Lost in Translation

Ever wonder how different pastas got their names?  Their shape, of course.

Here is a list of pastas.  If you are a foodie, as am I, you will recognize the literal nature of each name.

Cannelloni: Large Reeds

Cappellini: Little Hats

Farfalle: Butterflies

Fettuccine: Small Ribbons

Linguine: Little Tongues

Manicotti: Little Muffs

Orecchiette: Little Ears

Penne: Quills

Ravioli: Little Turnips

Rotelli: Little Wheels

Spaghetti: Little Strings

Tortellini: Little Twists

Vermicelli: Little Worms (my personal favorite)

Dogs, by the way, came up with this first.  What subject in any dogs vocabulary is not directly based on the visual?  In English it’s squirrel; in Italian it’s scoiattolo.

Dogs call it like it is: scurrier.

Come to think about it, I’m betting both the English and the Italian were derived from the Dog.

Philologus narro, as it were.  Look it up.

Chow.

The Two Sexes

An Indiana University study has demonstrated that when men listen, they only do it with the left side of their brain (where speech is located).

Woman apparently listen with both halves.

I suppose that this explains why, when a man says something, women hear much more than was actually said.

Me, I listen mostly with my nose.  Tone of voice means something, of course, but the aroma in the hand means everything…

Chow.

English

I like words.  

Latin is great. Audio, video, disco is one of my favorite sayings.: “I see, I hear, I danced in the 70’s….”

Italian makes anything sound appealing: Se masticare una cosa io ti uccidero (“If you chew up one more thing I will kill you”).  Is there any other language that delivers a death threat like a love letter?

English has it’s own merits.  My Contessa is well versed in that language and those words spoken through the lilt of her accent are pure charm.

Easy English words are my favorite: good,walk, nap, go, stay….God.  English must really be the heart of communication.  What other language associates the dog with deity so closely (Dog/God, God/Dog.  I mean, there MUST be a missing link here, right?)

But, I think eat is the most exciting English word of all, and not for the obvious reason.  Not withstanding the words neuter and tutor, which should NEVER be mistaken one for the other, it’s the rhyming I find so fascinating.

Etymologically speaking, nearly every word that rhymes with eat is appealing to the ears of a small dog.  Treat, meat, teat, seat (plush and velvet covered, of course). Neat is really the only word that suffers a bit.  Neat is not aspiration but inspiration: a cause to rumple, tear and chew, therefore functionally fascinating, as well.

Any English words that ring in your ears?  Italian; Latin?

Ego sum canis, ergo ego sum.

Chow.

Paradise, Lost

Beautiful and clear today on Lake Como, but the radio on the bar by the pool suggested clouds for the rest of the week.

Thunder, lightening, rain.  Time to head for home.

We used the rest of the afternoon to pack up: my lambskin, my ball, my chew-toy and a marrow bone I picked up via the waiter at dinner last night.

A last swim in the lake; a final patrol of the manicured gardens; one more chase of the hotel cat.

Drinks on the terrazzo (more Martini olives, garlic stuffed this time) under a waning moon.

Tomorrow we begin the dreary ride home, nodding off to the sway of wipers across the windshield.

Paradise, lost.

Chow.

La Reserv—ation

Boat travel in any breeze greater that 5 knots should be prohibited—worldwide.  If the vessel lists, I insist: NO PASSAGE.

While I enjoy licking up most things that end up on the floor, keeping time with seasick people is not a highlight.  At least not after the first two or three victims.

It took me a full day to get my sea-legs, and that was AFTER I left the ship. Remember, I have four of them.  You know how one year to a human is like seven years to a dog? Well, one day of motion sickness to a dog is like seven days to a human.  

“Feel” that.

 

 

 

 

The only upside to the trip was the ending: A private car to La Reserve, jewel on the Cote D’Azur.

A warm, salt-water pool, long lunches on the palatial veranda, speed boats (too fast to sway) along the Mediterranean shore.

 

 

Doggy spa treatments at La Petite Chien: sugar scrub on the belly, acu-pressure to points north of the tail, ear massage.AHHHHH.  The buffing of toe nails; the fluffing of chin hairs.  Pellegrino or Evian?  I ask you.

The ferry floor is but a dim memory.  On to the beach a la Francaise.

Chow.

Fairies and Ferrys

There are ferries and there are fairies.  Large, rolling ships and tiny, twittering creatures.

 

So, it becomes clear when speaking about either that whomever is speaking, explains.

 

“Ferry,” said the Contessa, practicing her finest english.

 

I rise, bolt upright at the thought of something small and easily chased.  I look around. Nothing but a large, lumbering vessel pulling into port.  I sniff the air for traces of fairy dust. Niente.

 

The meaning then crystalizes.

 

God, I miss latin.  Ab origine.  Abusus non tollit usum.

 

Look it up.

 

Chow.

On The Road

Road trip beginning today. 

Stay tuned. 

Back next week with plenty of “Nose-Out-Of-The-Window” details…

Chow!

Ciao, Chow

OK.  I’ve received a number of corrections since I started this blog concerning the spelling “Chow”.  People seem to think I am misspelling the word.  Hello?

I am a dog.  I hear the language of humans through canine ears.  I am Italian, yes.  But I am a dog first.  Just as humans are humans first, then Italian, French, American, second.

When I hear “Ciao”, it is similar to the Pavlov response…(now that was an easy experiment, no?  I mean, show a dog a treat and he drools…duh)

To me, “Ciao” will always mean “Chow”.  And why not?

Who in this country doesn’t think about food all the time.

This IS ITALY.

CHOW!

Allen! Allen! Steve?

Of course, all dogs know that every creature speaks some sort of language.  Often it’s difficult to decipher, especially those animals coming from Britain.  I mean, what an accent.

What many don’t know, however, is that groundhogs are extremely nearsighted….

Witness:

Chow.

Why Dogs Go Deaf

First of all, who names their dog Bambi?

Second of all, who would encourage an animal to sing opera?

Witness:

Third of all, is Elvis really dead?

Ain’t Nothing But a Hound-Dog, afterall.

Chow.