English

23 08 2009

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.

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Election 2009

17 08 2009

The Roman exodus that began August 1 is yet in full swing.  The streets are oddly quiet; the heat is turned to high and, up on the Pincio, the vendors of small squeaky playthings have even closed up shop until the cooler days on late September.

Thunderstorms roll across the city like thick blankets from time to time.  The air becomes 99% water and it’s hard to breathe, especially at ankle level where the rain hits the hot cobblestones and steam rises like fog.

So, I am content (I guess) to stay in the air conditioned appartamento. I roll the ball around a bit until it ends up under the low slung couch.  I check the dirty laundry by the washer for my Contessa’s underthings.  My nose searches out an empty breakfast bowl.  Finally, I turn to the computer and use one particularly long toenail to search “cute dogs”.  Eccolo!

I go to “the gallery” and click:  Up comes Axel!

Axel

Axel

My old pal from across the hall stands in the snow, a fuzzy, green ball in his mouth, cutting quite a fine figure (though he’s put on a kilo at least since we last ran on the Pincio together.)

Seems he’s trying to win a contest for cutest dog (I’m afraid I have that title…alas, I am not entered).  Grand prize will pay for his trip back to Rome. He says he misses pizza…real pizza.  And Rome has just the spot for that.

So, if you care about a small dog and his pizza (not to mention the fact that if he makes it back to Rome I will have something to do other than modifying my Contessa’s silky things…),

VOTE FOR AXEL by clicking the cute dog link above. Send the link to your doggish friends.  You can all vote once a day. Let’s send Axel to Rome.

Chow.





Paradise, Lost

11 08 2009

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.





The I-SMELL

5 08 2009

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.





On The Road, Again

3 08 2009

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.








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