The first night we slept in our rental house in the town of Neive, Italy, it was hot. Very, very hot. So we had all of the windows open and sleep still would not come easily. Between mosquitoes, motorcycles and the occasional burst of dog barking tranquility was lacking.
Sometime around midnight a neighbor began watering her plants and doing other outdoor chores, which in and of itself is fine, except she was accompanied by her young dog. Not quite a puppy and not yet an adult dog, a cute little black and white specimen bigger than one of those silly purse sized dogs but small enough to lack any intimidation faculties.
The reason I knew her dog was with her was the constant, dare I say incessant, call of “Vinnie Kwa, Vinnie Kwa” between drags on her cigarette and cell phone calls with the watering can poised vaguely above the flower pots. I thought how odd it was for someone in Italy to have named their dog named Kwa, Vinnie maybe, but Vinnie Kwa?. Only later I figured out that she was not calling his name, she was saying “come here” which in Italian is “vieni qua”.
At 3:00 a.m. I admit to succumbing to a primal urge that I am not terribly proud of when I yelled from our bedroom balcony, “Signora, per favore! Silenzio!”.
Neighbor relations have been a bit cool ever since.
I must admit I am not too bothered since I have on more than one occasion fantasized about killing her dog. Her cute little ball of fur that barks intermittently from the time she leaves the house in the morning until she returns home at the end of the day.
Since that first night here I have come to know the dogs of this village by their barks and behaviors and the response or lack of response by their owners.
There is the unattractive blonde mid sized dog that is largely contained to the second floor balcony of the house across the square. Either this dog has a very good bladder or he is taken out for a walk when I am asleep or quite possibly both. I call him The Intimidator. He barks loud and with a great deal of energy directed at the offending party which is typically another dog or when a human is mistaken for another dog and some models of cars. I haven’t figured the car thing out yet. His barking can reach epic proportions the closer the offender gets to his corner. If they still don’t respond, he shifts to soprano, which lets face it is just embarrassing. The drama escalates when someone from inside the house actually notices the din of the noise on the balcony and begins yelling at the dog, to no avail. It becomes particularly amusing when they try to collect the dog to bring him inside, a feat not easily accomplished recently by a rather rotund young man whose pants were only clearing half of his ass while one hand grasped for the Intimidator the other held thankfully firm to the front of his pants. The theatre of barking, yelling and flashing is as good as it gets in these parts.
Then there is the white bulldog and his stout grey haired housedress and high heel-wearing mistress. I call them The Couple. I think the dog, his mistress, or both of them have a bone to pick with The Enforcer and his gang of adults as there seems to be some form of unspoken territorial challenge that happens on a regular basis. The Couple leaves their house several times each day with him on a leash as they walk past my kitchen window I can hear her coo to him that she loves him and how strong and handsome he is. When they get within eyesight of the Intimidator she reaches down and pats her four-legged partner on the head then unlatches his leash and lets him run free. The sight of this dog is bad enough for the Intimidator but the idea of him roaming free unrestricted is more than one dog should have to bear. The barking frenzy that The Couple instigates is epic and continues until they smugly return to where they came from.
The Ragazzi’s are a band of freewheeling trashcan sniffing - doorstep peeing – easygoing mutts that are too busy having fun when they get out and about they don’t get in anyone’s way. The core group of the Ragazzi’s live across the Piazza from me in the courtyard of an apartment building. They typically stick pretty close to home and only bark when someone unknown to them, dog or man, enters their domain then they let loose like a pack of wild animals. None of these creatures is more than 10 inches tall so any damage they could do is definitely below the knees. When The Ragazzi’s escape from their insular home and go on one of their tours there is not a doorstop that doesn’t get a puddle or two as a calling card.
The Chicken is a short-legged, longhaired, loud fraidy dog who lives outside of our little corner of the world. When he escapes he comes looking for adventure on our street. If you happen to encounter The Chicken during his explorations he puts on a good show of being a regular Italian dog by barking at you. I have discovered that if you play the roll of the bigger dog and bark back he runs for home all the time growling and barking while looking over his shoulder to make sure he keeps you at a safe distance. My husband John prefers to throw small fruit at him, which also sends him running, I just don’t like to waste the fruit.
Finally, there is The Howler. I’m sure you can guess why, what is interesting is that he seems to be restricted to inside howling. What took me a while to figure out was the cause, and the answer is, the bells of the church in town but only when they chime for mass or a wedding or funeral which is a much longer set of bells than the normal on-the-hour chime
Recently our friend Pia stayed with us for a few days and she commented on the din of dog barking at night. She casually mentioned that we might want to get the recipe for Magic Meatballs to control the problem. We all had a good laugh fantasizing about which dog would go first. But I must admit, the seed got planted and now any time we are assaulted by the sound of barking one of us says, “Magic Meatball anyone?”
Last week John asked if I ever got the recipe from Pia. I just smiled and called “Vieni qua!”