I often wish I could speak a second language. Ilive in Ottawa, a bilingual city (English/French) but barely understandFrench beyond the odd word here and there.
My son once teased me about it too...I was dogsitting for my sister andbrother-in-law, and my bil is French. So Nikki, their dog, was spokento in French and knew only French commands. She was a big, nasty(female dog term edited) of a dog too, and so the weekend I agreed todogsit I stayed overnight at their home with my son. When it came timefor me to go to bed, there was Nikki, sprawled out across thebedspread. I tried everything to move her, temptation (dog cookies),threats (*MOVE, DA**IT!!!*), and pleading (*Nikki...pleeeeze get offthe bed??!*). She just looked at me and growled. Finally I triedspeaking to her in her language. I raised my voice and pointed at her,saying, "Cochon chien!!! Cochon chien!!" - recalling all the times mybil had been upset with Nikki in the past, telling her she was a 'baddog'. Well, the more I yelled the more upset she got, until finally shecurled back her lips and bared her teeth...a definite 'get the @#!!@outta my face' term in dogspeake. My son had wandered into the room atthat point, and when he heard me futilely yelling at Nikki he beganlaughing. When I turned and asked him what was so funny he looked at meand said, "Mom, no wonder Nikki's getting so mad at you...you'recalling her a pig dog!" Yep...I had confused 'machon chien' (bad dog)with 'cochon chien' (pig dog).
Needless to say, I kinda gave up on my efforts to speak French after that.
Oh, and that night, Nikki snoozed awaycontentedly on the bed.I dragged myself into the living room and slept on the sofa. :?
