The Dogs of Paris

The Metro is going to the dogs.

As I was riding to the Institute this afternoon, I sat across a woman wearing a floppy pink hat. She held a long chain in one hand, the other end of which disappeared underneath her seat. I thought it was attached to a bag.

But then I saw something move behind her legs. Then a little face peeked out. The other end of her chain was attached to a black dog with floppy ears. The dog came out from under the seat and looked around. It wasn't frightened or nervous, just curious.

Then, a few minutes later, two men got on with a dog of their own. The car got crowded, and I couldn't see very much, but it appeared that the two dogs were meeting each other and exploring a new friendship. Everyone around was looking down, watching the dogs, and smiling -- and it takes a lot to get people to smile on the Metro.

Paris is a dog town, something you can tell by the amount of poop on the sidewalk. A few years ago, I sat in church next to a dog that someone had brought. But they're different from dogs in the US. Parisian dogs are extremely well-behaved. Neither of the dogs today barked, jumped, or made even one sound. The dog in church didn't either. I'm sure that they're trained very well. After all, being a little dog in a big city can be dangerous.