Bruno - extracted from 'Pensioners in Paradis'

Part 1.
Thirty years ago when the children were small, we had a gorgeous pedigree Cavalier spaniel called Brandy. With her enormous soft eyes she was a beautiful creature but, probably because of much in-breeding, was of limited intelligence. However, in Brandy’s latter years I had by then returned to full-time work but always felt guilty at having to leave the dog inside for most of the day. Himself always seemed to hanker after a dog like the one he had as a child; one that had a bit of personality, intelligence and big enough to suit our new wide-open spaces.
So, one sunny day, several months after we had arrived in France, we decided that we would very much like to give a dog a good home with us. After asking our neighbours, we soon discovered that for this area, there was only one place to look: the local SPA (Société Protectrice des Animaux) in Montauban.
Although France is a nation of dog-lovers with around seventeen dogs to every hundred people, many French dogs are kept outdoors and some are almost permanently penned. We had to admit we have never seen anyone in our village actually walk their dogs, and we knew that many people, especially the farmers, kept them merely for practical purposes, to guard their homes or to catch vermin.
But we are English, and you know what that means. The dog will probably be treated by me as a grandchild-substitute and probably hugged to death. Anyway, once the idea took route, I was ready and eager to go and buy one. He wasn’t so sure but once I’d got an idea in my head…..
He did the driving, I was chief navigator comme d’habitude. This meant that we kept to the right side of the road but that we usually took the scenic route. Today was no exception. Many were the puzzled fermiers in the middle of nowhere who were accosted with the question: ‘Où est le chenil pour chiens?’ But eventually, after much reversing and skidding on obscure farm tracks, the dogs literally found us: we heard the barking from afar. As we approached, the sound became louder and louder. There must have been hundreds of the poor creatures in there.
We parked outside and clanged open the heavy metal gate. Madame was inside the entrance hut, inputting data onto a screen. Technology seems to have infiltrated just about everywhere and appears in the most unlikely of places, like right here. My first question: ‘Parlez-vous anglais?’ usually meets with a polite ‘Non, désolé.’ This was no exception. But in situations like this, with the two of us as likely paying customers, it’s amazing what sign language and combined efforts can do to effect a comprehensive understanding.
‘Uh, je cherche un chien.’
to be continued.......................