French Bulldog "The dog seller"

There are no stupid professions, but some professions are based on lies, starting with the itinerant dog-seller. Before talking about the salesman, let’s talk about his wares.
The dog, “that perpetual candidate for humanity” as Michelet called him constitutes one of the most varied familias of the animal kingdom.
Every species, in one moment or another has reigned in Paris
Under Louis XIV in the century of the great men, great deeds and small dogs, the pugs and the Bichones were at the top of the tree. They now form the stuff of legend.
The Danes have also known their halcyon days. What happened to those great “blue” dogs, so light-footed and graceful, that snaked between the carriages, a rival for the horses for elegance? Whatever happened to the Danes? They have gone to join the Pugs of Boucher and the Bichones of Watteau, disappeared like the coat-sleeve dogs of Vanloo and the snows of yesteryear.
Later came the Greyhound, whose reign lasted but a short while. By the way, does anyone know who was responsible for starting the fashion for Greyhounds during the early years of the “Government of July”? It was M. Lamartine, on his return from Asia.
When in Syria, M. Lamartine had the intention of bringing back numerous od documents, he in fact brought four young Greyhounds. It was during his return voyage that the poet wrote with melancholy, “The orient everywhere is breaking apart”.
To which Leon Gozlan, who was not given to melancholy, replied “ It breaks apart less than those who return”.
As for the Bulldogs that the butchers had made fashionable thirty years ago, the scourge of women, children and soldiers, they also disappeared with the establishment of other forms of entertainment that didn’t require them.
The Bulldogs were succeeded by, for reasons of size and width of jaw, Terranovas and Pyrrenean dogs. But since the days of Freyschutz, who so loved Alfonso Karr that he was disposed to eat a good piece of him, to the Terranova of Señorita Plessey, who almost strangled the gardener in charge of the honeysuckle, the popularity and commerce of this dog has declined notably.
Later came the Blenheims, Black Spaniels and King Charles, good little animals, sweet and loving, inoffensive but so sad after the demise of Charles I, they mourn still his tragic passing, which makes them all the more interesting.
Today it is the Terrier-Boule who triumphs, which is logical given his great utility
The demolition of the old Parisian houses let loose millions of rats in the streets. Kicked onto the pavement with no warning and less recompense they found nowhere to lay their heads, no nests or warrens, so they took up residence in the new constructions.
All possible avenues to prevent this rising tide have been tried. Arsenic, strychnine, phosphates, cats, traps of all kinds. All have been tried with no success, the tide continues to rise.
In desperation and as last resort came the terriers. Now the rats who whistled and jeered at the poisons, cats and traps don’t laugh so loudly. The truth is that a good terrier can despatch half a doze rats in a minute given the chance. One snap of the teeth on the flanks and….. game over.
Show me the cat that can do this!
So for the last two years the dog sellers have taken up the terriers that are so sought after everywhere. The dog-seller (no need to say that we only speak of the street seller, always on the look-out for a foolish, trusting buyer) is almost always an old guard or foreman, unless of course he was a part-time brakeman or a retired traveller.
He is to be seen every day in the boulevards with a young terrier under each arm and a poodle with lead and read pompom. Sometimes he also has a Havanese, taken from the Temple quarter or from Fontainebleu.
One is not advised to inspect the pack, unless of course one wants to hear a speech longer than the road from the Bastille to Madeleine, and count oneself lucky to arrive home with two Luises less in one’s purse and two dogs in one’s pockets. The salesman’s patter varies according to the season, given that the business bumps along during winter and spring, but reaches its high pointing July and August. This is when he brings out his star merchandise, the hunting dog. This is when he launches into his speech.
“Sir. Do you require a purebred Braco? I have here that which you seek. I see sir is an expert. Just look at this fine muzzle, these alert ears, the piercing eyes, such a joyful tail! He could be the King of the Bracoes. Why, I almost sold him only yesterday to Baron de Lambert for 500 francs, but I see sir has the eye for a hunter. 200 francs, collar included.”
Under no circumstances should you offer 50 francs. No more than said and he will put the King of the Bracoe’s lead in you hand. The dog seller has no scruples. Ask him for whatever you wish, and he will get it for you the very next day at a time of your choosing. From whence has he got it? No-one knows. But you may be sure that he will have it for you at the hour named. Be it a dog from Madagascar, a Labrador from the Eskimoes or the pampas of South America.
It is well known (he doesn’t know) that the dogs of the Eskimos make no noise. One of our friends, a naturalist by trade, asked him for a genuine Eskimo dog. The following day the dog seller showed him a cattle driver’s dog of unwholesome aspect. The first thing the dog did was to square up to our friend as he tried to pat him.
- But where the devil does this dog come from?
- Directly from the country you said.
- Nonsense. The eskimo dogs make no noise and this has the voice of a baritone with a head cold.
- Sir, he was dumb as an ox when I got him a month ago The first days not a sound he made. After a week he began to growl a little but he has never squared up to anyone until today. As sir can tell, he has the authentic eskimo accent.

Another story:
A great huntsman, found a fine spaniel.
Is this dog for sale?
Yes sir, more’s the pity. I bred him and brought him up, taught him….
And, is he for sale?
Well, sir…….
Well, what?
Well it depends where sir lives, in Paris or in the provinces.
I see no difference.
The difference, sir is in the price. 50 francs in Paris and 200 for the provinces.
Now I understand even less. I want him for the provinces, but you must reveal the reasons for this enigma.
Nothing more simple, sir. This dog is a goldmine. If I sell him to someone from Paris, he always comes home to me in under 8 hours, so I can sell him 52 times a year, but if I sell him to a huntsman from the provinces I will never see him again. I will have to train another. Now do you understand?

A good question.
Why does the seller of hunting dogs have only young dogs for sale? The answer is easy.
20% of the dogs die between 8 and 10 months old. The seller makes the following calculation. I sell the live dog for 15 francs whereas the skin of the dead dog is worth only 75 sous. If I sell him at three months old I am better off by 14,25 francs.

A word of warning for the huntsman.
Never buy a hunting dog at six months old. It is penny wise but pound foolish. If the dog has a good construction, a gentle expression and a friendly tail the seller will ask 25 francs. Training him in the house of someone who will take charge of his education, 30 francs a month. Three months, 90 francs. A total of 115 francs. The dog is now nine months old, he seeks well, stops to order and fetches. But he becomes ill and dies. 115 francs and a dog to bury.
So, my hunting friend, if you are in need of a serious dog.
Buy a Braco, a Spaniel, a Basset, a Barbet (above all a Barbet) from gamekeeper, a a farmer, a landlord, a poacher, whomsoever. But in the name of God and St. Hubert, do not ever buy from a dog seller, unless you wish to make a present of him for an enemy or creditor.