Monday, October 26, 2009

Fun games...

When The Dog & I are in Genoa, most evenings, we go downstairs to the garage and I throw The Dog's Special Ball around. It's yellow and it has these spiky things on it. They are akin to a LARGE gum massager. Frankly, I would think those spiky things might hurt The Dog's tongue... and his gums too. However, he does not seem to mind. The Special Ball is covered in his own brand of Weimaraner drool. So, The Dog is very fond of it.

The Objective of this exercise... My Objective of this exercise, I should say... is...
A) The Dog can get some badly needed aerobics in before he turns into a Michelin Dog. You know, The Dog insists on two meals a day + treats. I do try to reduce the quantity of these meals... since he hates to w-a-l-k lately... but, if "The Dog don't see what he expects" in quantity AND in bulk, then, he comes to wherever I am in the house and HE BARKS AT ME until I remedy the situation.... forthwith...
B) We can have additional Special & Private Moments for bonding beyond the nearly attached-at-the-hip variety we already enjoy. I have never considered myself to be all that much fun to be with, but, since The Dog arrived on My Doorstep... with much thanks to The Short-person's generosity for My 50th Birthday... I have come to think of myself as pretty darn fun... and mightily generous too, what with  interrupting The Cocktail Hour to throw a darn ball in a subterranean garage!!!
and...
C) I can grab a bottle of white wine out of The Short-person's garage. Why they are housed there is a mystery. The Dog thinks that the purpose of The Short-person's open garage-door... besides sniffing that the beat-up ol' AUDI is OK... is so he can prance about & show the four walls that he is Master of his Special Ball...
Oh... what a Good Dog you are, Moses! So Brave! So Talented!! So fierce too!!! 
I do not have the heart to tell him that the walls could care less. Anyway...
The garage in the basement of our palazzo is ideal for these sorts of shenanigans. It is as long as a bowling alley which, as a matter of History, it once was. All one has to say to Folk in these parts is...
Oh... we live in the building of the ex-Bowling of Genoa...
and they nod their Italian heads in understanding. The 100 meter long garage gives ample room for The Dog to skid while scrambling for his Special Ball without colliding with much but a stray motorino. Look out, Moses!!! Good that there are hardly any vehicles running about. Not so good about the noise his overly long Weimaraner nails make scratching the slick concrete of the flooring. This doesn't happen much, however. No. The Dog feels that after he has retrieved his Special Ball once or twice, and pranced about some, it's time to go back upstairs to bed... i.e. please note the attached photo. However...
I have a bottle of an excellent Gavi white wine in hand so, I am more than copacetic to ascend. Gads.

A night-time stalker...

I just want Everyone to know the look The Dog gives me just seconds after getting up & off my Swiss comforter in its Italian ga-zillion count cotton duvet cover. A guilty look, if I ever saw one.

He is not brazen enough to steal my cover in broad daylight. No. He does it while I am snoring away in la-la Land in the middle of the night. Gads.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

The Dog ought to be glad...

What Dog has an owner, who will whistle him the entire score of The Magic Flute, while said canine enjoys the spaciousness of the entire way-back of The Short-person's beat-up ol' AUDI at 90 mph?

He knows NOT just how lucky A Dog he is. Gads.

A Question of Languages...

Often, strolling along an Italian thorough-fare with My Adored Canine in tow, I am frequently stopped by admiring Italian folk... of said Dog and not of My Ample Girth, as The Short-person claims... and am asked The Question...
What language do you speak with your stunning...? Stunning...? What color IS your stunning dog?

He's taupe, thank you.
Naturally, I take their confusion in stride, knowing full well that Italian DOES NOT HAVE AN ADEQUATE WORD FOR TAUPE!!!... and attempt to return them to The First Part of Their Question. Naturally, I can readily accept The Original Question because, I AM, in fact, an English-speaking person dragging a stunning Taupe Weimaraner Dog along a traffic congested Genoese street.
My Answer is very simple. Our Standard Procedure is...
Any & All Commands/Summons/Other are spoken in Italian, such things as...
Seduto... Park it, Dog!
STOP... Yes, STOP is an Italian word too...
Vieni qua... Come here, canine!
Piano... Go slowly or you'll be hit by that taxi speeding over the double-white lines!
Andiamo... Let's go. It's time for lunch!
Subito... Now, or you are Dead Meat, Dog!
FAI POOH-POOH!!!... Do The Hard-stuff... NOW!!!
Whereas, Any & All Discussions of Political, Social or Historical Import, are entirely conducted in English, such as...
Your realize, of course, My Dear Dog, that the advent of a neo-Fascist party in the United Kingdom is due to the deplorable management of the economy and the ill-conceived social initiatives by New Labour for the marginalized of English Society.
Naturally, The Dog could care less for these kinds of arguments. He's ONLY interested in his dinner. Gads.


Thursday, October 22, 2009

The view from the top...

A muddy labyrinth...

Yes, very disgusting. And, good that you cannot see "way down deep in dere". The Dog's Weimaraner labyrinth for an ear quickly converts any ol' dust into a bio-rich sludge rivaling that of the Nile, the Ganges, the Tiber... or, those euwcky canals in Bangkok.
The tell-tale sign of an over-abundance of ear-gook is The Dog's incessant flapping or scratching of one or, both. Normally, this occurs while I am administering intense goolie-goolies on The Bumpy-headed Short-person. And, paar for the evening, who is also asleep in front of the TV tube. Nonetheless, I know then, Duty & a Q-tip calls.

A Perfect World would be for The Dog to clean his own ears. No such luck. I am The Anoitted One to chase him around the house with a pack of Q-tips in hand. Certainly, The Short-person... who is a doctor too!!!... would ever deem to do so. No. In these sorts of cases, The Dog is mine. So be it.
The Dog seems to know... instinctively... that A Deep Cleaning is in his immediate future. And, even before I have gone to the upstairs bathroom for the tips. He dashes for either of one i suoi posti... a mattress-like safe haven and made so by official contract too... hoping to avoid the encounter. This tactic is useless. It leaves me no other choice, but to grab him by his green nylon collar and I yank him off his bed and over to a bright light for A Mud Confirmation. Blessedly, this actions keeps me within the contractual confines... i.e. of never administering medicines or Q-tips while The Dog is on either of i suoi posti.  Naturally, The Dog attempts to forestall the impeding procedure by digging into the Oriental carpet... a very expensive one and a gift from The Short-person's mother... with his hugely long Weimarner nails. If the rug could talk, it would yell "OUCH!!!" They're sharp talons.
What I am given to see makes me want to swoon or... and, this 2nd one is a decidedly less pleasant option... of throwing up. No need to describe the scene "way down dere!" However, 10 to 12 Q-tips later, I stand up and say to The Dog... "It's all better, Moses!" Then, I have to go right to the Kitchen for a treat. If not, The Dog barks his absolute displeasure. So, I hurry, 'cause his ears are clean. Gads.


Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Back with The Dog...

Yes, Dear Readers, I am back & united once again with The Dog after a wonderful trip to the US with The Short-person in tow. It was our best excursion ever. Here are a few photographic highlights...
 
Sunrise on Fernandina Beach...

The Main drag on Cumberland Island...

A stately mansion on a square in Savannah.
Actually, The Short-person & I have been back for some time now. I have had to spend the aftermath of My Absence by re-establishing discipline with My Adored Canine about the following unwarranted behaviors...
1. Dragging me by his leash where I DO FEAR TO TRED...
2. Suffering The Dog's irritation WITH A BARRAGE OF WEIMARANER BAR-RUFFS when I refuse to share with him what I am nibbling on while sitting at my desk...
which, reminds me of A Very Important Point...
I don't go after The Dog with Q-tips or medicines or his grooming mitten on His Hollowed Ground... i.e. either of his two beds in our open-space-loft domicile... so, why should The Dog afflict me at Mine? This is ONLY Fair Play. I would hope that The Dog would Cease & Desist but, it seems he will not.
3. Asking The Dog to choose a more Civil Hour of The Day... please... AND NOT AT 3:45 AM IN THE MORNING... to lick his hind-parts incessantly. Deep Cleaning is better done at, say, 11 AM, when I am gainfully employed elsewhere, like at the gym. There I cannot hear The Dog's basso slurping noises.
and...
4. Accept that there will be times when taking The Short-person's beat-up ol' AUDI IS NOT POSSIBLE and that, as A Gentle-dog, he would be kind enough to curl himself up into a micro-ball of Weimaraner on the FIAT sport-car's minimal right-hand seat, keeping track that his LARGE Weimar-ears stay of the stick-shift... thank you very much.
I have had my work cut out for me. Gads.