Flight of the Animals

You can be certain that you, yourself, are the scariest animal in southern France when even one of the most fear-inducing creatures on the planet quivers at the sight of you. Practically jumps out of its skin to get away from you. But more on that in a bit... Other than a few friendly, housebroken dogs and cats at the pilgrim gites, the animals of France have had an acute disdain for mom and I. Is it the way we smell? The loud tippy tapping of our trekking poles? The echo of our belches carried on the wind? Our general disheveled, sweaty, muddy, untidy appearance? Or is it simply a matter of them sensing that we're American? Whatever the case, one thing is clear: we scare the crap out of them.

Rabbits race through fields as if we were Mr. McGregor, himself, with a sawed-off shotgun over our arm instead of a limp Camelpack tube. Birds and ducks flee in a flurry of feathers and frenzied squawking, sending a clear message to their tiny offspring to take cover. "Dive, Danny, Dive!" Deer leap past into the thick of the woods as if it were peak hunting season. Sheep and goats slowly inch backwards away from their protective fencing, keeping their black eyes trained on us like we were a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Proud roosters shoo their harem of hens back into the safety of their shelter. Cats scurry into underbrush or simply walk past ignoring our "here, kitty, kitty" with their noses high in the air. Cows, horses and pigs stare with silent, incredulous curiosity or disdain, perhaps wondering why France has gotten so lax with its borders. Farm dogs bark at us so ferociously and vindictively that you would think we'd come to burn their barns down, enslave their owners and set a plague on their crops.

But the worst snub came when a gigantic snake fled for its life as we came upon it on the road, lounging in the shade of an oak tree. The bank to the side of the tarmac was too steep for it to make a quick getaway, so on and on it frantically slithered, swinging its head about in desperate search of an escape route. At one point, it even popped its pointy face into a rodent hole, and apparently finding a rat inside shaking in its boots - "The pilgrims are coming! No room here!" - decided to keep searching, finally finding relief in a set of thorny bushes. I'm sure his favorite shade tree is now forever soiled with the memories of The Attack of Pilgrim Godzilla.

There is one creature, however, that not only likes us, but practically trips over itself with joy and anticipation to greet us with open arms. BUGS. Big ones. Small ones. Flying ones. Crawling ones. Biting ones. Sucking ones. Black ones. Spotted ones. And aren't we lucky to be favored by such a genteel beast of the animal kingdom?

No, no we're not.

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Devil Dog Addendum by Kay:

Accustomed as we have become to those fierce guardians of the farmyard as we cautiously pass by their territory, nothing could possibly have prepared us for DEVIL DOG. And I really do mean nothing. We passed by the entrance of his fiefdom and, small as he was, the ferocity and persistence of his attack astounded and frightened us. Waving my walking sticks, clicking them together and yelling in French for him to go away resulted in only the least diminution of his assault. His canines were longer than his body. He finally went back to his yard, only to refresh his assault within moments. Finally, we came to the end of the street and turned the corner.

This is where the nightmare truly began. His farm extended beyond the corner and to the next entrance. As we passed by, his assault was invigorated. My daughter yelling "mommy" with real fear in her voice. We walked back-to-back down the road, waving our sticks and yelling at the little bastard. Even well past his domaine, he would tear after us. Later that night with our buddies in the gite I mentioned "devil dog" in two languages, and all 5 of them knew instantly what I was talking about. Our Dutch friends, Leon and Trudy, had experienced the horror of taking the wrong direction and having to pass DD 3 times.

Devil Dog, I pray for your soul...

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Location:Hotel Bar Curon, Morlaas, France