It is a lovely day, the first day of Summer, and young Pippin has already been out and about patrolling the neighborhood. This daily activity includes insulting the canines captured and incarcerated for their crimes behind their fences; caterwauling at the kitties who hunker down and curl their tails around their gathered feet while they squeeze their eyes in disgust and disdain; she shows off her best heeling gait for the flustered, red-faced dog walkers maypoled in their leads while their goofy charges grin and goggle after the gorgeous young Pippin on parade.
But every Frenchie winds down, given enough exercise. Pippin, having enjoyed her morning constitutional, returns to her home and retires to her comfy bed. The comfy bed where a weary girl can rest and recuperate, dreaming of fresh fields full of mouse and rabbit trails to sniff and shuffle along, deer tracks to investigate, and flocks of birds to send flapping and squawking into the sky.
Pippin's dreams are dreams of power and celebration of the estival season of warmth and excess and green life and all the melange of happy scents and odors that a dog's nose can discover. Her eyes are closing on the mundane world of home and in her dreams she sees a world without shoes (Pippin despises shoes) and a world full of people who will serve her tidbits of tasty tartare in their barefeet.
Sweet dreams, young Pippin! No shoes for you!
The Frog Princess
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