Allo Allo

Allo, allo. My name’s Edie, after Edith Piaf, and I’m a French Bulldog. I think my humum thought she was being culturally 'savant' naming me after France’s greatest popular singer, but the irony is I’ve never been to France; I was born and bred in Clapham. I can’t even sing. However, there’s one thing France’s little sparrow and I have in common – je ne regrette rien. I don’t regret chewing my humum’s mobile phone, brand new Ray Bans or vintage Manolos. I don’t regret tearing up her in-laws sheep-skin rug, pooing on Victoria station platform in rush hour, or gorging my way through a picnic hamper full of home-made cupcakes (if humans chose to picnic in the dog section of Queens Park, they should do so at their own risk). I’m a dog and that’s what we do. Some humans would argue that dogs aren’t capable of experiencing complex emotions such as regret, but that’s for another blog. Today I’d simply like to introduce myself, seeing as you’re going to be hearing a lot more from me over the coming months. As I said my name’s Edie (Edith when I’m bad), although over the years my name has morphed into a bewildering array of subriquets including Speedy Edie, Speeds, the Eed, Oedopus, Edit, Yedit and Yeds. My pedigree name is Lady Bailey, daughter of Chavas and Malibu. I come from a litter of three, the average litter size for French Bulldogs. At the time of writing this post I am seven years old, but apparently I look and act younger than my age – as you’ve probably gathered, my humum is prone to the occasional touch of anthropomorphism - a common trait in pet owners. But as with the nicknames, I’ve learnt to humour her; as far as I’m concerned she’s the dog’s bollocks and although she can be tough at times, her bark is worse than her bite. My humum came for me when I was 3 months old; we spent our first year together in a flat in The Docklands, before moving to Brighton. Here I discovered grass and a more fulfilling way of life, the highs and lows of which I look forward to sharing with you in this blog.