerland never really leave.

Knee patches for children and elbow patches for adults are common and Switzerland.  Push scooters are also still popular, even with adults. Though that fad came and went in the States, I have to admit, they make a lot of sense in country where you do a ton of walking.

Low-rise jeans have taken off here as well, and just like in the States, there are more men and women wearing them who really shouldn’t.  But I’m becoming numb to look of sheer stockings under Daisy Duke jean shorts worn in the spring or fall. I still can’t decide what shoe of choice is my favorite for that look particular look: flat sneakers, strappy toe-less high heels or ankle boots. Picture any of those with shear or sometimes patterned shear stockings with Daisy Duke jean shorts.  Yup.  Tube tops are huge as well. So are the women who wear them. Magenta hair, and I mean literally dark pink, is popular with women in their 50′s and 60′s.

All these looks are as popular in the Pro-section of Lausanne as they are in the village COOP supermarket. Seriously.

Men with earrings including postmen, mechanics, doctors and bank managers are another popular trend. As my Canadian friend (and 10-year Swiss resident) Sylvie points out, “I suppose the earring is an indication of their very wild nature. Wild in Switzerland could be anything from crossing the street out of the authorized yellow zone to driving a car with an inch rust spot on it.”

All that aside, being stuck in the ’80′s can have it’s advantages. For example, Switzerland has never adopted GMO for it’s food sources. Switzerland’s take on GMO is if you can’t prove it safe, then it won’t allow it.  I guess that, plus the beautiful landscape is enough to make up for the fashionable eye-sore.

Now if I can just train my eyes to look at the mountains every time I see such a fashion faux-pas,  instead of gawking, maybe I wouldn’t give away my own American culture.

So here I was, Thursday afternoon, Ascension Day, where everyone is off in Switzerland, riding my bike through Bière on my way to Rolle, when I noticed a large field of cows wearing unusually large bells and making a large racket. Naturally, I stopped.  It looked a lot like The Fête Desalps, a celebration that happens in September, where the cows are moved off the mountains and into the lower warmer areas for the winter. The Fête Desalps begins with positioning two of the largest cows against each other to butt heads for the title of ”Queen of the Parade,” who will be the cow to wear the fancy floral headdress.

As the cows waited in the pasture wearing their fancy bells, the entire scene looked very similar to the Fête Desalps, only this time the cows were heading into –ascending, if you will– the High Alps for the summer. I guess Jesus wasn’t the only ascension happening that day.  The festivites are much smaller in scale than the autumn Fête, but none-the-less, the bells are worn by all cows and the head dress is givin to a selected Queen. 

“Does this floral hat make my butt look big?”

This Queen does not look too happy about her fancy set up. I stayed for a while and took some video. The cows were generally excited. I couldn’t tell if they were happy or nervous or a little bit of both as they litterally ran around the pasture, mingling excitedly. When I saw two of them head off each other, I nearly pee’d the chamois in my bike shorts. Suddenly the single rope fence didn’t feel so protecting so I high-tailed it out of there. Enjoy the three minute video of the cows waiting for their parade to begin.

“Who is this Savadear I keep hearing about?” Two years ago, Mr Wild Dingo whispered that very question, which had been burning in his mind for too long, to a Francophone at work. Bemused, the Francophone laughed. “Not ‘Savadear,’  ’Ça veut dire,’” he replied.  The expression literally translates as “it wants to say” but actually means “it means.”

Since then, Mr. Wild Dingo has done really well in learning French and even gave a small presentation at work in French a few months ago. Admittedly, I haven’t progressed or even tried to progress, as much as him. Ten years ago, it would have been easy for me to at least try but not so much now. 

Learning a new language sometimes means changing a part of your personality or character. “Super!”  and “Magnifique” replace words like “awesome!” and “cool!”  “C”est logique” replaces “it makes sense” and so on.  A few months into my French lessons, when I was still having a lot of trouble with insomnia, I said to my French teacher:  ”Elle est heureuse parce qu’elle va manger un os.”  (Juno is happy because she is going to eat a bone.)  My teacher corrected me and said, “elle est content.”  I’ll never forget  the resistance I felt when I heard that.   I knew that it was one of those ways of communicating that wasn’t literal and that the French didn’t use the word ‘happy’ in that way.  Still, ‘content’ was not a word I’d use to describe Juno about to get a juicy bone.  She’s not content! She’s over the moon! She’s elated! At that time, I was struggling with sleep, and not in any place to change my style of speaking and the types of idioms I used. I just wanted to learn vocabulary so I could understand the radio or shop without a dictionary. Our French teacher often sensed that and gave us exactly what we needed.

A few weeks ago we went to a party where there were French, Swiss, Austrian, Brazilian, Chinese, Cuban and Iranians. French was the common language. Only the Iranians spoke Persian and English but not French. Everyone else spoke French, some English and perhaps either German and/or Italian. We held our own in some French conversations, dipping back into English when we got stuck. And we often missed the punch lines of jokes, like  Sarkozy calling France from Hell, but it was a local call. Everyone laughed, except us because “local call” doesn’t translate literally. But for the most part, it was all good.  Sometimes it’s fun to be the foreigner. People look at you as some exotic creature. Especially if you tell them you’re from California. Or if you’re the only one wearing Danskos.  

But it sure was nice to have the Iranians there, to speak English to when I needed a break from French. Believe me, the irony of speaking English to Iranians at a French-speaking party was not lost on us.  

At least that dude Savadear never showed up.

For some, spirituality is found in Sunday morning religious services or a stroll in the park. The morning is too crisp for our clothing choice. We try to avoid our usual stop through town and head back home. The husky however, is too devoted to her ritual Sunday morning spiritual practice and instead pulls us toward the usual location for her prayers.

 ”Hallelujah! Praise Les Crèmes Glacées!”

The husky finds religion in a petite tasse de crème glacées. She is quite charismatic in her prayers as she leaps wildly into the air toward the icon of her devotion.   The cracker on the other hand has a more zen-like approach to his Sunday morning meditations. 

“The samurai must maintain his faith in his beliefs, even as the social or political climate shifts and alters. He must be patient, must act in a manner that may at times seem irrational or illogical, must resist the temptations of instant gratification, and must work towards fulfilling what may seem to be an impossible idea.” 

 Her prayers have been answered.

 A lesson that prayers of any style never go unanswered.

“Amen!”

“Princess, why is this bed of flowers called Tutti Frutti?”
“It’s as if they knew you were comin’ Big Boy.”

We managed to catch the park right after a light shower, so the tulips were still dewy with rain drops.

Typically, I shoot photos of the dogs when I’m by myself on a walk. But the weather has been so nutty this year, that there hasn’t been opportunity, except in between rain showers with Mr. Wild Dingo on the weekends. So that means I  haven’t taken as many shots of the tulips and dogs as I’d like. Yes Internet, my dogs have more patience with posing for me, than Mr. Wild Dingo. That’s saying something.

Below, the Staff at Wild Dingo pose Au Bord du Lac Léman. It took about 87,000 tries to get this shot, much to Mr. Wild Dingo’s chagrin, because I took my hat off and placed it on the ground behind me. In the cracker’s mind, hat on the ground = pick up for treats. Dog-forbid he should leave that hat on the ground.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Daddy-O, look at the camera already and stop de-frostin’ over mom’s hat already!”
“I can’t help it Princess. Must. Keep. Suisse. Tidy.”

 This is Switzerland’s Supermoon. Seriously. We had no opportunity to see it. But we made do.

 The freaky deaky weather patterns here rock my world. Not so much Mr. Wild Dingo’s world though. He’s longing for some serious sunshine.

But the rain clouds and mountains entertain me. And why wouldn’t they, when I can appreciate them from my office window while bundled up in cozy sweat pants, enjoying  my favorite green tea and dark salted chocolate?

 We come across many “Interdit” signs on our walks in Switzerland. Sometimes they give us pause.  

“Princess, it says we’re not allowed to be naked here.”

 ”Don’t worry Big Boy, your fur is enough to keep your junk  from offending.”

 ”Princess! Hide your eyes!”

 Hmm. How did that naked dude get into my photo of the Alps and the Lake?

“Apparently Sasquatch didn’t get the memo.”

Tra la! It’s May!
The lusty month of May!
That lovely month when ev’ryone goes
Blissfully astray.

“Big Boy, did she just say ‘astray?’ I think that’s dog for ‘you’re free to run straight through these tulip beds!’”
“Sugar Plum, you sure got yourself all sorts of jack-rabbit blood.”

Tra la! It’s here!
That shocking time of year
When tons of wicked little thoughts
Merrily appear!

“Daddy-O, I think those two Frenchie poodles over there givin’ us the eye are beggin’ for a smack down. How about you lead me out?”
“Baby, I hear you 5 by 5. I get it. But I sure don’t want it.”

It’s May! It’s May!
That gorgeous holiday
When ev’ry maiden prays that her lad
Will be a cad!

“Who are you calling a cad? Knock me a kiss, Sweetlips!”

Tra la! It’s May!
The lusty month of May!
That darling month when ev’ryone throws
Self-control away.
It’s time to do
A wretched thing or two,
And try to make each precious day
One you’ll always rue!

“Wretched thing or two? Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.  It’s as if May is International Siberian Husky Month!”

It’s mad! It’s gay!
A libelous display!
Those dreary vows that ev’ryone takes,
Ev’ryone breaks.
Ev’ryone makes divine mistakes
The lusty month of May!

“Daddy-O, obviously, May is our ‘Get out of Jail Free’ card. So let’s go raid the sausage vendor then go chase some cat-tail.”
“Cupcake, keep talkin’. I got a lot of room left in these ears.”

And now if you’d like to cleanse your ears and head from that G-rated, Julie Andrews tune, check out this little ditty for an R-rated,  modern take on the Lusty Month of May.

I know. You just can’t help but tap your foot to it.

 On last week’s post,  it was a bit strange to read comments asking ,”Wow is that photo with your dog and Cadel real or Photoshopped?” O.K. peeps, I know I Photoshop a bit. And I use all sorts of filters on the camera and in software programs to enhance the photos. But seriously: I’m not that talented. I mean, this, this and this are my type of Photoshop projects. They’re surreal, not real. Mmmmkay?

This is how that day went down.  

On Tuesday, Mr. Wild Dingo emailed me and said he’d be home for lunch on Wednesday with his friend, Bob, another avid cyclist from the Bay Area who was here on business. He wanted to take the dogs to Morges to see the start of the Tour. I didn’t even know it was going on, let alone starting in Morges, at the Tulip Fete and in the same park we go to all the time. So, okay. That sounds like a fun idea and a great opportunity to expose the dogs to a busy event.  We go. Walking the 20 minutes was the right thing to do because there wasn’t a speck of space to park even a SmartCar.

 The car park was packed with bikes and trucks. We were bold and just walked in. The thing about Switzerland that I love so much is no event is really so big that it draws a huge crowd. I don’t think I’d ever manage to get this close to Bradley Wiggin’s bike (above) at a race in California. The crowds would be uncontrollably too huge to navigate. Here, you just sort of walk up and everything is accessible and low-key. There are no screaming fans. No pushy people asking for autographs. Just the racers and their team management hanging around.

“Princess, who’s your pick for the Tour this year?”
“Big Boy, you should know by now, this husky only picks the person holding le sandwhich or le bagguette de beurre.”

Even the pups got up close and personal. And I have to admit, having them so trained in photo sit-stays really helps because with this many bike riders rolling around and nervous team managers, well, you can pretty much do what you want as long your dog is behaved.  A lot of the managers had something to say about how well they posed!

Because Mr. Wild Dingo was the person who taught me my way around a camera and the basics of all the settings, I let him shoot with the big camera and I shot with my point and shoot.   But the first time BMC and Cadel Evens rode through  I’m all, “Oh My God! Take the shot! Take the shot!”  But he was much to preoccupied with Juno, who decided that it was a good time and place to poop.

Let’s face it Internet:  Mr. Wild Dingo has no skill at action papparazzi photography. He’s got too much dignity to point the camera at people he’s never met and just shoot.  He has since lost his privileges to the big camera at all future events.

The second time BMC rolled through, I actually got the shot of Mr. Evans, who was checking out Loki as he rolled by. Or was he glaring at the shameless Italian snapping pictures?

Walking toward the start line, we made our way through the crowds. Juno started getting nervous and pulling like she did in the crowds in Lucerne. Naturally we took that signal seriously, knowing how easy it is that she could just explode in nervous diarrhea. So we looked for the first opportunity to find a less crowded area.

 We crossed the street to get to that people-less area just after Astana rolled up. I swear it’s a feast of eye candy with the bright colors and lanky muscular athletes.  But one guy forgot to get the memo that it was blue arm warmer day, and stood out with his black arm warmers.

 We crossed the street and that’s when Cadel rolled up. So I took the opportunity to just hold my shutter button down on the continuous shooting mode and that’s how I got the shot of Cadel pointing at me. Little did I know, Mr. Wild Dingo was also shooting and we got pretty much the same shots. He rolled up to us, and I’m certain he’s about to tell me to stop taking his photograph but instead he asked in perfect French how Loki got his short hair if he was German Shepherd. We were too nervous to speak French at that point, and asked him to speak English.  I mean the guy was less than 5 minutes away from the start and he’s asking me about my dog. But what did I do? I shoved my leash into his hand and asked him if I could take his photo with my dog. Cadel was happy to do it.  Notice Loki is stepping on Cadel’s foot and he doesn’t look too pleased. In fact he’s looking at Mr. Wild Dingo who’s standing to the side telling him he’s a good boy.  At this time Mr. Wild Dingo is explaining that Loki is crossed with Taiwanese Mountain Dog (Formosan Mountain Dog) which is a descendant of the Asian Hunting dog. All the while I’m just crouching and shooting with my crappy point and shoot camera.

Knowing who Loki is, and how his anxiety is so forcefully wrapped up in pack drive–in other words, he’ll throw a hissy fit if he thinks I’m leaving him with a stranger–the idea of having him pose like this with the 2011 Tour de France winner was nothing short of bold. On the other hand, both dogs are extremely used to posing with strangers as some have asked for photos with them and depending on how feel about the stranger asking (I think they’re genuine and not whacky) I allow it. So while they don’t like posing with strangers, they do it. Loki isn’t too pleased just yet. 

It takes Loki a while to warm up. Cadel knew just the type of scratches to give him and soon enough Loki settled in for better shots.

So that’s how it went down Internet. No Photoshop. Just a little color enhancing.

Days later, Mr. Wild Dingo and I are still chuckling about handing the cracker’s leash to a bike racer about to start his race. Anything could have happened.

Balls. Yup. I got ‘em.

Oh my God! Why is the Winner of the 2011 Tour de France and 2011 Tour of Romandie, Cadel Evans pointing at me as he’s rolling up to the start of the 2012 Tour of Romandie?

No seriously! He’s unclipping, and he’s pointing and speaking French. Is he mad at me for taking his photo? What could he want?

Awe! He wants his picture taken with another rock star, like himself, and the only Formosan dog he’s ever met!

And to rub his ears for some luck!

Cadel was taken when he saw Loki and as he was rolling up to the start line  of the Tour of Romandie in Morges, he stopped to ask about and to meet him! The short hair and his long ears captured him. Loki handled the bike-star’s, star treatment of him quite well and posed. Internet, at this moment, every bit of heart ache and transgression that Loki has ever given me has been forgiven, forgotten and paid back.

It seems Cadel has a miniature version of Loki, himself, who looks a lot like our late dingo, Maggie. And you gotta love a guy who puts his dogs before pushy European reporters:

Cadel doesn’t just win bike races. He wins canine hearts!

“That’s it Daddy-O. The Mojo is in the ears.”

OMG! Cadel Evans digs my dog!   He just cannot get over the size of his ears! They’re even bigger in real life.

Even Juno wanted to wish him well. Three seconds after this shot she jumped on poor Cadel for her own Husky “Bonne Chance!”

Good Luck Cadel! All of us at Wild Dingo wish you a great race!

“Um, Princess, you’re sitting on my foot.”

Four years ago, he was the house bully. Yet, it took only two nights, with only positive efforts, to teach him not to bully her for her dinner. It was such a powerful lesson, that each night after that, he would finish his dinner and seek me out searching for his praise for doing the right thing by leaving her to her own bowl.

How the tables have turned. They each still eat peacefully side by side. Until Second Dinner–those two or three bites left in our plates–is served. Now, she finishes first, then invites herself over to his plate to nibble along with him. And he allows it. Part of me wants to laugh at all this knowing how bullish he once was.

“Girls rule and boys drool. Let that be your lesson today.”

But I know I’ll need to teach her that same lesson of respect. Some day.

Can you believe I have to take a 40-minute plane ride just to get a decent pizza? At least the view never gets old.

Dog lovers generally like or love Loki when they first meet him. They’re fooled by his charm.  Even Bernard, our kennel keeper, had a mile-wide smile the first day he met him. “He’s well-trained,” he said. But that was before he chose to live with the whacka-cracker while we vacation. 

The last time we picked up the dogs after vacation, Bernard was so exhausted from Loki’s crackerdom, that he literally told us there wouldn’t be a kennel in all of Switzerland that would take him for 2,000 Swiss Francs per day.  Those were his exact words. He also said that putting him in a caged kennel would probably be the worst thing for him, so, he would make the sacrifice for us and all the other kennel keepers in Switzerland and take Loki again. I swear to Dog, Internet, those were his words. 

Now I don’t like my dog causing anyone any trouble. While he is pleasant with all the other dogs and people at the kennel, my whacka-cracker sends himself into a certifiable self-induced breakdown when I leave him anywhere but in our own home without me. I really wrestled with how to deal with this knowing that the Shen Calmer would only help his anxiety on a very small level.  So I did what I had to do.

“I’m not whack! I’m just misunderstood!”

I narc’d him. I slipped him the ‘ole mickey in his peanut butter morning treat before taking him and Juno to Bernard’s. Then I gave Bernard three extra pills “just in case.” I wrestled with that decision also, having recently read how vet techs often over-medicate a dog for barking too much. What’s the point of leaving the dog if you have to narc the dog every day? Thankfully, Bernard was really quite responsible. The first day Loki was “like a different dog,” said Bernard, “then I remembered you gave him the sedative.”  The next day, Loki started his crying, barking, jumping and scratching at the door again. Remember, this is Bernard’s home, not a cage and Loki has claws that damage nice doors. So Bernard tried a half of sedative. When it didn’t work, he gave him another half. It worked. By day three, “He was perfect and didn’t need anymore. It was like he lived here his entire life.” Bernard gave me back the other two pills and said he was welcome back and we could use the sedative if we needed it in the beginning of each stay.

Just like Loki’s other anxious behaviors, the more he practices them, the more they escalate and the worse they get each time. Which is probably why it wasn’t until his last stay there that Bernard finally complained about it. When we first adopted Juno, Loki had a nasty habit of biting her scruff after the leashes came from our daily walk. Not that scruff biting is so bad, but we all recognized it for what it was and none of us, especially Juno, appreciated it. It was anxiety release and Juno hated it. So I simply wouldn’t let him practice it anymore. I would release Juno then sit with him for about a minute, calmly telling him he was good before I allowed him to calmly walk away.  Months later, I could release him at the same time as Juno and the behavior was gone. Behavioral psychologists call it “extinguishing” behavior.

“Grass sure makes me calm.” Sure, he looks angelic now…

I have some hope that lightly sedating him the first day or so at Bernard’s will reset his association with Bernard’s to be a whacka-cracker. I’m not sure if it will work the same way as extinguishing his other anxiety-based behaviors. But what the hell–it’s worth a try. I’m also not daft when it comes to Loki. I know how smart he is. He could easily just go the opposite direction and anticipate the sedative and fight its effects.  So as far as I’m concerned, he’s still on probation when it comes to leaving him at Bernard’s dog spa and camp.

 ”Crack is whack!”

Using pharmaceuticals for anxious behavior is neither something I recommend nor do on a regular basis. But I promise you Internet, if you had him for 5 minutes without me present, you’d beg for that narc.

One for him. And two for you.

Mr. Wild Dingo left for China yesterday and he forgot to put his beloved leather boots in the closet.

Now the 64 million dollar question is: should I or shouldn’t I put them away?

“I’ll put them away for you, Mom. Do you have any sauce au beurre?”

I just spent 7 days with the man in Provence. And now he heads to China tonight. Business travel sucks.

Last week, I posted a photo of yet another book mastication on Facebook. Hours later, I went downstairs and found one of Mr. Wild Dingo’s brand new leather flip flops, torn apart. So he threw it away when he got home. We went out to dinner that night and came home to find that his trash can, which we normally would either empty or place up high, was still on the floor, upright and untouched. The torn flip flop was still inside, undisturbed. Surprised, we asked Juno why she neglected to raid the trash can and eat the flip flop.

“Déjà Shu.  Been there, done that, got the tee shirt.”