Two Dogs, One Cat and a Squirrel That Was Never There

July 31, 2026

An early loop around the town before the shutters went up, which turned into a dog in a doorway, a cat under the postcards and a brocante with nobody in it. By midday the lot of it was in blue biro.

Out early, before the shutters went up. The first thing I met was this bloke, flat out under a cafe chair with his lead still on, chin down on the pavement, giving me the full and what exactly do you want. Look at the folds on him. If you ever wondered why animators learn to draw dogs before they learn to draw people, it is because a dog puts every single thing it is feeling on the outside.

A brown bulldog type dog lying flat on the pavement under a cafe chair with a red harness and lead, chin resting on the stone — Chin down, lead on, entirely done with the morning already.

Twenty metres along, a black cat under a rack of postcards. Lavender rows, ochre villages, cypress trees, the whole of Provence turning slowly above her head. And the only properly Provencal thing in the frame is the cat, who has worked out where the shade is and taken it.

A black cat with a white chest sitting under a revolving postcard rack full of Provence lavender field postcards on a street pavement — Every postcard in Provence above her, and she has taken the one bit of shade.

Round the next corner, outside a bookshop, this one. Beaded collar, front paws crossed, asleep across the doorway with the 2027 calendars going round beside him and a Little Prince bag hanging in the window. Toi, tu as des etoiles comme personne n’en a. Say what you like about the French, they know exactly where a dog belongs.

A black and white collie type dog with a beaded collar asleep in a bookshop doorway beside racks of 2027 calendars, with a Little Prince tote bag in the window — Asleep in the doorway with the calendars turning beside him. Best job in town.

The other thing awake at that hour was the brocante. Gates open, not a soul in it, and eleven seconds of walking past a life size Mario, a black metal stag, a saxophone in with the pot plants, a wall of white birdcages and a rack of glass bottles going gold in the low sun. Nowhere I have been sells its leftovers this well.

Eleven seconds through an empty brocante, Mario included. Open full size

Then indoors out of the heat, and this is what came of it. Biro, because a biro was what was in the bag. The dogs came out of the morning. The figure did not, she simply turned up on the page holding one of them, which happens more often than I like to admit. I am not after a likeness with these. I am after the weight. Where the dog is pushing into the ground, where the hand is taking some of it, and which line you can leave out and still feel the lot.

Blue ballpoint sketch of a standing figure with one hand on a large dog, and a second small dog curled asleep on the ground below — Blue biro, one sitting. Click it if you want to see the mess up close.

And then a squirrel, which absolutely was not on this street. That one came out of the back of my head, or out of the photo library, and honestly I could not tell you which. It is the best line I have put down all week, and of course it is the one I did not plan. Six hours of careful looking, and the good one falls out sideways while you are not paying attention.

The tail is the whole drawing. Everything else is just holding it up.

Three pages out of it, which for a day that began with a dog under a chair is a fair return. The bus timetable over to Coustellet is on my phone now. Gordes has not got away with it yet.