Understanding & Anticipation...

I know ALL your tactics, Moses... even some you haven't invented yet. I am ready for ya'!

Gads.

A rough night...

Addictions can be sooooo wearing on those near & dear to The Addict...

The Dog kept waking me up last night doing his I Want Bread! Dance. It's an interpretive number, expressing The Desperate Desire... or Hardened Need... on the part of The Dog... for the tasty crunch of a piece of whole wheat bread. The choreography entails considerable licking, jumping up & down and Weimaraner nose pointing in conjunction with running back & forth towards the Kitchen. He did so three times... at 2:10, 3:36 & 5:10. And, every time... at 2:11, 3:37 & 5:19. The last time I got up to pee before imposing Discipline... I had to dispatch The Dog al suo posto... conveniently located next to my bed... dammit! Naturally, The Dog is very put-out with me this morning. He gives me a low Weimaraner HAR-RUMPH when I speak to him. I think what would be in order is a brisk w-a-l-k in our below-Freezing temps, thanks to a recurring Siberian wind we are so lucky to have. Maybe the icy air will clear The Dog's nostrils of a scent for b-r-e-a-d. Gads.

I Just Hugged My Dog and...

I just hugged The Dog...

and he smelled exactly like Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup!!!... right off the stove too. I loved Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup. A fond memory of My Childhood back when I went home for lunch.

A while back, The Dog used to smell like My Mother's tuna-fish salad sandwiches!!!... made with sweet relish, onion, celery & world's of mayonnaise and served on RAINBOW white bread... Thank You very much... with potato chips & a glass of milk. Too bad The Dog doesn't smell like the complete shebang.

And before that, The Dog's scent was a knock-on for FRITO'S Corn Chips!!!

Remarkable, isn't it? All my favorite food groups!!! Must have something to do with The Dog growing older, do you suppose?
However, The Dog still has the worse breath ever. It smells like... Gads.

The Vets...

Today, I took The Dog for his rabies shot. The Dog HATES shots. He REALLY HATES The Vet. I would too, if someone talked to me like I was a woodland creature suddenly propelled out of my forest home and on to a kind of afternoon kiddies program featuring a guy in a lab coat wearing a pair of Crocs waving a hypo-dermic needle in his hand.
Because of this non-sympathetic relationship betwixt Dog & Vet, I have to dupe The Dog with... Hey, Moses! Let's go for a ride in the car! Waddyasay? The Dog, hearing the key words... ride in the car... immediately foresakes the woolen warmth of his upstairs bed to trot-down with me to the garage for that ride in the car! Waddyasay? 
The ruse doesn't last long. No sooner have I steered the car towards an uphill street driving past the Carabinieri station than The Dog starts to whimper & whine. He's on to me. It gets worse at the right turn into the parking lot... crowded with about 100 too many motor-scooters. It becomes simply unbearable when I park the car!!!... in a space designed for a motor-scooter. The ones for cars are filled with those 100 extra scooters. That's Italy.
I try to be cheerful & positive. The Dog, instead, wants to flee which, he does as soon as the back hatch of the car is opened. He refuses to answer to his name, nor does he even bother to look back. He just goes as fast and as furiously as his arthritic Weimaraner legs can take him... far away from where he is... in an over-crowded parking lot in the suburbs of Genoa.
Once caught & reprimanded... in English. I'd do it in German, The Dog's natural tongue but, all I know is Ich bin ein Berliner... we enter the Waiting Room for Our Vet to appear. In the meantime, The Dog kick-starts again that awful whimper & whining & fleeing. Have you ever heard Weimaraner nails try to gain traction on a marble flooring? You don't. Thank God, the door is tightly shut.
Our Vet appears!!! Fond greetings are extended & received all around & off we go to the Examining Room. Well, the Dott. & I head towards it, The Dog scratches with all fours for the Utility Room... in the opposite direction. I think The Dog expresses little discretion for his choices to flee to.
Anyway, once caught & dragged... in Italian... to the Examining Room, securing the door behind me, the escapade of getting The Dog up on the Examining Table for his shot begins. It's not a very interesting story. The Dog tries to get down and The Vet & I try to stop him. Have you ever held a Weimaraner intent on being anywhere but on a table at the Vet's? Even the bone chilling temperatures & snow of Iowa would be good to The Dog at this point. So, I have to employ Dupe Numero 2... Behave, Dog, and I'll give you an extra ration of bread. Give him the shot Doc!!!
Shot done. The visit paid for. We're back at home in 20 minutes. And, You-know-who goes to the Kitchen to await his Mighty Reward... in the Weimaraner seated position. Gads.  

Bread Crumbs left by You-know-who...

Tell-tale crumbs... you know, it would be ever so helpful, if Weimaraners... and a certain one in particular... were self-vacuuming. I mean, if The Dog is going to obsess about a particular food item... making My Life miserable harping me about it at every turn... and insisting upon slobbering-ly consuming said item on The Short-person's Mother's fancy French rug... once a piece has been generously conferred... then, the least he could do is clean up after himself. Don't you think this is a Reasonable Request? Gads.

Every Now & Then...

I have to refresh The Dog's Weimaraner Memory by telling him that I think he is...

A Superior Animal, in every way, on many levels, so forth & so on... but, to please, Cease & Desist with this silly obsession of his for b-r-e-a-d. I HATE to be stared at and by My Own Weimaraner. Espeically, when I am eating a cheese & ham sandwich at my desk. I have My Territories, he has his. They should remain separate. Gads.

Yep...

Incredible... this accumulation of taupe dog-hair, bad dog-breath & yawning morning boredom is an intuitive genius. Well, that may be exaggerating a bit but... I just want to tell you how strong Our Man/Dog Symbiosis is...

The Short-person & I had 8 for dinner the other Saturday night. I embarrassingly had to shoot out of the house... mind you, without The Dog!!! How could I take an animal that has to sniff & pee every three feet? I was in a beeg hurry too!!!... to run across the street to the Bangladeshi convenience store for some milk. I had forgotten to buy it at the super-beeg new BASKO grocery store. It's right after the scuzzy park at the subway stop down the street from us. Whew! And, the coffee was being served back at home.
The Dog was slumbering on Bed Number 2... the Upstairs One... whilst I dashed out the front door. The Dog noted my departure by raising his head to see in which direction I had fled. Too stressed by the commotion of our dinner party, he resumed his Nap Number 58-C. However, by the time I had come back from my quick outing, there was Mr. Moses.... tail wagging at 150 beats a minute... in our Entry Hall. He was waiting for me!!! Our guests told me afterwards... when I managed to sit down & join the dinner party... that The Dog suddenly got off his bed & came downstairs & headed to the front door. A couple of minutes later, in I waltzed. Yep. The Dog intuited My Arrival. Is that not...? Is not...? Is that not damn special? Gads.

A Sunny Morning with The Dog...

Finally, it's a sunny morning in Genoa, Italy. Seems right to head on out and go for a w-a-l-k with The D-o-g.

Man & his D-o-g, symbiotically united by a green nylon l-e-a-s-h.

Another scuzzy park at a subway stop. The D-o-g adores this place. It's imbued with delicious odors/flavors/others. Mostly, dumped take-a-way from the Chinese restaurant at the corner. The D-o-g loves to try to lap-up rice with veggies. Obviously, when there isn't any bread bits lying around. Gads.

A W-A-L-K with The Dog...

Here are some live-action shots of The Dog on a typical w-a-l-k. I have abbreviated the various & interesting steps along our way to the scuzzy park at the subway stop...

Peeing...

Sniffing...

Peeing again...

Sniffing some more...

Done. Which way for bread? Gads.

Bezerked-out on bread...

The Short-person says The Dog has a bad character. He also says I have one too. What does he know? However, The Short-person may know a thing or two more than either of us Man & Dog participants in a quest for domination about the distribution of bread supplies in Our Happy Home.

This attached photo is none other than a portrait of a ill-behaved, spoiled, latently recalcitrant canine. We could add the word "delinquent" to the list too, if you wish.

What are My Reasons for such comments? Well...

ONLY because I did not give The Dog a Bread Treat at precisely 10:37 AM... the exact hour & minutes he decided it was time for one... he summarily went upstairs, got on my bed, tore off the bedcovers... and made want with My Bed!!! I would show a photo of The Dog's sheet-bath but, it is too horrible to show. Trust me. He used my bed very ill.

Normally, when The Dog wants something... and these days, he wants ONLY one thing... The Dog comes down & parks himself on his Weimaraner Hind-legs & stares at me with his factory-installed Weimaraner laser-eyes until I get off My Scottish Butt.

If, after ten minutes or so of waiting, I have not preformed the required task, The Dog changes tactics. He comes over & puts his head on my lap, occasionally licking the right thigh of my DIESEL jeans. Nope. No Dog Slobber. It's more like The Dog is brushing his long tongue on the cotton of my jeans. Must be the twill, don't you think?

However, if the desired task is still not forthcoming after five to eleven minutes, The Dog puts his Weimaraner Butt into reverse, steadies himself on all fours & lets out several salvos of... BAR-RUFF!!!
And finally, if satisfaction continues to evade him, then and ONLY then, will The Dog resort to some form of Weimaraner violence, i.e. messing with our Oriental rugs or, dithering with bed-sheets. Apparently, The Dog has shot-over to a shortened form of negotiation AND over bread!!! It must be a new phase of his addiction, do you suppose? Gads.

Meanwhile...

...leaving the Battle for Bread back on Our Home Turf, here we find The Dog watching the local Comings & Goings at the scuzzy little park at the subway stop down the road from our apartment. I am BEEG FREEZING, blown numbed by the prevailing Siberian winds. There is a street market happening around him. Lots of interesting activity. AND THEN, how savory are those frosty aires about!!!

The Dog looks this way...

and he looks that way...

over there too...

until he happens to remember there's bread back at home.

Naturally, I am responsible for The Dog's Separation Anxieties. Handsome chap, no? Gads.

Toast...

Right up there with driving The Dog to the Dog Park... Our Fellow Patrons refer to the Dog as The Duke. I am just the ill-paid & often berated chauffeur... and feeding him two nutritious meals a day which, The Dog watches with rapt attention at each preparation, crowding an already crowded kitchen... we must add yet one more embarrassing item... I serve The Dog toast in the morning!!!

Well, what did you expect? The Dog can't just get his Weimaraner chops around a soggy piece of bread... Heaven Forbid! No. He needs the CRUNCH!!! Otherwise, where's the fun?

However, let it be known that The Dog's toast DOES NOT RECEIVE a thick layer of cream cheese & marmalade for a topping like I get. No. The Dog's toast viene al naturale. That ought to be suitable for an 8 year old & slightly over-weight Weimaraner, don't you think? What? He might break out in pimples and then, where would we be? At the Vet's!!! Gads.

More of The Maniac...

This could be The Dog when he comes to burp in my face after he has eaten his twice daily "nourishments" of all-meat canned dog-food mixed with the icky dry stuff.

Or... it could be when he is fed up from napping on either of his two luxurious wool-batting beds... one up & one down... and is decided to immediately drag me outdoors to sniff the Siberian airs pummeling our Italian nation at the moment.

But then... the odds on likelihood is, The Dog just wants another piece of bread. Like there is an unspoken quota on The Dog's part for b-r-e-a-d, which does not correspond to any idea of The Short-person's. Here is our brief scene...

The Short-person... STOP bothering me, Moses!!!

Me... He wants a T-r-e-a-t.

The Short-person... YOU HAVE SPOILED THAT ANIMAL!!!

Me... I beg your pardon? Animal? Moses is A Dog. And, much like you, who comes home & wants his dinner post-haste, The Dog has his dietary needs too which, much like his Supreme Master, follow a strict carbo in-take.

The Short-person... Well, Thank God, you don't lick me for a plate of pasta!!!

Me... Well, I would but, I'd have to stop drinking this excellent Tigullio red wine you brought me.

Gads.

You have exhausted My Patience, Dog...

It has all just gotten to be WAY TOO MUCH!!!

How many pieces of bread does a Weimaraner need in the course of his Weimaraner Day? One filled with snoring splayed on his plush mattress, periodic exits for peeing & pooping AND being thoroughly obnoxious to me, His Supreme Master.... and Giver of Divine Sustenance, i.e. The Dog's Treats & Stuff.

The Dog & I are currently suffering a Divergence of Opinion...

I believe that a Treat... such as a piece of bread... is a Reward for Superior Dog Behaviours, i.e. peeing & pooping without wearing me out waiting for either one to happen in near freeezing temperatures... not forgetting the rain, sleet & wind whipping about as I stand in a down-trodden municipal park near a bus stop... leaving me in Peace to do My Other Chores around the house... like, The Dog is not the only of God's Creature I must attend to. There is, after all, The Short-person... He has needs too, Dog!!!... who also resides under the same roof as The Dog... and, generally being decorative on his off-hours by staying on one or the other of his beds.

Whereas...

The Dog is under the impression that he damn well deserves whatever he wants, when he wants AND how he wants it and, if it is a piece of bread, then, damn the torpedoes, that piece of bread should come forthwith!!!

Pretty damn bossy of The Dog, don't you think? Who created this monster? Ooops...

I had to be very stern with said Animal. The Dog hated the message. Who cares? I was merely trying to deflect blame. It is My Right as Supreme Master. Peerless & Blameless. I was forced to invoke a sort of Parliamentary Immunity, much to the absolute displeasure of The Dog, to then communicate that... THERE WILL BE NO MORE BREAD... until further notice, Dog.

How about a piece of cheese, Moses? Gads.

Maniac...

The Dog ONLY wants one thing. It's a carbo. And, it begins with "B" and ends in "d".

This is what I have to put up with 24/7. Who is the Supreme Master here, uh? Gads.

The Dog loves me...

...and I love him too.

The difference is...
I want to be adored.
Whereas...
The Dog just wants a Treat.
We are locked into a visciously satisfying Man-Dog Thing. Gads.