{La Bourboule}
We left Le Petit Village at 9am. Under normal circumstances we would arrive in La Bourboule right around 3pm. But circumstances are never normal; it took us two hours to reach Avignon. Two hours! We normally make it there in under an hour.
The abnormal culprit…
{I hate cars}
Fifty threw up twice before we even got to Avignon.
At least at that point we knew that the chances of anymore throw up were pretty minimal. After the amount of upchuck we cleaned, it was doubtful there could be anything left inside the dog.
Finally passing by Avignon and feeling like we were on our way, it was only right that I got to stop and pick up a bucket of chicken…
Or as I like to call it; a fucket of chicken. As in; “fucket, I’m going to get me some chicken”.
On that long hot drive we drove by where Homer Simpson works…
{Springfield Nuclear Power Plant}
I would have stopped in to say hi, but I didn’t want him stealing any of my chicken (mmm chicken).
A little after 5pm (eight hours!) we pulled up to French Nana’s bar…
Just in time for one of these…
{tastes like summer}
And for The Husband to have a plate of specially made just for him beef tongue…
{gross}
And because eating one gross thing is not enough for The Food Whore, aka The Husband, while we were in La Bourboule he also ate tete de voeux, or as it’s known in English, veal brains…
{double gross}
Back at French Mommy’s house…
Fifty celebrated his birthday (11 months) with a real cheesecake (slice of Cantal with a couple of matches stuck in it) and cuddles…
But because a slice of cheese and a hug does not a birthday celebration make, we took Fifty for a walk in Fenestre Park where he got to see the little train…
(which we didn’t take him on because of his vomiting issues)
The cable cars…
(also avoided due to excess vomiting)
And the carousel…
(see above, RE: vomiting)
But Fifty’s favorite present…
Marking his territory on a Sequoia.
That’s a big present.
bisou
P.S. Fifty only threw up once on the trip back to Le Petit Village
P.S.S. The horse meat butchers was in the village where The Cousin got married. I haven’t eaten any. Frog legs and snails are OK, but I don’t think I could bring myself to munch on My Little Pony.
It's Me, Sara Louise 
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