RSF - The Off Road Cycling Club

The Adventure Starts Here

Jean PierreWith apologies to Proust

We were in France once more and enjoying the cycling on smooth roads, a pleasant change from the UK. Strange things happen in the middle of nowhere in this country and this is literally a real shaggy dog story or to be truthful a shaggy puppy story. Imagine the scene, a smooth road winding gently upward through the forests of Correze, the sun providing dappled shade. Conversation flows quietly as if not to disturb the peace when ….


Good lord! Is that a large rabbit following us? No, it is a small and seemingly lost puppy who wants nothing more than some company. There are no houses for several miles and no people in evidence and pup has no collar or tags so we debated our next course of action. Could we get the puppy to Sarran and the restaurant there, our destination for lunch. And hand him (yes, it’s a boy) over to the mayor or gendarmerie or perhaps someone there who may know his owner
We decided that Jean Pierre, well you cannot have a puppy with no name can you, would have to be tucked under an arm and someone (James volunteered) would ride along hoping Jean Pierre would not struggle too much.
He seemed to enjoy the experience and ears flapping, tongue lolling, appeared very relaxed about it all. Our next question was how to stop. It is difficult enough to ride a bicycle with one hand but stopping with the same on the bars is a little more fraught even excluding the pup. More discussion resulted in the author being sent on ahead and what followed may qualify as one of the great rugby passes of all time. Jean Pierre was safely held, and James came to a dignified and upright halt.
Entering the café, puppy under arm we explained the situation to the owners who immediately put a post on the local Facebook page. We didn’t hold out much hope and being Sunday there were no authorities available to hand Jean over too.
Holding on to the puppy seemed the only option which made it a bit difficult to eat lunch, Jean being at table level and hungry, he had his eyes firmly fixed on our food, so the restraint provided by a firm grip was required. We managed to pass him over to one of the many young ladies who fussed over him and thought him rather cute but somehow, we always got him back again.
Just after lunch and still in possession of JP we were facing a serious issue. We could not abandon him, but neither could we carry a dog for the 32 km back home. We were still undecided 15 minutes later when to immense relief we were informed that the owner had been found and would be along in 10 minutes, time for another coffee then.
Handing JP over we asked how old he was and how he came to be alone out in the woods.
“He’s three months old and just wandered off” came the reply
“Does he have a name?”
“Non!”
The French view dogs very differently to the British it seems.