I’ve said that you can measure life in dogs, and I do. My memories are tied not so much to the details of where I lived or how old I was or what job I was doing at the time, but which dog shared a part of my life with me. Some are waiting at the Rainbow Bridge, but I keep them all very close in my heart, and so they each have a voice on this page.
Ventoux, the Pyrenees Peter Pan
So yeah, it’s a silly Frenchified name. My dad is French, wanna make something of it? We use the Cajun pronunciation, Von-Toe. I was born in Mississippi, pretty close to the Louisiana border, on an alpaca farm. I smelled like alpaca for the first seven weeks of my life, until my mom picked up me from there and took me home and gave me a bath. Whew. But at least it wasn’t goats. (Hear that, Miss-Princess-Folly-born-on-a-goat-farm?)
I’m named after a mountain in Provence, Mont Ventoux. Dante climbed it, back in the day. And just because he was a poet, there’s nothing sissy about Dante. He wrote The Inferno, see, and there’s a game about him. He’s kick-ass. He wears a red snuggie and fights demons.
I’d like to do that, but I am a little bit wussy, truth to tell. I kinda think I was meant to be a butterfly, but there was a mistake made and I ended up a big white furry dog. I’m handsome, but on occasion I have an expression that is rather reminiscent of Walter Matthau.
I’m planning never to grow up, so most of these pics are of me when I was a cute pup. This is me after I fought some demons from the Abyss. They were mud demons. That’s the corpse of one lying under my victorious paws, there on the left.
Folly, the Pyrenees Princess
This is me at 4 months. I really didn’t know how beautiful I was, but everyone at the dog park called me a little princess, so I figured I must be something special. I’m a Great Pyrenees, and I was born down on the farm, outside a barn. Can you believe that? A barn! My brothers and sisters are still there, Livestock Guardian Dogs for a bunch of goats. But not me! I got outta Goatsville as soon as I could—left those bumpkins behind at the tender age of 6 weeks and headed for the city in a Lexus. That’s much more my style! I love that car. It has a great AC vent. I rest my chin on it, or paw it to get more cool air out.
Actually I turned out to be not such a little princess. I topped out at 110 lbs—a very large princess. I really must learn not to jump up on people! I’m trying very hard, but it’s so difficult…I just want to see them face-to-face, and I’m already tall enough to lick anyone’s chin! I can’t understand why they don’t seem to appreciate it! Aren’t we princesses supposed to kiss frogs?!
Wanna know what beautiful looks like? Who needs mascara?