Gray days
A day that starts out gray or maybe even sits in the middle of a bunch of them doesn’t bother me nearly as much as a day that starts with the sun then fogs up, clouds up, flips the switch to off. Fog is a reality of November in Umbria. There’s always a hope it will burn away. Today it slithered in under the sun and then lifted up a few hundred feet and became a cloudy day.
I am dogsitting and he needs to go for a walk. Everyday we have walked a bit further, accompanied by from four to six cats. They hide under tufts of grass and leap out at Sam, the dog, who is unfazed. I am not sure he really knows he is a dog. Maybe he thinks he is a person, because when people talk it drives him crazy until you pick him up to face level. Anyway, cats, chickens and rabbits are just normal parts of the landscape to him. He hasn’t yet negotiated a rapport with the neighbors’ dog, Rui, but we visit everyday and I’m sanguine about it. Then Rui will be able to walk the fields, too. Rui is more robust whereas Sam is longer-legged. The cats are just cats.
This is what Sam looks like, sort of. He has a kennel clip so he isn’t as hairy.
That photo comes from a charming article at Seattle Agility Center, which describes a sport I never heard about. The last team entries are from 2002, so did all her pups get old and lose their agility? It doesn’t accurately describe Sam. Sam has to be lifted up onto the bed. Sam sleeps about 22 hours a day. He is all waggy and cute and sweet, though. When we wake up in the morning he jumps off the bed and leaps around, wagging everything he can move and looking happy-face at me.
Most people think of the hairless one when they hear Chinese Crested, but Sam’s a powderpuff. Sam eats about one-fourth what any one of the cats eats. He shivers at 18°C. He is afraid of the brush, so he can never ever look like this one at http://www.sam-the-man.net/breed.html . Do you see what I mean about the hairless one?
Sam arrived with luggage. Sam has appliances, a pleather coat lined with faux sheepskin, a retractable leash, eye cleaner, butt cleaner, a passport, toenail clippers and packets of the only dog foods he will eat. Sam thinks he wants to eat what you eat, but given a sniff he usually changes his mind. The only food Sam cannot resist is cheese. Cheese is off the menu for a while, because he is a raging nutball when he smells it.
Yesterday was a week he’s been here and we do very well together. We have only one problem. If I have to go out without him, he starts howling and barking the instant the door closes and he doesn’t stop until I come inside or let him out. He does not want to hear that he cannot go into the supermarket or the doctor’s office. When I came back yesterday the neighbors met me with murmurs of “Povera bestia!” He had not stopped once for three hours. It’s a miracle he isn’t hoarse today.
So here we are, Sam and I, under a dim sky and late for our daily walk. I’m building him up for the mountain across the road, a favorite hike of mine and there’s a trail so Sam can surely make it once he’s fit. He may already be fit for it, but I don’t want to carry him home, so I am doing the stages.
3 comments November 9th, 2006
