I was on a yoga mat in my M&S pink polka-dot underwear when the police arrived. I am genetically pre-disposed to panic as soon as I see a policeman. I spent my childhood watching my mother shout ‘help’ every time one came anywhere near us, even if he was just innocently arresting someone else.
But these policemen were at my door in full uniform and carrying guns. Things did not look promising.
“Is zis your dog?” asked one of them, although not of course in an Inspector Clouseau accent, because he was speaking French. But you get the idea. “E ‘as murdered a lamb.”
“Wolfie doesn’t eat lamb,” I was tempted to respond but thought better of it. “Are you sure it’s him?” I asked.
“I sink so,” said the other inspector (why they need to send two policemen round to see a lamb-murdering suspect I don’t understand). “E is all wet, he ‘as washed all the traces of blood away.”
Right – so Wolfie thought ‘yum that was jolly good but if mummy sees me covered in blood she’ll get suspicious, I’d better have a bath.’ Yep, I wondered where my lavender bath oil had got to.
Wolfie watched us with an air of amusement throughout the conversation and didn’t object to the mug-shots they took of him to show the owner of the dead lamb.
“We’ll call you when we have a positive identification,” they said and drove off.
Ten minutes later another car arrived. It’s bloody hard to get any yoga done round here. This time it was the owner of said deceased lamb.
“Are you the owner of an Alsatian?”
“Allegedly, ” I replied, and added “but I don’t think he murdered your lamb, he was here all morning and anyway he’s not very aggressive.”
“Where is he? I want to see him,” he demanded. I called Wolfie thinking this might be the last time I ever saw him alive and wondering what sort of carpet he might make.
“It’s not him,” said the man, suddenly becoming quite civil and even patting Wolfie.
So I am now on my yoga mat once more, breathing heavily with relief. I am addicted to yoga after a two-day dry-run for our Renew Retreat which I completed this morning. I feel marvellous after just two days and can’t wait to see how I good I feel after the full weekend in May. Let’s just hope we don’t have as many men in uniform showing up, unless of course they’re willing to give us a massage.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008
Wolfie wouldn’t have got away with it here in Geneva. On Sunday 24th, we vote for stricter dog control – which means ALL dogs considered to be of dangerous breeds and ALL dogs over 25 kilos will have to be put down if the law goes through. That means around 15,000 dogs. Nice little earner for the vets.
We also vote to ban smoking in public places.
I can’t say I’ll miss the smoking, or the dogs. Today’s press predicts a resounding “OUI” on both counts.
WOW! Talk about guilt by association! Isn’t that a bit dragurian? Don’t Swiss dogs have rights? Not all large dogs of “dangerous breeds” (define that one if you can) are agreessive killers. I’ve seen some smaller dogs of “non-dangerous breeds” who are little ankle biters. In fact the large breed dogs that I know all think they are lap dogs. It’ s not always the dog but most often the training (or lack thereof) which makes good dogs go bad! Personally I am a cat person. The bad dogs must be owned by people who smoke!
Graham, My Molly weighs 35 kilos and is a Bi-cultural Swiss/English Golden Retriever who in her youth won first prize in a dog show inspite of lying on her back and pleading for a cuddle…surely that doesn’t include her?
I blame the Marks and Spencers knickers I thought Helena would at least be wearing Agent Provacteur
But..but..what about the Bernese and the St Bernards, etc? Aren’t they all from Switzerland? Who will rescue people lost in the mountains then?
When I was a child, I was deathly afraid of my aunt’s mad chihuahua. She smoked, but he didn’t. I don’t suppose any of that is relevant. 😉
Surely you have all missed the point…
Why can’t the French Police be trained in massage techniques?
Exactly, well said Oliver. Much more useful than roaming around the countryside taking mug-shots of innocent dogs.
Knowing the dog in question, he is more likely to be smothered by a lamb than to assassinate one. Wolfie is sweet but frankly the most pathetic excuse for a dog that I have ever rencontré. But the really extraordinary element of this story is that the French state has police to spare to investigate the killing of a mouton! Obviously, a less hazardous undertaking than persuing actual criminals.