The Dog's Favorite Spot...

More live-action photographic documentation...

The Dog has... at his Total & Complete Disposition... all The Nature a Canine could ever want. Where does he go? Here!!! 

The local Dump near our country place. Please note, the Medieval bridge in the back-ground. Disgraceful decision of the village to have the dump put in clear view of History!!! The town gets its name from that bridge. Soon, it will be change to Dumpville... or, the equivalent in Italian.

And, it takes no time for The Dog to hit it too, nose down to the junk/refuse/other spread before him, nasally scarfing-up any & all savory odors about.

He's workin' it. Get out of there, Dog!!!

He got out. I HATE this look of The Dog's. It says... What was I doing WRONG? Don't get your undies in a twirl. OK? I have important things to do. See? I may just sell all & move him AND me to India. There... say, Mumbai... there should be enough scuzzy-stuff to satisfy The Dog to saturation... and more. Gads.

An Important Message for The Dog...

I lost visual contact with The Dog on our morning w-a-l-k today. I found him licking a highly suspect pile of s**t of an unidentified provenance behind a rock wall. Though he happily answered The Command to return to the fold... i.e. by My Exalted Side for the rest of our w-a-l-k... I did have to inform the Recalcitrant Animal that licking said stuff DOES NOT HELP an already vociferously bad breath. I don't think it soaked in. Gads.

Still Schleeping...

The Dog gets up, stretches, turns around & comes back to the same
position. A Dog's Life. Gads.

Moses Schleeping...

Not to be disturbed. The Short-person, however, is not consoled that I put The Dog's mattress on the sofa rather than have him jump up to sleep au natural, ruining the fake-leather upholstery with his Weimaraner hairs. Gads.

Regal Canine...

Morning w-a-l-k...

Bread Breakfast...

The Preferred Activity of a very Spoiled Weimaraner... chomping down a piece of bread... after a morning w-a-l-k.

And, he knows that the bread is because The Dog is a Superior Animal. Gads.

Evening Maneuvers...

Ahhh, yes... The Dog's Evening Volutions before the Anointed Hour of Bread Time. It's sounds effects are akin to... SLURP! SLURPH!! SLURPHS!!! Very messy. He's cleaning himself. I suppose this is like when you mother told you to wash your hands before coming to the dinner table. In The Dog's case, however, he cleans what is his Second Most Important Membrane after his mouth... his pee-pee. Hard to lick one's mouth when it's salivating over thoughts of an imminent piece of b-r-e-a-d!!! He could care less about the state of his paws. No sense in arriving untidy either. The Dog is a very respectful canine.

Ohhh... them ol' bones are giving The Dog some trouble. Arthritis in his right elbow. The Short-person says it's because The Dog is 10 kilos overweight. He is on his way to positioning himself to receive his Mighty Reward.

Mr. Sleepy Head is checking that it's really me before assuming The Weimaraner Stance. 

OK.... TOTALLY ALERT and AWAITING HIS RIGHTFUL DUE... damn-it. It's Bread Time for The Moses-Dog. Please note.... The Dog is smack dab on the way to the Kitchen down that hallway. He ain't goin' ta miss a piece of bread!!! 

Gads.

9 Years of Dog/Man Bonding???

No further comment on Our Anniversary after an evening of the Eventful Day spent fending off This Dog from his insistent forays for pieces of bread stolen off the table of our Friend & Hostess, Maartje. She's Dutch. It might explain the double "a" in her name. Apparently, the Dutch like to load-up with their vowels. We Americans, instead, smash two unrelated vowels together, creating mush. So be it. Maartje is very liberal with her bread distribution. I would be too, if I could count on some Peace after succumbing to the constant demands of an ill-behaved & very pushy Weimaraner. To sum up... The Dog was... in the words of The Short-person... INSUPPORTABILE!!!... the entire evening. And, I was in Total Agreement with said person. 

Today, The Dog then felt compelled to still act as a... Bad Dog, very Bad Dog, Cattivo, Super Beeg Cattivo Dog... such as, barking to gain entrance into our neighbor's house for a biscuit or two. This after he had hounded me... literally... for bread at our house. Well, that's probably OK. The neighbor barks too. 

However, now that we are back in Genoa where... in simple terms... DISCIPLINE REIGNS!!! Gads.

Beeg Anniversary!!!

The Dog would like to give you all A Great Beeg Kiss!!! 

Tomorrow, the 15th of January, 2011 is a Beeg Anniversary. Yep. 9 years ago, The Dog was saved from an ignoble Life in Tuscany... in a chicken-wire enclosed pen filled with his bitchy sister Weimaraners... all of them destined to be shipped-out to the Rich & Famous in Roma, Brazil & the USA... situated outside a stone hut in the freezing cold Tuscan air... no wonder those cipresi are so damn tall...  & menaced by various ill-behaved farm animals... the ducks should be exterminated!!! One waddled into The Short-person's AUDI... admittedly a bit beat up... & shat its Ducky Disapproval for Our Esteemed Presence in his farm yard... to be transported to a much better, fun-filled, sofa offered for sleeping & bread nourished Life in Genoa with The Short-person... The Dog's Supreme Commander, who barks such nice orders like... Vai al tuo posto, Moses!!!... and his Supreme Master, moi... naturally, I am a grade above that other person, and well so, since, I am The One The Dog awakens at 3:13 in the morning because, he just has to go outside now!!! Gads.

Oh! Love, Moses

Tracks...

Paw prints from My Adored Weimaraner. Something for Posterity, do you suppose? No telling where or what he has stepped in the pursuit of fresh & unexpected odors in the scuzzy park at the subway stop. But, he has left his imprint. Gads. 

He sniffed me...

Here's the action during today's visit to one of two very scuzzy parks in our neighborhood. I was bored & needed comforting from my Faithful Canine Companion...

Come here!

Sweet animal that you are...

Yes, I had tuna-fish with my salad at lunch this afternoon... thank you.

Nothing beats a Weimaraner nose not 6 centimeters away from one's mouth for close inspection. Apparently, it is in My Weimaraner Labor Contract to share all my vital smells with The Dog from wherever they might emanate. Gads.

Not a pretty picture...

No Dog hath more contempt than A Dog spurned! And mine is a bit diabolic-looking with his scorn. He's got it down pat. Apparently, The Dog did not enjoy my non-compliance to his order... post-haste... for a treat of bread. Tough panino, pooch!  

Naturally, The Short-person had to add his unsolicited comment... why he couldn't stay engrossed in his variety program on Italian TV is another irritation... by seconding the motion of denying any request... EVER... for bread. How many times a day must I hear... You're spoiling that dog into obesity! He could, however, foreswear to add... Like Dog, like Master. Gads.

A Christian sort of Canine Charity...

Forgiveness was gently consigned by The Dog yesterday & right before the rains came for the nth time. All it took was one special & particular Weimaraner look to know that we could live together in Peace. And well an amnesty should have been given! I am the one who feeds, walks & hugs said animal. I just don't need to smell shit while attending to my various Dog Tasks... thank you so very much. Gads.

the aftermath of his roll...

The Dog knew he had done wrong. His immediate objective, however, was to avoid... at all costs... what he knew was coming... a thorough cleaning of his Weimaraner pelt despoiled by his Adventure in Shit. The Short-person & I are still wondering what kind of animal produces merda the color of Dijon mustard. Any guesses from you all? Anyway... once home yet, before I could grab to sponge him off his merdosa disgrazia... or, his shitty disgrace... The Dog scampered inside the house and plopped himself down on a relatively expensive Oriental rug... a gift of my Mother's. She might suspend any further gifts of said item, if she were to hear of the rug's Fate. Thus, the rug needed to be cleaned. However, quick of paw, The Dog scampered upstairs to his revered Il Suo Posto... or, his bed... in the Salotto to avoid being vigorously rubbed-down with apple vinegar. Thus, the bed needed to be cleaned too. WE ARE NOT THROUGH WITH THIS!!! The recalcitrant canine disappeared again. I followed the stench to find The Dog cowering on his other Il Suo Posto next to my bed. Thus, and for the third time, it too needed to be cleaned and even before The Dog has been touched by the cleansing qualities... mostly, it takes away his shit stink... of apples in vinegar. Gads.

A w-a-l-k in the country...

Well, well, well... what a deal...
Finally, a beautifully sunny day in the country. And, what a better way to take advantage of the gift of sunshine... with no threat of clouds... by going for a w-a-l-k in the woods? The Dog can get some much needed exercise in the fresh country air. Right...

Ahhh... what's this? I think The Dog has detected a very interesting scent wafting in from some nearby sector... perhaps, behind those brambles down that lane over there...

Now, where did The Dog get off to? He has vanished into thin air and really bad air too!!! What is this stench? Isn't the bio-sewer-works somewhere around here... the one the last Commie mayor got passed AND built? Oh! You say it is way behind us. Well then, some-one must have put a ton of fertilizer before the rains hit.

Oh! Here he is!!! What joy... what felicity... what an icky odor!!! What's in the air?

No!!! It's NOT in the air. IT'S ON MY ADORED CANINE!!! Come here Dog for an Inspection!!!

I do believe he has rolled in goat shit!!! Sniff... sniff... sniff. Yep. It's goat shit. Unmistakably so. Gads.

OK... so?

OK... here is Our Scene...

A first w-a-l-k in the New Year with The Dog!!! In attendance were also The Short-person & another short-person. Suddenly, I was overcome by a strong feeling to communicate with said animal... to remark on the fact that we had just embarked upon our Tenth Year of being a Team. So, I called him over. He seemed not particularly inclined to pause with sniffing the wild & rangy odors on our country w-a-l-k. So, I had to lower my voice by several octaves to gain... A) his attention... and B) insist upon his coming closer to hear what I had to say.  

The Dog kept looking off in another direction. So, frustrated by a desire to connect with My Canine yet, forestalled by His Indifference, I resorted to threatening a Total Bread Ban after our w-a-l-k. And, do you see The Look on The Dog's Weimaraner Canine Countenance? It says... Oh... if you must but, let's get it over-with ASAP! I smell goat in these woods!!! Gads. 

What do you want from me?

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