No brandy for you!

[Squid]

"The people around the world think how nice a story - monks, dogs, avalanches," he said. "But if you think, 'Monks and dogs, how nice,' it's not true. The monks don't like the dogs. They don't caress them. No, no."

[EWolfe]

Please cut and paste for non-subscribers.

[Squid]

ST. BERNARD PASS, Switzerland, Oct. 27 - The only dog right now at the 950-year-old hospice of St. Bernard is a very nice golden retriever named Justy.

 

The issue of those other dogs - the famously huge and heroic ones, who toted brandy barrels in legend, who lived here for centuries and sniffed scores of stranded travelers out of the snow - is not one that the Rev. Frédéric Gaillard is keen to talk about.

 

"Now there are helicopters," Father Gaillard, one of four remaining monks at the St. Bernard's hospice here, said with some irritation. "And we have a golden retriever, which is our dog for avalanches. This is not the 1800's. This is not the 1900's. Since then, helicopters and other fast ways to save people have been introduced."

 

After a few moments more of explanation, it was as if the frigid cloud shrouding this ancient alpine pass, elevation 8,114 feet, slipped inside. Father Gaillard declared the subject of the St. Bernards of St. Bernard closed.

 

"I am not talking anymore about the dogs," he said.

 

In fairness, it is hard to blame him. Last month, it became public that the monks here were looking for a buyer for the 18 St. Bernards that still belong to the hospice, news that struck the European press as if Switzerland itself were disowning chocolate or, oh, secret bank accounts. Dog lovers worried that the descendants of the dogs who gave the breed its name - and this nation a symbol - might be put down or not find proper homes.

 

Since then, Father Gaillard has been fielding up to 15 calls a day from reporters around the world and, judging by his mood this morning, getting crankier with every call. He barked on for a minute that the American election ought to worry people more than Swiss dogs, and, at any rate, he said, only the dogs' ownership will change.

 

According to the plan, the monks and dogs will go on as they have for decades, with the dogs still spending summers up here - still on view for thousands of tourists. They will still spend winters, as they have for decades, away from the bitter cold and snow that was such a killer for pilgrims to Rome, and soldiers and merchants passing over the Alps. (Which explains why, with the treacherous road here already officially closed for the winter, it was only Justy basking in the warm kitchen smells in the hospice).

 

"I don't think there will be any change for people to see," Father Gaillard said.

 

The winter home for the St. Bernards of St. Bernard is the quaint village of Martigny, down the mountain from the pass. On a recent morning, the aptly named Bernard Léger was playing with some of the 16 newly born St. Bernard puppies, fluffy and achingly cute, at a kennel that belongs to the monks. For the last five years, Mr. Léger, 41, has been the chief breeder, producing about 30 puppies a year, which are sold to people around the world willing to pay a premium, about $1,700, for a real St. Bernard.

 

He is clearly in love with the dogs, not least Tasso, remarkably mellow for his 150 pounds, who sat by his side. He is not so sure the monks share that love.

 

"The people around the world think how nice a story - monks, dogs, avalanches," he said. "But if you think, 'Monks and dogs, how nice,' it's not true. The monks don't like the dogs. They don't caress them. No, no."

 

Given Father Gaillard's mood, it did not seem wise to ask him directly about caresses. But he said the monks' decision to sell the dogs stemmed from the reality that it was increasingly difficult to take care of them, especially since the number of monks here is declining. The dogs each eat four to five pounds of food a day, and big, energetic dogs like that need to get out of their pens four times a day.

 

Whatever their joint history - the earliest mention of St. Bernard dogs at this hospice stretches back to 1695 - Father Gaillard said the St. Augustine monks here are still a functioning religious order, and that the dogs are distracting them from their work of ministering to actual people. The hospice, founded by St. Bernard himself in 1050, predates the dogs.

[TheOtter]

ST. OTTER PASS, Switzerland, Oct. 27 - The only otter right now at the 950-year-old hospice of St. Otter is a very nice river otter named steaksauce.

 

The issue of those other otters - the famously huge and heroic ones, who toted brandy barrels in legend, who lived here for centuries and sniffed scores of stranded travelers out of the snow - is not one that the Rev. Frédéric Gaillard is keen to talk about.

 

"Now there are helicopters," Father Gaillard, one of four remaining monks at the St. Otter's hospice here, said with some irritation. "And we have a river otter, which is our otter for avalanches. This is not the 1800's. This is not the 1900's. Since then, helicopters and other fast ways to save people have been introduced."

 

After a few moments more of explanation, it was as if the frigid cloud shrouding this ancient alpine pass, elevation 8,114 feet, slipped inside. Father Gaillard declared the subject of the St. Otters of St. Otter closed.

 

"I am not talking anymore about the otters," he said.

 

In fairness, it is hard to blame him. Last month, it became public that the monks here were looking for a buyer for the 18 St. Otters that still belong to the hospice, news that struck the European press as if Switzerland itself were disowning chocolate or, oh, secret bank accounts. Otter lovers worried that the descendants of the otters who gave the breed its name - and this nation a symbol - might be put down or not find proper homes.

 

Since then, Father Gaillard has been fielding up to 15 calls a day from reporters around the world and, judging by his mood this morning, getting crankier with every call. He barked on for a minute that the American election ought to worry people more than Swiss otters, and, at any rate, he said, only the otters' ownership will change.

 

According to the plan, the monks and otters will go on as they have for decades, with the otters still spending summers up here - still on view for thousands of tourists. They will still spend winters, as they have for decades, away from the bitter cold and snow that was such a killer for pilgrims to Rome, and soldiers and merchants passing over the Alps. (Which explains why, with the treacherous road here already officially closed for the winter, it was only steaksauce basking in the warm kitchen smells in the hospice).

 

"I don't think there will be any change for people to see," Father Gaillard said.

 

The winter home for the St. Otters of St. Otter is the quaint village of Martigny, down the mountain from the pass. On a recent morning, the aptly named Otter Léger was playing with some of the 16 newly born St. Otter pups, fluffy and achingly cute, at a kennel that belongs to the monks. For the last five years, Mr. Léger, 41, has been the chief breeder, producing about 30 pups a year, which are sold to people around the world willing to pay a premium, about $1,700, for a real St. Otter.

 

He is clearly in love with the otters, not least Tasso, remarkably mellow for his 150 pounds, who sat by his side. He is not so sure the monks share that love.

 

"The people around the world think how nice a story - monks, otters, avalanches," he said. "But if you think, 'Monks and otters, how nice,' it's not true. The monks don't like the otters. They don't caress them. No, no."

 

Given Father Gaillard's mood, it did not seem wise to ask him directly about caresses. But he said the monks' decision to sell the otters stemmed from the reality that it was increasingly difficult to take care of them, especially since the number of monks here is declining. The otters each eat four to five pounds of food a day, and big, energetic otters like that need to get out of their pens four times a day.

 

Whatever their joint history - the earliest mention of St. Otters at this hospice stretches back to 1695 - Father Gaillard said the St. Augustine monks here are still a functioning religious order, and that the otters are distracting them from their work of ministering to actual people. The hospice, founded by St. Otter himself in 1050, predates the otters