While driving the diesel Kangoo, I’ve stopped for a pittering of puppies, a farm dog and a dog who decided he wanted to watch the sun set while sitting on the fast country road. Brent also stopped for a dog and was told off by a local as to avoid the dog nipping at the car. Apparently you keep driving and dogs will move. I suppose when I gain that sort of confidence, I’ll be speaking more French and able to pick up some meat at the local abattoir without a shrug and a giggle with respect to how incompetent I am speaking French. Je suis Americain!
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