We are lucky, Sully is the type of dog that people see and want to pet. Not that he is special, he’s just a big-headed golden retriever. But for some reason, everyone wants to pet him when we are out and about. We have met so many people along the way just because of him.

The conversation usually starts with some French being thrown at us. We nod and smile. Say, “c’est Sully. Il est golden retriever. He is tres gentile”. More often than not, that is not the answer to the question we were just asked. But our depth of the language is still developing.

For the first few months, most were asking how old he is. “A quelle age”. Huh? “A quelle age?” Um, I’m just going to stare at you and hope something good happens. “How old is he?”, with a French accent. “Oh, he is deusan”. In English they generally say he looks good for his age. “No” I say as I hold up to two fingers. “He is deux an.” In the expensive French lessons, we took before moving over here, our instructor told us that when there is a word ending in a consonant followed by a word beginning with a vowel, the French will blend them together as one word. At least that’s what I think she said.

Apparently, I was telling people that Sully was 12 years old, not 2.

If the questioner is comfortable with English, we usually continue speaking for a few minutes with me telling them how embarrassed I am about not knowing the language, but I am really trying.

Invariably, the conversation turns to them asking if we are visiting. When we tell them we live here now, they ask how we got him over here. Come to think of it, that is what most people ask us. How did you get your dog over to France? Did you have to quarantine him?

The truth is, he came over in business class.