If you are an owner of a dog that belongs to a ‘dangerous breed’
category and you also have a child or a visiting small child please
take this as a warning.
Don’t leave your dog with a small child unattended under any
circumstances!!!
Only one little moment was enough for the following to
happen:
Chow.
The fossilized skull of a rat the size of a car has been found in Uruguay. It’s about 4 million years old and weighed about a ton, so big, in fact, that it probably spent most of it’s life submerged in water: a giant Hippo with a long tail and pointy nose. 
They nicknamed it Mighty Mouse.
Apparently, the largest living rodent now is Capybaras at 60 kg fully grown…now, that’s a meal.
And here’s a new reason to travel to New Guinea:
Where’s my passaport0?
Chow. 
The squirrels are out in full force up in the Pincio. There’s nary a nut to be found now. They’re all squirreled away, if you will.
I sit and watch the dizzying creatures, mostly. Chasing them is fun, but it becomes tiresome after a while. Squirrel, tree, squirrel, tree, squirrel, tree.
So, I muse of other ways to use this rodent. Below is one of my favorites. It’s design reminds me somewhat of a machine Leonardo 
might have developed had he simply switched his obsession from flying a human 
to flying a squirrel:
Then there’s the commercial amusement of providing the squirrel with a different take on an e-ticket Disney ride:
Either way, I want one of each, please.
Chow.
Dogs are ubiquitous in the bars and cafes of Italy. 
Who do you think cleans the floor? 
It keeps labor costs down and subsidizes the feeding of urban canines.
Brilliant, no?
But bunnies in restaurants?
Take a lepus to lunch? 
Bring your own bunny.
Chow.
Chanel has died. 
Not the fashion (even though it’s not Italian, it seems eternal) nor the designer, herself (Coco is long gone)—but the dog.
Chanel apparently was the oldest living dog at 21 years of age. That’s 147 in dog years. 
She lived in New York. Her favorite dish was boiled chicken and rice, clearly a Manhattan thing.
No pastrami; no corned beef? And she called herself a New Yorker…
No pasta; no red wine? 
Why even live to a ripe old age without the satisfaction of these staples, I ask?
Though I see the appeal of the pullet, rice is a bit like eating an old sock, and a clean one, at that. At least pasta is sauced.
Now that Chanel is gone, a new contender has taken a stand: Max, a 26 year-old mixed breed Cajun. I’ll bet his diet features more spice: Louisiana Rat Gumbo, Squirrel Etouffee. 
Now, that’s living.
Dinner tonight in Rome?
Pasta Puttanesca.
My key to long life:
1 lb. Spaghetti, cooked and drained.
Saute 5 cloves thinly sliced garlic in 1/3 cup Olive oil until soft. Add 2 teaspoons anchovy paste, 1/2 tsp. hot red pepper flakes, 1-28-oz can whole tomatoes in juice, 1/2 cup pitted Kalamata olives. 2 tblsp. drained capers, pinch of sugar, 3/4 cup chopped basil.
Toss with hot pasta and serve 4-6 people with, of course, a glass of Chianti…or two.
Chow.
OK. Loving the beach here on the lake. 
It’s enough to chase the ball, really. But most of the humans, even the tiny types, are plugged into a small device that sings to them.
That’s all perfectly well, but I have a better idea (and, no, it’s not an IPOD for dogs….)
It’s something any canine can strap on to it’s neck (with a little help from an opposable thumb, preferably attached to a bikini-clad female),
nose plugs instead of ear-plugs, and three gigabytes of smells…
From Persian cats to parakeets
, as it were— Abyssinians to Zebras
.
Chow.
Alas, we quit the palace yesterday. 
La Reserve disappeared from sight through the rear window of the Big Black Car, my angst at leaving born out as drool down the fine leather back seat.
We drove the windy coast road above Monaco, across the border into Italy.
Adieu, Francia. A bientot.
I believed all was lost when we passed through Milano. Busy streets; commercial sections; no beaches in sight.
Then, a hint of greenery from the open car window as we sped out of the city. A nose out the forward section to decipher the air: water.
Fresh water. Sweet, salt-free, non-irritating, hypo-allergenic H2O. 
No more itchy after effects of retrieving floating sea-born objects.
Lake Como spread before us like a giant azur-blue carpet, sparkling with silver thread in the sunlight. The car rolled down a narrow road beside the water for what seemed like miles, then pulled up to il grande palazzo del lago: 
Il Serbelloni in Bellagio.
A sturdy gentleman in a tan uniform heaved our bags from the car onto a trolley (my bag, with a small sheepskin rug, a green, water-proof ball and a genuine mink cat-like facsimile, came first). The scent of grilled lake-fish dressed in garlic and parsley wafted through the entry doors.
The porter pulled a bone-shaped treat from his coat pocket and slipped it into my grateful mouth.
Traveling is hell, no?
Chow.
My Contessa was on the hunt for something special. We walked into the heart of the city and up a small side-street near the Pantheon.
I could smell it coming from 500 yards: scented candles. Juniper, hyacinth, rose, even bubble gum. Gag.
I followed her up and down the aisles as she smelled each candle trying to decide on just the right scent. I could have helped her with that if she’d asked. I am the KING of ’scentedness’, as it were. I am a dog. Duh.
I have an idea for a new kind of pet store, geared to dogs, of course. DogCo, Dogs R’Us, Dog Planet. Why even mention other species?
And inside?
Chow.
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.
My take on thinking outside the box: The Litterbox
, that is.
Cats on leashes.
Like the phrase “herding cats”, the picture that comes to mind is one of chaos. A whole lot of pulling, dragging and sliding. 
Cats cannot be cajoled. They walk at their own pace—if they walk at all.
Here’s a little thinking outside the litterbox, canine style: smart dogs use the litterbox as a snack bar. It may be recycling taken to it’s extreme, perhaps absurd, conclusion, but it fulfills the fine criteria of a dog. 
Disgusting, putrid and sure to illicit a speedy reaction from your human.
And, alas, a bath.
Chow.
