The other three are a family – father, mother, and son. They live outside, and more or less have to fend for themselves, including for most of their food. I’ve never seen Vitalliano show them any affection, or, for that matter, any kind of recognition at all.
They’re a pretty motley crew, when all’s said and done, but a tight unit, I must say. And in spite of my negative inclinations to the canine population here … resentment at the deft footwork we need when venturing from the house to the car (to avoid the pungent “smear-bombs” that surround the house) … and the invasions on Mr Young’s freedom … I’ve been watching them since we’ve been renting here (a month now), and it’s a fascinating case study.
Dad is a street-smart, half-blind nondescript mongrel, as tough as old nails. I call him Buster. Mom is a shifty-eyed, pitch-black, equally nondescript mongrel. I call her Hyena, for both physical and character similarities. Puppy is non-stop energy, ever curious, fighting, bouncing, biting, chasing, sniffing, eating.
Mom is the model of measured patience and discipline with Puppy – a perfect mother. Dad is the typical father of the animal world – aloof, tolerant, and decisive in his reprimands. Puppy knows his place with dad, and has already developed a wisdom on how far to go.
They’re an archetypal cooperative unit, opportunists and hardy survivors. And a real family, in every sense of the word.
Down the street, there’s a Weimerana (I think that’s what it is), who partners the dumb-as-a-plank German Shepherd that loses its skin in excited barking every time we walk anywhere near. The Weimerana has found a way out of its confines, and has recently taken to the streets and the fields, prancing around (as Weimeranas are wont to do) as if looking for something. It almost seems like it’s lost.
But yet out it comes through a whole in the fence, a hole it seems the German Shepherd is (a) too big to get through, (b) unwilling to breach for fear of leaving its safe haven, or (c) too stupid to figure out. (Personally, I think it’s a combination of (b) and (c).)
In any event, the Weimerana today encroached on Buster’s property, and they “met” each other. Sniff … lift leg … pee … sniff … lift leg … pee … sniff … and so on. Buster walks away nonchalantly, back to his armchair, as if he doesn’t care. Weimerana continues its stiff-legged prance-action, looking confused and unsure. Hyena hangs around on the edge, watching her adversary, and after a while, trots back to join Buster. Puppy stays well back behind the frontlines – instinctively he knows it’s not a playground out there.
Ten minutes later, the ritual is repeated. Sniff … lift leg … retreat. No bared teeth, no snarling ... yet. But who’s to say what might happen as the battle of nerves for territorial supremacy rages. If it comes to arms – or teeth, rather – my money’s on Buster. Julius disagrees, saying that Weimerana’s bigger. But Buster’s smarter … and he’s got Hyena.
Stay tuned.
Meanwhile, in between the routine of sniffing and leg-lifting, it seems the family collared a rooster or a chicken today. Or maybe it was Weimerana. I found Hyena and Puppy hovered over this headless feather-body this morning, tugging and gnawing and grunting. Hyena retreated very slowly when I approached to investigate – normally she runs away, tail between her legs – barking at me as I did, reluctant to give up her prize, and then ran back in to claim it as I walked away again.
Later I saw Buster carting it around, and Vitalliano found him with it. He (Vita) picked it up and walked away muttering, probably to check if it was from his own brood. I’m convinced it was, and so was half-expecting to hear blood-curdling yelps and squeals as he exacted his punishment for their indiscretion.
There was no yelping, no squealing. Clearly I still have a lot to learn about this rural Italian man-animal relationship thing …
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