Well, you guessed right, Monica...
I completely froze when I saw
MY POOR SANDY!!! standing to one side, on a leash after all, tied to a big tree. Upon my emerging from the tent the cooks had started to sprinkle Parsley, Sage, salt 'n pepper on Sandy's back. One of them shouted: "We'll have a lovely hump tonight!" The whole tribe roared with laughter. Another cook added an extra herb and said: "I'll have a hump with Rosemary!" More laughter....

Poor Sandy went like: "Blaark! Aah..choo!" about every ten seconds.
Meanwhile, my brain was working at topspeed. How to distract them? What to where to? Who to U2 R2D2, I went nuts!
Then I just started talking: "You erm... you're all from Belgium?"
"Oh yes", spoke Enormous proudly. "From all over the country." Some of the tribesmen joined us. I gathered they were elders as they greeted the chief with a solemn "Ugh!"
"Both Flemish and Wallonian? How about the language struggle?" I had no idea what I was talking about, just wanted to keep them busy, I guess.
"Ah, we're well on the way on solving that one. Just this week we decided to mix the languages into something new. We are determined to rise above the endless and, dare I say, petty quarrels of the common people. We're in the process of incorporating words from both sides in equal measure. For instance, for beer we'll use the Flemish
bierke instead of the French
bière. On the other hand, we decided on
vin for wine, instead of
wijn. And so on. It's only with cheese that we had a fierce debate. Finally, I myself ordered the tribe to use
Fromage from Friday till Monday and
Kaas on the other 3 days, as the number of Wallonians here is slightly larger. It's a slow process, but it will be a Victory for us all and a testimonial to Man's intelligence!"
"Zo is't maar net," confirmed the Flemish elders. "Le jour de gloire est arrivé," boasted the Wallonian wise men.
It seemed I listened to myself from afar as I said: "But: what is the basis? I mean, the grammar, the way you build sentences, will it be Belgian-French based with Dutch-Flemish nouns and verbs mixed in, or the other way around? What is your foundation?"
I really didn't care a fart about the whole topic, as I saw how one cook sprinkled something like vinegar over Sandy's head. She and I both winced. "Blaaark!"
Observing the cooks preparing for their horrendous dinner, I only realised after a minute or so that the little group around me had become quite restless. The elders, chief included, talked urgently with one another and couldn't come to an agreement. "Français, naturallement," said some, while others said a bit louder: "Neen, Vlaams natuurlijk! Zijt ge van de zotte?!" ( The last bit meaning, 'are you crazy?') The voices got louder, the crowd started to move closer, until Enormous Ugh ordered them all into the big tent on the other side from the cooking area. In there the debate continued to heat up, drawing an ever growing mob in and around the entrance of the tent. Everywhere heated discussions erupted, inside and outside, until, after ten more minutes, I heard this hard slap! from inside, followed by: "Merde de Dieu, Français, non?!" Then all hell broke loose and everybody started hitting each other, yelling: "Vlaams, idioot!" and Wallonian equivalents.
Only two men stood apart from all this. One tried to make himself heard over the slapping noise: "Peace, brothers and sisters. Let us unite again in our wisdom!"
Whereupon the other man remarked: "Look at them, they don't have any."
"Yes, they do!" cried the first man.
"Oh no, they don't!"
"Why, you....!" slap! bang! and the last of the Mohicans were rolling on the ground, and not from laughing.
I observed all this with growing flabbergastritis. My intention had been to talk ourselves out of this, in a civilized manner. Now all hope was gone.

Then I heard Sandy on my left making angry sounds, the same noise she makes when she doesn't get her milk and a nightkiss, but more urgent this time. She was rolling her eyes, as if to say: "Untie me, you idjit, and let's scram!!"
Only then did I see Sandy being all by herself, vinegar dripping from her head, and my paralysis broke. I took away that damn leash, wiped and blew off all the herbs 'n stuff, "Aah...choo!" and we sneaked away. Still hearing the shouting half a mile out, we went into a steady trot back north and towards safety.
We were so indescribably relieved, that we didn't notice the hungry gnak-gnak until it was almost upon us. But Sandy can be real fast when she has to and started racing in earnest. After about 10 minutes we crossed the border and took the risk of stopping right there. Our intuition proved to be correct. The gnak-gnak halted right at the dividing line and just stood there, glaring at us: it only had a Biting License for Belgium!

All was well at this point, but, what do you know? Sandy just couldn't resist (sometimes girls can be so stupid, while there's just no need to imitate boys...

). She walked back and, right in front of the gnak-gnak, hád to do a raspberry, "Pfffrrrrt!!"
Normally a funny sight, as the time Sandy did that to a Dutch policeman trying to give her a speeding ticket, but I was dogtired and wanted to get home. And then....there's always a last surprise, nah? As Sandy turned back around, her tail swished over the border and that livid gnak-gnak took a farewell bite. Sandy gave a yelp! and got us back home in under 3 minutes. Or so it seemed.
The poor girl is snoring loudly as I write this. I think I'll let her sleep in tomorrow morning. Anyway, the thing is, dear, I need some time to recover from all this, as you can imagine. So it's fine if you and Bob go on that skiing trip. But be careful with all the Glühwein, will you...
A final word?
Here's this month's lesson: Belgian chocolates are fantastic, but it's best to order them....
