THE POODLES OF PARK AVENUE BY KAREN-CHERIE COGANE WISH A HAPPY FETE DES MERES

Fast Forward to June 7: “Bonjour from Simone, the Park Avenue poodle, and I’m saluting moms and pet mothers in France. So, I want to dance!

‘Vive la France’ on this holiday, even though Ardsley, our butler, is from the UK.

And here’s to all moms in the U.S. that hail from France!

Since poodles were the national dog of France long ago, we’re often called ‘French poodles.’ Bien sur, the French still love us.

‘Caniches,’ the French name for poodles, means ‘canard’ (duck dogs). We used to chase ducks and are still good at it. That’s what I hear, but not moi.

As a poised Manhattan caniche, I strut on Park Avenue and show off my pompoms for all to view.

Je comprends French and when it’s appropriate, je parle francais.

And Frank, my dog walker, understands French and poodle talk.

J’aime French food, and before, Frank used to take me, Mojito, my temperamental Chihuahua walking partner, and Ricardo, my poodle beau, to Café Beaucoup for lunch. We ate delicious filet mignon, steak tartare, and duck a l'orange.

I reminded Frank that Sunday will be Fete des Meres. He said that due to the corona virus, we can’t celebrate the holiday at Café Beaucoup.

What follows is our conversation, which Mojito joined.

Me: “Grace loves Fete des Meres, and we’ll have a small party to celebrate on Sunday, and she’s excited.”

Frank: “Sounds nice, and I’d like to come.”

“Great. We’d be thrilled to have you,” I replied.

Mojito: “Grace loves mares? I didn’t know that.”

“Of course. She always respects them and knows so many when she used to lunch with her friends on Madison Avenue,” I revealed.

“Mares are on Madison Avenue? I thought they were just in Central Park,” Mojito said.

“No, they go to Central Park, but they’re all over New York City,” I responded.

Mojito: “Really? I didn’t know that. Mares are groomed pretty. They’re so tall, elegant, and sleek. I love their shiny hair.”

“Well, most city meres go to salons for haircuts, conditioning, and styling, just like I go for my Beauty Days. Their appearance is very important to them,” I explained.

Mojito: “I thought they were just brushed, and that’s it.”

“No, meres get haircuts, just like us, and they get blow-outs, shampoos, and new hairstyles,” I added.

The confused Mojito: “What? I’ve never seen a mare with a blow-dry. Their hair is always straight.”

My answer: “Well, maybe in the 1960’s when straight hair was ‘in,’ but some meres like full manes, and others like straight hair. It depends on what looks best on them and what is in style. Kind of like how I vary my hairstyle.”

Mojito: “I didn’t know that there was a holiday to celebrate them. Is that new?”

Moi: “It’s really a French holiday but Grace likes to honor them, since she adores the French. And as a poodle, my breed is originally from France, so it's a win-win."

“There’s a special holiday to celebrate mares in France?” Mojito asked.

“Earth to Mojito: I just said that. There are millions of meres in France,” I replied.

“Yeah, but I’ve never heard of that. Where do they come from?” Mojito wondered.

I said: “Heck if I know -- I guess some meres were born in France or in other parts of Europe, or the U.S., and came to France to reside.”

Mojito: “Where do they live?”

“Is this a survey? You ask too many questions! And I don’t know! They live in French apartments, in Paris, or other cities, or in the countryside,” I retorted.

“How do they fit in an apartment? They must be either small, skinny, or have a really big apartment,” Mojito responded.

Me: “What? You don’t make any sense. Meres live where meres live -- with their families in apartments or houses, just like in the U.S.. Some have big places and others have small ones, I guess.”

Mojito was puzzled: “I just don’t get how mares live in France. Maybe you mean, very little mares?”

I lost my patience: “Hey, meres come in all sizes, you know that, just like dogs do. Meres are meres, and this holiday salutes them! Okay?”

The Chihuahua: “It’s nice to celebrate mares, but I think there should be a party outdoors for them. Mares would be more comfortable there. Maybe they can’t do that now with the corona virus, like you told me about social distancing.”

“Yes, gatherings are supposed to be small now, due to the virus. But we can’t forget to honor meres, though. People adapt. Grace is doing that,” I told Mojito.

Mojito asked: “Grace is having mares over?”

“Just a few, say three, from our building,” I said. “They’re her friends.”

The perplexed Mojito: “What? What? What? You have mares in your building, and three mares will fit in your apartment?”

I answered: “Of course, meres live in my building. And you know we have such a large penthouse, so yes, three meres and their little ones will definitely fit. We will social distance and use several rooms if we have to.”

“But how can the mares fit in the elevator?” the Chihuahua asked.

“Just like all meres do in our spacious elevators. But it might be hard for the pregnant mere to squeeze in. The doorman can help her,” I said to him.

Mojito: “A pregnant mare is coming to the party?”

Me: “Yes, why not? She’s only four months pregnant, and she’s Grace’s friend.”

“Won’t she be uncomfortable?” Mojito questioned.

Moi: “I hope not. Grace will give her extra attention and will make sure she sits down a lot.”

“She can fit in a chair?” Mojito asked.

Me: “Sure. She’s not that heavy, and we have some big chairs.”

The Chihuahua: “Never heard of mares in chairs, but if you say so, Simone. Will Frank walk the mares?”

“What? What did you say?” I wondered.

Mojito’s reply: “I asked you if Frank will walk the mares.”

“No, they live in my building, so they’ll walk here themselves or probably take the elevator,” I said.

“Can I ride one of the mares? Or maybe I can sit on its lap?” Mojito asked.

I snapped: “Absolutely not, Mojito! All they need is you jumping on them or sitting on them! You’ll stay close to Frank, very close.”

“You don’t have to be snippy, Simone. I still don’t get it, but can I come? Can I? I want to see the mares!” Mojito persisted.

“Um . . . I guess so if Frank takes you,” I said.

Frank: “Yes, Mojito, I’ll bring you, if you promise to behave.”

Mojito: “Can we bring them hay and oats?”

Frank laughed: “Mojito, what are you talking about?”

“The horses will be hungry at the Mares party, right? What will they eat?” Mojito asked.

Me laughing: “No, stupid, I mean, silly, FETE DES MERES is a celebration for French mothers! It’s similar to Mother’s Day in the US.”

“I thought it was a holiday for horses -- MARES!” Mojito exclaimed. “FETE DAY MARES!”

“No! I can’t believe you! Mojito, you really need to learn important things, to educate yourself. I know you are Mexican, but there’s a whole world out there. You have to open your eyes,” I stressed.

Mojito: “Well, I think I make perfect sense! And there should be a holiday for MARES. We have dog holidays, so beautiful horses should have holidays too!”

“Okay, I’ll submit your request to the Commission on Holidays, Mojito!” I chided.

Mojito: “You will? Really?”

“Just kidding,” I told him.

“Well, you definitely should,” Mojito emphasized.

Me: “Anyway, if you want to come to our small party on Sunday, you have to be quiet, and I repeat: HAVE TO BE QUIET!”

Frank: “Simone is right, Mojito. Understood?”

Mojito mumbled to himself, growled, and turned in circles.

“Mojito? Can you hear me? Are you listening?” Frank asked.

The Chihuahua: “I’m always quiet,” and he started yapping.

Frank scolded: “Mojito, I’m not kidding! And no yapping and growling, now or then!”

Mojito: “I’ll be a good boy. But I still say it should be a holiday for horses.”

“It’s dog time now, Mojito, so we have to finish our walk, young man,” Frank said.

Moi: “Mojito, you are too much . . . too much.”

“But the ladies in my harem don’t think so. They love me!” Moito bragged.

Frank and I burst out in laughter, and I scoffed: “Harem, smarem. What girls? Oh, yeah, the ones in your crazy head. Get a real life!”

Mojito replied: “I’ve had enough trouble learning English, and now I have to learn French, Simone?”

Me: “Well, you do walk with a poodle, moi!”

Mojito mimicking me: “You do walk with a poodle, moi!”

Frank: “Stop it, Mojito! Just stop it! Or I won’t take you to the party.”

“I’m sorry, and I want to go,” Mojito responded in an unusually polite way.

“Okay. I’ll walk you guys on Sunday and then take you to Simone’s soiree, saluting meres,” Frank said.

Mojito: “Yay! Horses all day!”

That Chihuahua cracks me up. He is the nuttiest grown-up dog, who acts like a pup!

I look forward to our small shindig for Fete des Meres. Some moms from our building, their plus-ones, and kids, Ricardo, and Raymond, and Grace will be there.

Jorge, our chef and Ricardo’s person, will make duck, filet mignon, chocolate mousse, souffle, pate, and other French gourmet dishes. Then Jorge will join the soiree.

Let’s not forget that Frank is bringing, uh, Mojito.

We canines will have dog-friendly food.

I feel guilty since I see the ducks paddle in my Long Island pool, and I hope they can forgive me. C’est si bon to eat the duck that Grace and Jorge make on holidays.

There are so many French delights to name, including champagne! The humans will drink it on Sunday. Don’t tell, but I’m going to sneak a sip or two.

My people indulge, but do not have to worry about the bulge. They exercise to maintain their size.

Once mom made a chocolate soufflé, and it dropped, but she didn’t tell pop.

Jorge will bake a Fete des Meres soufflé, and it will make my day! It will rise, and then Grace can give our guests and maybe me a culinary surprise.

The French are known for luxurious fragrance and how the glorious scent of French perfume permeates the room! When Grace wears Nina Ricci or Chloe, Raymond plants a big smooch on mom’s cheek, and his knees go weak. He spins her, and they twirl -- What a lucky girl!

‘Poodle Number One,’ casts a spell on Ricardo. It is my preferred French scent, and after just a whiff, he’s a happy gent. Enter romance and a poodle dance. Ooh la la! It’s the power of perfume to make boys swoon!

My ode to the French holiday, s’il vous plait:

‘Moms, it’s Fete des Meres, and I want to share.

You’ve got that ‘je ne sais quoi,’ and your kids call you ‘mere,’ ‘maman,’ or ‘ma.’

You’re great and pretty, and often even witty.

You have class and style on any day, whether you promenade on Park Avenue or the Champs-Elysees.

Quite simply, you shine and look so fine. Short dresses or long, you undeniably belong. Browsing in the fancy boutiques or taking in the beautiful sights, you look out of sight.

Your children, pets or human, are proud, and want to say it loud: ‘Oui. Isn’t my mom magnifique? Isn’t she tres jolie? And she loves me!’

So, this holiday is for you. Vos enfants hope you feel blissful, not blue.

You teach your kids to be nice and give us great advice. You emphasize the importance of being kind -- gentile and feed us yummy meals,

We learn to say merci and s'il vous plait, and the importance of manners every day.

Dressed us up in chic outfits and bows, your attention to style shows.

I am like a fashionable human child, and Park Avenue is my runway. Parading on it or maybe doing a sashay . . .

And mommy, I want to window shop in Paris and visit the Tower Eiffel and Arc de Triomphe with you. Sightseeing at historical sites and buildings that are new . . . I want to go, and I’ll bring my beau!

I hope we can have fun-filled days and saunter into the cafes. Indulging in just baked French treats like croissants and macarons that are yummy, will fill my tummy.

Wish I could taste the decadent French dessert, ‘Cherries Jubilee’ for poodle me.

Mothers might even instruct us about dance, whether we’re in New York or France. Grace tries to teach me ballet, which began in the French Court of King Louis XIV. But since I’m a caniche, it’s hard to turn out four feet.

That’s about all -- Just that when I’m with my mom, I, Simone, feel 100 feet tall! She may not be from France, but she sure knows how to entrance, my pet dad, that is. And I’m their canine kid!

It’s a propos that it’s Fete des Meres: Grace has such flair, and to my father, no one can compare. She is his Gigi, and he’s her Gaston, and on that you can depend on.

Your children love you very much: Vos enfants vous aiment beaucoup.

Have a Heureux Fete des Meres! Bonne Fete Maman!

Merci to you from me!’

P.S. The caniche pic is how I might look in Paris, riding in a car with my humans with my windswept hair, and otherwise, bare. Oui! I hope Raymond and Grace take me to Paris. Ricardo can come too, and we can have a rendezvous."

Writing credit: Simone, THE Park Avenue poodle with the French flair, helped by Karen-Cherie Cogane