His Special Bone...

Every Now & Then, The Dog feels it is time to show me what kind of Weimaraner stuff he is really made of. 

So, seeing me hard at work on blogs & things, The Dog trots-off upstairs and pulls out of his dog-toy box his Special Bone. He then returns, plops on his downstairs bed and proceeds to work on his bone, while I sit typing at my desk beside him. 

It is The Special Communion between Man AND Dog. 

Unfortunately for The Dog, that bone then must come with us wherevere we are, wherever we go... whatever we are doing...

in the car... 

on our w-a-l-k-s... 

to the bar for a cappuccino... 

or, on the rug in front of the TV upstairs. 

Yes. To another person in Our Household, Weimaraner teeth cutting haphazardly into bone is not the most pleasant of accompaniments. This is especially true when The Short-person is watching a Lucchino Visconti film on mad ol' Ludwig. Then, the Special Bone is summarily separated from the Dog by said Viewer of the film. Have you ever heard a Weimaraner pester someone with incessant whinning? Pathetic. And, annoying too. So, Dog, Bone and myself go back downstairs to work and The Short-person is left to his Italo-germanic feel good film starring Helmut Berger. Gads. 

An Official Emergency Sack...

This is An Official Emergency Sack. It is for The Dog's bio-waste... or, solid donation... pooh-pooh... ca-ca... and so on and so forth. By Italian Law... and this is of vital importance... I am obligated to have at least 3 of these things on me... at all times... when out with The Dog. The Question is... how am I to maintain the constant quantity of 3, if The Dog uses 2 on our w-a-l-k-s? And, because of how things do or do not work here in Italy, you live in constant Terror of being confronted by a Vigile or by a Vigilessa... basically... a low-grade AND annoying sort of meter reader in a blue uniform. However, they are also entrusted with additional duties of making your civil life in the city UN INFERNO by fining you for every infraction of the city's Rules & Regulations they see committed. One of these would be how you manage your dog's bio-waste. But, enough about them... 

In the meantime... I am sure you all are anxious to learn of the key details of just what makes An Official Emergency Sack. Now, don't deny it! So, here we go...

1. It needs to be plastic... yes, waste creates more waste when the real waste makes fertilizer for the city's under-nourished flora...

2. It needs to be LARGE enough to do The Job but, SMALL enough to avoid creating unsightly bulges in your back pants pockets...

3. Handles are important... for that final bow before tossing the O.E.S. into the nearest bin...

4. Recycled sacks are the best... it's such a great advertisement for the local supermarkets & pharmacies... 

5. NO HOLES at the bottom. Need I say more?

Now, if you will excuse me, The Dog wants to go out. Gads.

The Dog Park in August...

Oh! By the way... here is the Creature Count during our visit to the Aquasola Park where there is fenced-in strip of gravel dedicated to dogs and cleverly referred to by the locals at the Dog Park...

The Dog... on his lonely peregrinations...
2 mothers...

and their 5 children.
That was it! A city, even a big one like Genoa, can be pretty darn vacant in August at Noon.

And, you have certainly noticed how superbly maintained the park's "grounds" are? Gads.

Median strips...

Yes. Here is The Dog blatantly disgracing himself by burying his large Weimaraner snout into the uncharted territory of the greenery in the median strip in front of the "Juvenile Delinquent" Court here in Genoa. He picked his spot well, didn't he? 

We were supposed to be on our way to a special out-of-hours visit to the city's Dog Park. Scuzzy place, as per a previous blog. I thought it would be a change for the Dog to leave the confines of an air-conditioning loft and instead, re-acquaint himself with the wild urban outdoors. The Dog took the liberty to partake of all along our way. I finally had to yank him away from any further fall before the court. Also, I had only put in a single Euro coin in the parking meter. We had to hurry! The ticket gave us 30 minutes. Gads. 

Stuff for a dog to slobber over...

Well, yes... the first time I opened a can of this brand of dog-food, The Dog, hearing the POP!!! of the can's metal tab and the aromatic WHOOSH!!! of meaty things to eat, bounded down from his upstair bed and into the Kitchen in Record Time. There he was parked just inside the Kitchen's doorway, anticipating Heaven in his dog bowl.

Yes, well... this Heaven, which comes to The Dog in two daily doses and purported to be from lands down-under is... from what I can tell of the micro-printing on the can's label... a hometown product from right here in Genoa, Italy, Europe. The Dog never knew he was so close to Paradise. Gads.

Dog in the heat...

It has been violently hot here this summer. It still is too. The days alternate from a convection oven to a steam bath with hardly a variation in the heat or humidity. The temp seems to always hover around 100+.

This is NOT good weather for a Weimaraner. 

I am a bit amazed we even made it to this little non-descript park today. It's down this major artery from our apartment in our smog & heat-wave throttled city in the middle of August. And, I am mystified too that the grass is oddly lightly green. Dogs water it. That must be why. 
Normally, The Dog does his Dance to go out, and then, just stands on our apartment building's front stoop, drooling, head in the hang-dog position and his laser eyes glaring up at me like I must be mad. Well, I have to say to The Dog... 
Tis not I, Dog, who asked to be taken out for a w-a-l-k at Noon! 
Naturally, rejecting any Responsibility for his decisions, The Dog turns & points his 30+ kilo Weimaraner body towards the door. This means The Dog wants to return to the Comfort of air-conditioning. Gads.

An Important Reminder...

Here is An Important Reminder, a note for One & All to incorporate into the scheme of your daily ebb & flow...

Moses is the Mostest Moses of all the Moseseseses!!!

and so on and so forth. Gads.