Caroline in Paris

Okay; come here. I need to introduce you to someone.

Her name is “Jalouse.” You would not be the first person to quip that Jolie is probably the one who really is “jalouse,” so feel free to let it pass. Still, in that one stroke we’ve gone from “weird foreigners” to “dog-naming rock stars.”

She loves Jolie; she barely seems to notice that we are here. She wants to impress Jolie; she wants to be Jolie. She runs over to sniff whatever Jolie is sniffing, she follows her devotedly, she constantly begs for Jolie’s attention.

Jolie is entirely unwilling to share any of her toys or chewies, so when Jolie settles down for a nap, Jalouse runs by with one in her mouth. Jolie has no choice; she has to go assault her. Jalouse loves it.

She is very shy around us. At first I was afraid that she had been mistreated at some point, especially since she was a bit older than most of the dogs in the pet stores: four-and-a-half months. But then we took her to our vet, who announced that she was actually under four months old–it’s not uncommon for puppy mills to lie to make the puppy more sell-able, and big dogs don’t sell in Paris if they’re not purebred. So we don’t know her real age, yet, or even what breeds are really mixed into her, and we can only wonder how big she will get.

We love her no matter what.

Now hush. She’s sleeping.