Chapter #4 Outline
"SPORT & OUR NEIGHBORHOOD"
Since my dog was my constant companion, I devote the first page of chapter four, to describing my friend, Sport Dachshund, and his transformation from a layback, California hound, into a Parisian, café sitter; earning the respect of grumpy waiters, and putting him on par with Hemmingway, Gershwin, Picasso, and Stein. I go on to give the reader a mental picture of my beautiful neighborhood, describing the statuesque chestnut trees lining every street and boulevard, and weathered, terracotta pots, giving support to brightly colored geraniums blooming on balconies, and windowsills of every apartment on my well-hidden street. I tell of the squeaky symphony of shopping carts and the pitter-patter of strong-willed French women’s heels on the sidewalk beneath my flat, as they scurry off every morning to the open market and tiny shops. I reminisce, writing about the provocative fragrances of the boulangerie, charcuterie, patisserie, and the tempting aroma of espresso, seeping from the open door of every corner café.
On the Paris sidewalks, knowing that dog’s “rule,” I tell of the delicate subject of notorious, doggy poo-poo. I reveal the little known, amusing, but effective way the French solve this nasty problem, finishing up by putting a sweet, new smell on this stinky, old subject. I mention my early morning life after our daily trek to the market, Sport’s ritual snooze, as I paint and listen to more often than not, weird, BBC radio programs. I also confess, with my iffy memory, to writing daily on anything within reach, including gum wrappers, mousse aux chocolat stained napkins, and in emergency, scratchy but sturdy, French toilet paper!
I describe my unusual relationship with Parisian pigeons, and how the innocent tossing of bread crumbs on my terrace one day, becomes an open invitation to “Donna’s Diner” the next; soon resembling the opening scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie! With the neighbor downstairs complaining of excessive birdy-poo piling up on her windowsill, I solved the pigeon problem by launching a stale baguette to the sidewalk -- seven floors below, while yelling, “fetch!” I tell of my first try, and nearly taking out an elderly couple with the Movable feast, closely followed by a barrage of wild-eyed pigeons, swooping down in pursuit!