After a morning of cultural-intensive sightseeing, what more does a dog ask for than to join his best friends for lunch? In France, consider it done! After touring Abbey Saint-Hilaire, sipping blanquette with M. Bernardini, and driving through vineyard country, we were near exhaustion. Not to mention that it was approaching 100 degrees F (36 C before high noon). The streets of Limoux were deserted, as if it was a wild west town due for a shoot-out. More like the blazing heat driving everyone to the sanctuary behind the shutters. We headed for a shady restaurant with Fergus in tow and sat down.
The garcon insisted we come inside for le plat de jour where one could find air conditioning. We pointed to le chien, and he tossed it off as if it were no more than a 6-year old kid. Another garcon immediately followed us with both a pichet of water for us and a bowl for the Ferg, which he promptly slobbered in a 3' radius around the bowl. They pointed to a small space behind the table where 'they' assumed Fergus could huddle. But Ferg liked being out in the open, where he could survey everyone's comings and goings.
He settled right down on the cool tile floor, knowing full well that a few bones were soon headed his way. Pretty good trade-off for a little culture.