It took about eighteen minutes by car to get to the Forest of
Malmaison, a huge national forest at the southwest end of Rueil-Malmaison. Since the neighbourhood in which we lived was
relatively compact we used to like to take Beau there once in a while to have a
good sprint. The forest was huge – with
walking paths, riding trails for horses, a couple of good-sized ponds and
streams. Every time we went there were
lots of dogs – evidently we were not the only humans who had discovered the
benefits of the Forest for their canine friends. Beau loved lodge meetings where he could run
with the other dogs and see who would establish the Alpha position in the pack. Beau, if memory serves us right, did not do
too badly in that.
But the real joy of the Forest of Malmaison, we were to discover,
lay not in the dogs but in the ducks. The streams flowing through the forest
had been dammed up in a couple of places to make decent sized ponds. The quiet natural environment made a natural
habitat for ducks that settled into the neighbourhood. On one of his runs through the forest Beau
took the path down to the stream and along the pond. It was then that he saw the ducks – a mother
with her ducklings.
The pond was about 70 metres long and about 25 metres wide. In jumped Beau, swimming like sixty to reach
the ducks. The mother went into
defensive mode, gathering her ducklings about her as the dog approached. What followed was a prolonged game of
strategy as Beau sought to approach the flock and the mother swam around in a
circular form, taking her children with her and squawking at the canine
intruder.
The spectacle drew a crowd – there were always lots of people about
walking – themselves and their dogs. As
the crowd gathered, the Shepherds had an urge to disappear. We wished to get Beau out of the water. The size and depth of the pond – not to
mention the fact that the water was a bit murky- precluded going in to get him.
We could call him, but he would likely not obey since the pursuit of the ducks
was a much more interesting proposition than coming with us. Further, for image
reasons, calling him was not a good strategy in this situation. Beau only
replied to commands in English. This was
not the place to tell the world that the dog in the pond was the dog of
foreigners.
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The coup de grace came
when a lady arrived very busily and took to defending the ducklings from an
undisciplined and unruly dog. More
significantly, her disdain focussed on the owners who should have trained their
dog in such a way as to avoid this disgraceful display. Innocent birds were threatened by a vicious
dog – a vicious dog owned by insensitive Anglo-Saxon foreigners to boot. We quickly discerned that this was not the
time to enter into a debate about ducks, dogs or discipline. Fortunately Beau was tiring – swimming, it
seemed, was easier for the ducks than for him. Exhausted he came out of the
murky waters, came up to us and shook off the water all over my khaki
trousers. The look in his eyes was one
of satisfied exhaustion – I could tell that he looked forward to his next
encounter with the ducks. Quietly we
stole away to our Renault station wagon in the parking lot and went home.
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