Dog, Doctor and Dad

February 25, 2002 Genoa, Italy

Dear Laura,

A Prologue…

I have been working on this letter for the last 5 days, irrespective of the date indicated Up Top. I think it is High Time to put a stop to it. Today, it is Thursday, the 28th of February and the day is already half over. I had wanted to Blow Off Steam about An “Issue”… Yes, One of Those Damn “Issues”… that, simply put, drives Me… ABSOLUTELY INSANE!!! The Discourse, however, has been considerably abrogated because…

A) It is not really very funny… I’m sorry

B) I could not think of Any Angle to bring humour to it… Again, I’m very sorry

C) And after five days of unceasing efforts to make it funny, it still remains not very funny… I’m really, really sorry, but

D) Fuck it, Laura. I’m goin’ ta bellyache anyway. Otherwise, I’ll be nuts and we certainly don’t want that, do we? So, let’s get this over with. On now with It but The Doctor Saves the Day in The End…

Continuing with Our Just Announced Series of In-depth Studies Regarding My Wellbeing, etc. etc. etc., Our Hero, Me, facing… My Forthcoming 50th Birthday followed by… My Eventual yet Untimely Death must first confront… His Birth Once-Upon-A-Time. Yes, after A Profound Analysis and Quiet yet Intermittent Reflection on the Nature of the Many Themes of My Life to Date, I have concluded the following…

My Lack of Peace, Wellbeing and upon ever Wider Vistas of Knowledge, My Inability to break into Song and a Tap Dance at the drop of a Note, stems from what could be Universally Declared as a Highly Traumatic Birthing Experience.

Due to considerations of space, I will not pursue Any Questions about “Why I Do Not Have the 10” Dick, Visible Abs or anything akin to A Porno-Body Etc. as a consequence of this Birthing Trauma. Another letter perhaps, Laura. I would like though to focus on The Moment When Consciousness Arrived in Me during the Ordeal of My Birth, which will be heretofore referred to as My “Coming Out”… It was bad for Me but, I imagine, it must’ve been terrific for My Mommy. But this is My Story.

Mentioning “Coming Out” brings to mind a Serious Gay Point needing escape so, let us pause briefly as topics of Birthing & Consciousness can wait a little while longer. I do love so much these Skeeting Segues don’t you? One of the Major Reasons why I like living in Genoa, Italy Europe and NOT, for instance, in Atlanta, Georgia United States of America is, well, because, you see… I am free. Liberated. Released from being considered Gay. Here, where I live and breathe… I am splendidly NOT CLASSIFIED as being ONE!!! Or, ANYTHING ELSE FOR THAT MATTER!!! Pretty nifty, no? Well, except maybe, of course, as An American, which will have to be allowed considering there’s Nothing to be Done with My Heavily American Accent Italian. Great advances, don’t you think? Oh, but not with The Accent though. However, what a Wonderful World to be in, no? It doesn’t cross one’s mind if I’m Gay or NOT!!! It is NOT THE POINT!!! It is of NO CONCERN to ANYONE!!! And neither… Is it the least bit INTERESTING!!! SO, I DON’T HAVE TO MENTION IT EITHER!!! Really marvellous, no? Live and Let Live Reigns! That and Anonymity too! It is The Hallmark of The Good & Kindly Doctor’s and I am a Recent Convert. I bet You didn’t know that, Laura?

For example…

The Doctor looks like An Inconspicuous Sort of Person… just a guy with a cute smile. However, behind His Normal Presentation of glasses, adorable smile and handkerchief in breast pocket of his navy jacket lurks… A VOTING COMMUNIST!!! Who would’ve ever thought? But, yes, You read that exactly right. A 20 YEARS OF VOTING COMMUNIST!!! and what’s more Laura… The Good & Kindly Doctor is A Prince to boot. You’d never know just by looking at him would you now? Yes, The Doctor/Voting Communist/& Prince has The Liberty to move as he so pleases to be because he MAINTAINS HIS ANONYMITY!!! This is a concept unknown to Americans, particularly of the Gay ilk who insist upon brandishing Their Flag of Who They Are and by plugging Me & The Total World with their Politically Correct List of Gay Points/Questions/Other For Common Discussion, such as…

“Don’t you find it’s kinda hard to be Gay here in Italy?”…

is Il Numero Uno on Their Hit List. The Above Question is what pricked the puss, Laura. Yesterday, I was introduced by a friend as a Gay Man living in Genoa to a Gay American friend of his visiting Our Environs… well, My Environs now, as I shot DEAD the friend shortly after this encounter for presenting Me as he did. Oh, Good Grief. Before the shooting and not 3 micro-seconds after shaking the Gay American guy’s hand did this Gay American person not feel compelled to plug Me with The Question…

“Don’t you find it’s kinda hard to be Gay here in Italy?”

I wanted to say… “Who fucking cares?” much less WASTING MY VALUABLE TIME in trying to explain to the gent The Theory of Anonymity, as per The Good & Kindly Doctor, whose response would surely have been… NOT IDENTIFIABLE and thus, NOT CLASSIFIABLE… is The Way to True Freedom. Great for a T-shirt, back ‘n front, don’t You think? And very Voting Communist too, don’t You think?

Oh, and I have Another point to Pose…

So now, with The Knowledge of The Doctor’s Example, why would any one want to restrict their movements in Society by submitting to be classified as Gay, or Pink, or Anything? Well, “as a Human Being” or perhaps as “No Global”… those would be OK. But, why has it NOT dawned on Everybody that living ANONYMOUSLY might be… more Fun too ‘cause You’d get away with some COOL Stuff!!

Thanks, Laura. I just had to Blow Off That Steam. Anyway, I believe The Doctor and I, plus a Good Many Europeans are… Way Ahead of Everybody.

Oh, gosh, Some Dog Stuff…

The Dog is trying, quite successfully I might add, to untie the lace of My Right Track Shoe with his Mouth. Unfortunately, he is farting too while executing this manoeuvre. We may have to leave shortly for a w-a-l-k. Whew!

So, now back to My Birthing Consciousness Experience Coming Out, etc…

I am of The Belief that Consciousness arrived too early in the Process of My Birth-ing. Had it gone into Function later, much, much latter, Ladies & Gentlemen, All might have worked out for Me “much more better”. Say… at the instant Dr. Whatever-his name-was yanked Me out from where I was housed for nine months, give or take a few days. Or… perhaps, at The Stroke of that kindly “Pat on the Fanny”, which gave Breath to My Squirmy-Pudgy Little Future Fat Farm Self. I might just now be A Less Angry Person, destined to play well with others and endowed with accepting that Life for Me may be to just to w-a-l-k The Dog, feed The Doctor/Voting Communist/& Prince with occasional bouts of Art here and there. Oh, and a pizza too!

By the way…

lobbying continues unabated with The Good & Kindly Doctor upon this matter of Great Import of A 2 Week’s Undisturbed Stay in a Local Fat Farm of My Choice. We hope for a Satisfactory Conclusion to the Negotiations which, in the end, may just be chucked all together so I can attend a cooking school for the same period in Tuscany…

Instead, My Consciousness kicked in prematurely. It happened while I was… SLIDING DOWN THE TUBE!!! Ooops… The Birth Canal. Whatever… it was very, very dark, frightening and cramped. Basically, it was A Highly Unpleasant Experience. I believe, awakening as I came out, injured My Life’s Perspective, My Delicate World View, damaged My Self-concept and shredded Any Concrete Precepts about God, Religion and the Communist Party into sound bites of fury and loathing provoking A Pitiful Sports Ability and thus negating the Possibility of My Muscles… the few that I got… from forming into A Fuck-Gorgeous-Ten-Inch-Dick-Cute-Smile-Lick-Me-All-Over-Until-I-Scream-For-More-Porno-Body!!! WHEW!!!

I remember All About My Birth once I was out… Squish-squish, dark, dark, dark, squish-squish some more and then… KERBLAM!!! Total confusion and strangers in white handling The Goods. Of all things to have to withstand and at such a Tender Age too. Frankly, I could have done without being made aware of Squish-squish, dark, dark, dark ‘cause I remember it all, damn-it.

I feel refreshed recounting all this to you, Laura. Are you bored? I feel I have truly found the Root of My Near Fifty-Year Old Angst. What do you think? Are we there yet?

Gosh, still more Dog Stuff…

Moses is now masticating his squeaky Disney rubber toy instead of My Shoelace. Music to his ears, apparently. He must’ve been really bored with the challenge of trying to untie My Shoelace. I purposely kept moving My Foot. Mean of Me, I know.

Oh, and one more Dog Stuff…

I have had to “globally” invoke A Modified Law of Thumper or, Rule B…

“If you can’t say anything nice about Me and My Dog then, let’s change the subject.”

Some Sectors have voiced Innumerable Negative Opinions and Sentiments over the arrival in Our Humble Household of The Dog. Everyone is in on The Act, even My Friend from NYC, who gave Me A Lecture, of all things, in response to a letter to him about what I thought was a very clever play-by-play Introduction to The Dog concerning His Allergic Reaction Escapade of the week previous. The gist of My Friend’s Message was strongly in favour of A No Dog Policy supported by A Ten Point Program to avoid the possibility of it… EVER HAPPENING TO ME!!! Well, Buckeroo… YOU’RE TOO DARN LATE!!! THE DOG’S ALREADY A FIXTURE OF OUR HOME!!! …and in any case, that’s enough, thank you very much.

Rumblings from Other Far and Near Flung Correspondents, Relatives and Other Friends plus One Really Nasty & Smelly Nun in the elevator of Our Building, have seen fit to communicate to The Very Same No Dog Policy and so… I’ve had to invoke My Modified Thumper Rule B. We hope, in the successful Pacification of This Rampant Discontent, to avoid any further displays of “globilzed invocations” of this kind.

I am, by the way, ferociously No Global! Yes, yes, yes, I know Laura about Coca-Cola and all but I like the idiosyncratic contrasts of My Mental Juxtapositions.

And now for Some Art Stuff…

I am still doing My Wool Yarn Pictures. Two weeks to do a potted plant. Good grief. I am all up in knots.

No other Beefs, Blow-outs or other Philosophical/Sociological Burps.

Love,

F

February 1, 2002 Genoa, Italy

Dear Laura,

Desperate needs call for desperate measures… The Good & Kindly Doctor MUST SEND Me to a Fat Farm POST-HASTE…

How The Doctor can possibly “smile broadly through life” and see Me “weigh-in” at nearly 98 kilos… 97.94321 Kilos to be exact and very nearly 20 Kilos too much for a proper Take-off anywhere in the World but especially here in Italy… I find TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE!!!

The Doctor MUST BE PERSUADED to understand that this “Overweight Charge” of mine can ONLY be remedied via The Professional Attention & Care available at A Local Fat Farm far, far away from those… Dangerous Temptations… of white wine, cheese & crackers, more white wine and more cheese & crackers with insidious sideline infusions of chocolates and Italian gelato galore. I HAVE DONE ALL I CAN BY MYSELF!!!

So, I have resorted to practising Blubbering, Whimpering & Pleading in the mirror. So, when The Doctor has eaten his Last Fruit at Dinner-Time, I will be able to dive right in with Our Evening’s Feature Presentation by Blubbering, Whimpering & Pleading him to see to it that I am sent to… A Fat Farm POST-HASTE!!! There are 3 in our area. However, it will require much Practise. My Goal, which I feel is An Important Aspect to Any Successful Undertaking and is critical in assuring My Eventual Stunning Success as a permanently thin, thin, thin, thin Person is to “Spontaneously” Blubber on demand. A sort of “Eruptive” Blubbering or, do I intend “Explosive” Blubbering instead? What do Hollywood actors do, Laura? Whatever… in Good Time, Grovelling on the Floor… where else can You put 97.94321 Kilos without damaging the furniture?… Liquidy Snivelling staining My To-The-Fat-Farm Cheeks and Low Registered Moaning while grasping My Love Handles equal in size to the Land Mass of several continents will be added.

Mind you, this Blubbering Business does not come easily, especially if one is interested in at least being Authentic. No need to be “Virtual” here. So, not a day passes that I haven’t Practised in Every Mirror or Reflective Surface I come upon… in the elevator of My Building… in My Bathroom… in My Studio with all that throat choking dust… and… on the sly in the reflections of store windows. I am quite pleased with My Progress to Date. I am now able to quickly contort My Face into Positions of such Pitiful Anguish & Despondency that I quite surprise even Myself. The Doctor MUST BE CONVINCED!!!

In the meantime, you ask about Equipment? Well, Kleenex is the Most Essential Accoutrement, so I normally try to have a Lifetime Supply at the ready at All Times. Blubbering gets really messy sometimes. Thank God that there are all these Non-Italian Ambulating Street Vendors with Ample Supplies for Sale when mostly in My Car. Generally, it’s a fairly Article Free Exercise. Yet, to be Truly Effective & Convincing to The Good & Kindly Doctor of My Dire Need to loose at least 20 Kilos in an Environment of Unrelenting Life Style Discipline & Mutual Dietary Flailing amongst the palms, I may have to invest heavily in a Nicole-Kidman on-Her-Way-to-an-Oscar-Win-but-perhaps-maybe-not-this-year… she’s certainly made enough films for a shot at it…-Super-Dooper-Ultra-Fabu Lighting, Costume and Make-up System for creating just The Right Theatrics. If I am going to Grovel, etc. I MUST HAVE SUPERB VISUALS & SPECIAL EFFECTS!!! Would You NOT agree?

Imagine This Possible Scene and, may I say, I can not wait for Opening Night… The Good & Kindly Doctor comes home after a hard day of doctoring to the blind & administering to other sight-impaired-persons to find Me in A Dramatic Pool of Light properly filtered, of course. There I am, on My Side with My Love-handles and Stomach and Everything Else spilling disgustingly out & over the floor whilst Frightening Moaning Noises are punctuated by Snivelling alternated with Blubbering, and activated by true and realistic Grovelling to the wails of… Fat Farm! Fat Farm! Fat Farm! Fat Farm! Fat Farm! Fat Farm! Fat Farm! Fat Farm! And so on and so forth. This should work, don’t you think? Really, All the Other Methods have produced n’er A Positive Result… A Reservation for a One Month’s Duration of… “Lift the Heft Off!”

This lack of proper reaction on The Part of The Doctor to My Ordinary Verbal Requests of… “Dear Doctor, won’t you please, please, please send me to a Fat Farm, please?” has obligated Me to pull out the Big Cecil B. de Mille Guns, so to speak. MY CAUSE IS JUST!!! VICTORY IS MINE!!!

The Other Weight… The World Upon My Shoulders but Relief is on the Way…

While diligently working to foster World Peace and maybe A No Global One too while on the road to being a permanently thin, thin, thin, Person, I have come to feel greatly weighted down by Grave Concerns & Occupations, mainly but not solely inclusive of The Order of The Total World besides, yes, those Tugging-at-Me-Terribly Extra 20 Kilos I mentioned earlier.

You may be reminded Laura that The Order of the Total World is organised as follows…

The Good & Kindly Doctor is held accountable for…

1. All Climatic Conditions, especially when it’s cold & rainy…

2. The Conditions of All The Roads Everywhere… and…

3. MOST IMPORTANTLY, how Italians drive! Staying in their lanes would be of Great Help!

I do Everything else!

Thus, with this Mighty Weight Upon My Shoulders, it’s hard to do One’s Work Properly with so Many Minor Irritations About. And, living in Italy, there are way too many to count.

Plus, in the meantime, it has recently come to My Attention that The Doctor has need of Further Responsibilities, in light of The Most Positive & Late Breaking Indications received here at Headquarters regarding Progress on the Weather, the Roads and… damned, if the Italians aren’t staying in their traffic lanes. I noted this too during a recent car trip to the Hinterlands with The Dog.

So, I have decided to assign The Doctor An Extra Task which, ought to have him Working Day & Night and thus, keeping him out of what hair remains to Me so I can get something done on My Own Total World Order Agenda. What’s The Task, you ask? Well, I have thought The Good & Kindly Doctor could perfect A Handy Little Device I require to render… My Life so much easier. The Device would…

instantly ERADICATE All Unsightly, Annoying & Highly Disturbing Persons/Things/Others from My Gracious View!!! A Multi-coloured Rainbow would replace all the offenders.

For example…

what really gets My Mr. & Mrs. Gall and Gander going, above all, are these Italian Women with Too Many Shades-of-the-Desert Big Hair, Salon Cured Synthetic Tans alla moda, Mile-long Painted Fingernails with micro-designs of fake diamonds and the insistence upon chewing gum while talking on their mobile phone and smoking a cigarette with one hand ONLY to drive their damn motor-scooter!!!!! These Particular and Female Offenders would all be.. ELIMINATED!!! Yes, E-l-i-m-i-n-a-t-e-d! It will be wonderful! My Load immediately lightened! I won’t even have to push a Button, Laura, because the Handy Labour-saving Device, which The Doctor will seek to perfect its construction, will know instinctively and… AUTOMATICALLY… to wipe-out The Disturbance without My Saying a Darn Thing. Spectacular, no? Ooooo! And maybe The Rainbow could vibrate, sparkle or play Baroque music? What do you think? Great, no?

Oh, and another thing… regardless of sex, or the lack thereof, creed and politics et al… All Offenders will be sent to Another Dimension’s Holding Tank for the… Rest of All Infinity! Or, until The End of Time, whichever DOESN’T COME FIRST!!!

On Other Equally Hysterical Subjects…

Knowing me, which is already A Huge and Constant Undertaking requiring The Utmost Vigilance & Effort, I probably left out 97.04321% of The Vital Details of My Dad’s Health Situation when on the telephone with You when in The States.

Currently and under the heading of “Good News”, He is doing well after a highly serious and lengthy meeting with the Head of Surgery at The Medical Center, the location of His Recent Health Despair. Apparently, The Surgeon extended his Sincerest Apologies and has brought in a New Squadron of Doctors to pursue A Cure.

But, let’s go back a bit… Dad has had Three Problems nagging away upon His Better Health for the past three or four years…

1. poor respiration…

2. fainting spells…

3. and a hiatal hernia.

None of The Heart Surgeons from Dad’s two by-pass operations of 15 years ago, their Experts or, even Our Family Doctor could hazard a solution to Any One of the Three. Finally, Dad was directed to An Esteemed Lady Doctor Expert in the “Associated Health Problems from By-pass Operations” at A Special Clinic contained within The Medical Centre. This Doctor performed Two Interventions…

1. Was to investigate how My Father’s Lungs were generally operating, which provoked A Violent Fever of November last and the reason for My Hasty Trip to North Carolina.

2. Was conducted to extract Lung Tissue for An In-depth Analysis.

The results confirmed The Expert’s Suspicions of Pulmonary Fibrosis an… Incurable Disease!!! Wherein, The Lungs are just too pooped to do Their Work! I’ll grant The Lady Doctor Expert A Couple of Points… NONE OF THEM GOLD HOWEVER!!!… for calling My Father as soon as The Verification “came over the line”. Nevertheless, her Direct & Insensitive Language of…

“on the near term, it’s a terminal case, Sir”…

“nothing can be done”…

“put your affairs in order”…

WAS NOT HELPFUL!!! NO!!! NOT IN THE LEAST!!! DAMN-IT!!! Dad was seriously stung. Yet, her Next Comment was the True “Tour de Force” of the Conversation…

“The clinic is closing and I’ve been transferred elsewhere!”

The proverbial “high and dry” and it laid My Old Man low, real, real low! Anyway, Dad called Me on Saturday to say that he felt Quite Optimistic after His Meeting and especially after learning that there is… SOMETHING CAN BE DONE!!! I happened to be in A Car Wash in An Along-the-road Location in Castelfiorentino, Tuscany, Italy, Europe. The Dog, A Friend of Mine and Myself did A Superb Celebratory Dance after The Call. Boy! Can The Dog & My Friend shag their tales!

The Doctor…

The Good & Kindly Doctor has been “A Bit Throw-uppy” since Monday evening last. Nasty flu! Here, we are in An Epidemic or, so says the TV News. The Doctor, minus the “Good & Kindly” part has been… NO FUN!!!…obviously. He pals around in His Nappy & Quite Ratty Plaid Terry-cloth Bathrobe, moaning and shuffling… the ol’ boy has picked up some Tricks from Me… around the house in his Euro 5.79 Tennis Shoes sans the Laces for Easy Escape or to ABUSE MY DOG!!! and he is generally being… pathetic pitiful and poorly. Good Grief!

The Dog, is scared out of His Ever Puppy Mind by The Dark Hooded Figure of The Doctor leaving the confines of His Bedroom. The Dog barks up A Big Storm! Serves The Doctor right for scaring him so. I would like to tell You, The Home Audience, that I am on The Dog’s Side too! THE DOCTOR IS SCARY!!! But I don’t bark. No! I just yell back real loud to shock them both into COMPLETE & SILENCE!!!

When The Dog is not Barking & Raising A Ruckus at The Doctor’s Attire, I Do Not Need Radar to know where The Doctor is in Our Humble Home. Every so often A Huge Sigh erupts from some Quarter… ”sono stanco morto!” This means “I am dead tired!” “Mi sento la nausia!” More or less this means “I feel throw-uppy!”

In Any Case, I offered to help The Doctor but He has completely shunned My Florence Nightingale Nurse Readiness Services. OK. However, he has not been Sick Enough to dispense with his… “Will you please do blah-blah-blah for me”… leaving The Rest of the Statement… “Do it My Way or DON’T DO IT AT ALL”!… for Several Days Latter. I JUST HATE THAT!!! Why doesn’t He STOP Wasting My Time and just come on out with it All in One Easy to Follow Command? He NEVER DOES and I am so accommodating in My Role as Florence Readiness to the Sick that.. I never pick it up as A TEST!!! which I then FAIL!!! because I was not furnished with A Proper Instruction Booklet by The Good & Sickly Doctor.

An example from Last Night…

“Will you make me some rice?” The Doctor got soooooooooo Bent Out of Shape, Big Time Soooooooooo Bent Out of Shape, over… My Internationally Recognised & Globally Approved Southern Cooking Method of Preparing Rice = one cup of rice to two cups of water, a little salt and DON’T TOUCH IT until it’s cooked! What could be easier, no? Hundreds & Thousands, maybe even Millions of Fine Southern Women have been doing it This Way for Years, just like Their Grandmothers Before Them, which means Our Total Count is in The Ga-zillions by Now.

No! The Doctor’s Standard Italian Method is lots and lots and lots and lots of water and some salt, put it over heat, stir it a whole lot… CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT, LAURA??? and then, when The Little Buggers are Cooked… by the tick-tock of The Newfangled Timer because, if The Italians are anything, they are Technologically Up-to-Date for the Latest in Gadgets… PUFF!!! into a colander like pasta it goes. Ecco! Rice… The Way it is suppose to be done WHEN IN ITALY. Or, at least, according to The Good & Sickly Doctor that’s the Way it ought to be done.

May I remind You, The Home Audience, that 7/8’s of it is still in The Pan on The Stove?

A few things you might want to know about The Dog…

1. His Name is Moses…

2. He is The Mostest Moses of All the Moseseseses…

3. He HATES to go outside if its raining…

4. He also HATES to go for W-A-L-K-S when on a leash…

5. He HATES Dry Dog Food. He wants what The Dr. & I eat…

6. He does not rise before 10 then, breakfast may be served…

7. He plays with EVERYTHING from 4:30 PM until 11:00 PM. In the Living Room ONLY!!!

8. He resumes Play-Time at 3:17 AM, utilising a squeaky-toy for Early Morning Entertainment. Next to My Bed and right In Front of My Barely Awake Face, if possible…

9. He DOES KNOW that “Pee-pee & Pooh-pooh” are done on The Newspapers on The Terrace until further notice! Thank the Good Lord and All Others Responsible… Dog Angels and so forth… for this One Important Act of Pity for Our Many Oriental Rugs. I am proud to say this has been the Dog’s Modus Operandi from Day One in Our Custody….

10. He finds sniffing La Raison Non Plus…

11. He has figured out that there are Two Bosses, DAMN-IT!!!

12. He enjoys following My Every Movement. Permanently affixing himself to My Leg… any one of the 2 will do… could not be “together” enough…

13. He finds chewing magazines extremely satisfying and personally rewarding…

14. He humps EVERYTHING. What a libido this Weimaraner Puppy has.

A Last Note…

The Good & Sickly Doctor said upon receipt of Your Latest Postcard…

“Oh, a lovely dessert scene!”

No Other Topics are on The Board.

Love,

F

July 17, 2002 Genoa, Italy

Dear Laura,

The Dog Saga, Part IIIVXXXMCLLLL…

I have come to the belief that Freedom for Dogs is dangerous. The Dog has been absolutely INSUPPORTABLE since returning from A Two Week Vacation with Us Human Beings as Custodians… running wild in the countryside and on the beaches of Apuglia, the “heel” of Italy… and is now back to his City Life of tenure with leash, neighbourhood circuit walking and six hour stretches of apartment confinement. Can We blame him? No, but…

The Dog has resorted to expressing His Displeasure by Obsessive-Compulsive Peeing… on EVERYTHING!!!… but blessedly, outside. The Walking Procedure is 3 paces then he pees on whatever is convenient. Often times, he dowses himself with his own spray. OK. My Tolerance Level lasts about 3.5 of these Paces then, I yank good & hard on the Choke Chain Collar to get things moving at more than A Pee’s Pace! Yes, I am now A Strong Advocate of The CCC. It’s called Justice through an Equal yet Opposite Reaction. The Dog started it.

This tactic of Mine has yanked The Dog’s ire somewhat. Thus, he has begun to console his Rising Negative Emotions by peeing on People & Other Dogs. Some are his Dog Park FRIENDS!!! Apparently, green things like Bush-es and the city’s trash containers no longer render sufficient satisfaction. A pity for the former.

A Recent Incident…

We were in the Dog Park. “La Signora”, a long time habitué arrived with her dog, Frieda. It’s not a good Name for a dog. Its’ a name for someone who wears an apron while doing housework and sings forlorn love songs… in German. Well, whatever… The Dog went up to greet “La Signora” and her dog Frieda…”Oh, Buon Giorno…!” wagging his Curtailed Weimaraner Self and then, what did he do? He went and he peed on Frieda… right under The Very Eyes of “La Signora”… AND in Broad Daylight… with NO SENSE of Remorse either. I wanted to disown The Dog. Or, turnover his leash over to the control of a more competent Human Being.

Let’s pause for SOME IMPORTANT INFORMATIONS, please…

The Good & Kindly Doctor’s World View of The Dog is…

When The Dog behaves in ways TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE, he’s My Dog.
When he EXHIBITS EXEMPLARY BEHAVIOURS, he’s just A Dog.

My World View of The Dog is…
When The Dog’s “an angel of virtue and good breeding, etc.” he’s Our Dog.
When he is “A BAD, BAD, VERY BAD DOG!” then, he’s The Doctor’s Gift for My Forthcoming 50th Birthday… a mere few weeks away!

A Test…

Now, Laura, which World View would You choose?

Blessedly, I had the wherewithal to extend MY COMPLETE MORTIFICATION in The Most Profusely Polite Phrases known to Me in the Italian Formal Form that I could conjure up for “La Signora”. While decorating the air about with All My Many Excuses for The Dog’s EXTREMELY BAD DOG BEHAVIORS, The Very Same Dog… had not FINISHED!!! His doing was not DONE!!! What did The Dog go and DO??? Just Guess AND think The Worst Imaginable, Laura. He went over, lifted his leg and peed on…

A CATHOLIC PRIEST!!! In Full Frock!

This time, at least, I could extend MY COMPLETE MORTIFICATION, FEAR OF BURNING IN HELL AND ALL THE REST in English. Yes, Our Frocked Brother is an English speaking Friar. He was out walking his icky, nasty, jumpy, Greyhound dog with his Perfectly Phoney Upper Class English Accent in tow too. He also happened to have had the misfortune to enter Our Dog Park Compound right at the moment… 8:39 AM to be exact… to be in Direct Conjunction with The Dog’s Need to Fire his pent up ire and frustration. But there is more to the Scoop of The Frocked Friar…

He hardly ever allows his icky, nasty, jumpy Greyhound dog to play with All the Other Dogs in the Compound. Instead, he usually elects to remain outside with “that dog” securely lashed to one of those indeterminably long leashes for fear of a get-a-way. This gets under everyone’s skin.

Then, another habitué of Our Dog Park led Me to believe The Frocked Friar was An Anglican Minister… what with that accent of his and the similarity of the outfit to what the Anglicans are seen wearing around town, etc.. However, his Truman Capote cackle of a laugh, smirky smile, his fake posh accent and dressed in full black, convinced Me he WAS NOT AS ADVERTISED!!! So, I decided One Day to point blank ask him what His Denomination was… “Ohh, nooo! I’m aw Cawtholique Priest!” he replied. I knew it. All those affectations smacked of a Catholic pederast. He has not been seen since either.

“He May Need a Very Serious Operation, Sir”…

The Dog limps. He’s been Hop-along-Cassady-ing-it for the last 4 or 5 days now. Probably too much 3 Paces Peeing and favouring his right side when he does. The Good & Kindly Doctor and I thought it might have been a beach spur or he fell while ambling & sniffing on the salty shoals of Apuglia or an injury sustained by the terrible aggression of a Dalmatian during Our Trip had possibly provoked his gimpy walk.

Today, The Dog and I went to see Our Vet who is currently on vacation, so we consulted with his associate, luckily the Orthopaedic Expert of the veterinarian studio. The Current Analysis is that The Dog has An Elbow Problem. It could be A Growth Problem too like what we have seen with his teeth and jaw which, he still has and I think is so cute… his Big Dog Teeth came in before his muzzle had grown to handle them.

Before embarking upon a “He may need a very serious operation, Sir”, The Dog is now confined to 3 Paces Peeing, damn-it, drug therapy and that’s it for ten days! May I say that The Dog DID NOT PEE ON THE VET!!! NOR ANYONE ELSE, DOG OR PERSON!!! And, further more, He Exhibited Exemplary Behaviours during The Entire Consultation. That’s My Dog!

Bamboozled by Nobility Once Again…

Our Actors…
Il Barone di Trivisi in Basilicata played by The Good & Kindly Doctor. Yes, it’s true, he’s a baron too.
The American Ex-pat ??????? Nobility played by Me. I could use the Esq. if I wanted but, why overwhelm Il Barone?
The Dog played by The Dog. His Nobility is NEVER in Question!

The Old Man played by an old man.

The scene:
An AUDI driving along a super badly built Italian highway in the Basilicata region of Southern Italy on the way home from Apuglia….

Il Barone: “Would you like to see some of My Family’s Baronial Holdings? They are just off the road. Five minutes, at most!”
The Am Ex-pat: “Yes, that would be nice. So, you are A Baron too besides being a Doctor, A Marquis, A Count AND WHAT ELSE ARE YOU, Roberto???”
Il Barone: “Yes, and it’s on the other side of that hill over there to the right.
The Am Ex-pat: “No, I asked WHAT, not WHERE!”
Il Barone: “Oh, sorry. I am also The Principe di San Mauro in Calabria!”
The Am Ex-pat: “Could you spell that please?”
Il Barone: “It wouldn’t delay us too much if we were to go.”
The Am Ex-pat: “The s-p-e-l-l-i-n-g! Never mind! When were you last there?”
Il Barone: “I’VE NEVER BEEN!!!”
The Am Ex-pat: “Oh?”
The Dog: “Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!”

An hour later, a very long and winding hour later, we arrived on top of a mountain in the middle of a dusty town piazza. N’er A Soul nor even A Spirit was there about EXCEPT One Old Man sitting on a stone bench along the façade of a sorry looking palazzo missing most of its roof, its windows, its doors and it’s charm lomg since gone. Seemed mostly to be a communal dust dump.

We resume Our Tale…

Il Barone: “Excuse me, Signore…. could you perhaps tell Us where We might find il palazzo della famiglia Massa Saluzzo di Trivisi…. per favore?”
The One Old Man: “I’m sittin’ on it!”
Il Barone: “Oh?”
The Am Ex-pat: “Nice Baronial palazzo, Barone!”
The Dog: “Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!”

The End

We are PROSTRATE!!! Yes, Laura, POSTIVELY PROSTRATE WITH DISAPPOINMENT!!! Since hearing The News that Your Italy Trip Has Been CANCELLED!!! I couldn’t KILL, KILL, KILL the Messenger ’cause it was Your Husband. A certain Bad Move. Plus, he was on the telephone with Me anyway when I called wanting to speak to You. Might’ve of been hard.

The End

Love,
F

Monday November 11, 2002 Genoa, Italy

Dear Laura,

The following letter should be read out loud and with A Pronounced Upper-class British Accent.

Thank you.

Dearest Laura,

You will certainly concur with My Feelings of Dismay & Consternation over The Disturbing News of The Doctor’s learnt Just Last Night and so soon after My Safe Return from The Marche by car where I saw My Friend from New York City. Let Me recount to You in Full The Shocking Revelation…

While at the dinner table, The Good & Kindly Doctor, discussing Questions of Nobility, Rank & Italian Aristocracy with his friend, Il Conte di Giorgio P——- di Z——, happened to mention that he, as a Roberto P—— di San G—— is ONLY a “generic nobleman”…

- “Hello! WHAT?!!! What’s that You say? GENERIC?!! You say you’re A GENERIC Nobleman?”
- “Yes! I am a generic nobleman.”
- “WHATEVER DO YOU MEAN? What exactly is a “Generic Nobleman”?”
- “It means I have No Specific Title associated with The Name of P—— di San G—— but, I am A Nobleman just the same!”
- “Let Me understand You quite clearly, Doctor, please…it is… for instance… you have Bayer Aspirin and then, well, then you have Kroger or Safeway Brand Aspirin? Do I not have that right? So, You mean to say to Me that you are actually, in reality, a sort of… Kroger Brand Nobleman? Do I understand that correctly, Doctor?”
“No just “Generic”, thank you.”

Laura, WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO DO WITH A KROGER BRAND NOBLE??? Send him back because he doesn’t come with a safety-lock cap??? The cap cleverly rrepresents the “crown” of a tilte, naturally. How is this to be borne however, Dear Friend, and upon The Eve of Our Visit to Atlanta and A Major J-E-L-L-O Party to Present The Good & Kindly Doctor, now to be known from here on out as Prince Kroger Brand Aspirin to Atlanta Society on The 24th of this month? Oh, the terrible shame of it all. What might I say to My Assembled Crowd of Friends?…

“Hi! Everyone! This is My Boy-friend, Prince Kroger Brand Aspirin with a twist off cap!”???

Well, perhaps I could leave off the “Aspirin” and “the cap” bit but, just the same, really. No, no, no, no. This will just NOT do. Not at all No. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE AND IMMEDIATELY!!! BUT WHAT??? Hmmmmm? What comes to My Mind… and these are now Desperate Times, you know, Laura… as a sort of “Quick Fixer Upper” is to dress up The Good & Kindly Doctor in his Italian Sunday Best, stick A Crown on His Head, add A Fancy Sash and Pray to God, if he’ll even listen to me, that NO ONE WILL DISCOVER THE DIFFERENCE AFTER I TOLD EVERYONE MY BOY-FRIEND IS A PRINCE!!!

Love,
F

Genoa, Italy

Dear Laura,

Moses… The Dog… was 1 year old yesterday.
Today, I am 50 years, 33 days, 9 hours & 32 minutes… I’ll dispense with the seconds for the time being… old.

The Issues…
And, I am feeling particularly grumpy this morning. I am House Bound waiting for the Whirlpool Man to show up to fix the dishwasher and one of the burners on the stove. My Life, again as… An Unpaid Non-Union Domestic Worker!!!

Besides being in the At “T” minus + Holding Stage age-wise, I got to bed at 1:30 AM after A Marathon Condominium Meeting that saw the Gavel finally come down at 1:10 AM!!! 4 hours & 25 minutes of Chaos, various Circus Acts performed by Adults and general Condo-monium. I understood… “Maybe Baby!”… 17% of what was said, etc. I told The Good & Kindly Doctor that he could DEFINITELY count on Double Goolie-Goolie… even where he can’t scratch AND until His Death… if he would ONLY go “all by His Lonesome” to The Next Condo-monium Meeting. The offer was courteously declined, damn-it!

However, before resting My Head upon one of 4 cushions gracing My Ligne Rosset Bed, I had to spend 20 minutes trying to “shoo” A Sparrow Out of My Bedroom. That I had to do the “shoo-ing” was, of course, entirely The Doctor’s fault. He should have risen from underneath His Warm Cover and IMMEDIATELY come to My Rescue… Spousal Protection Division… but, HE DID NOT!!! The Doctor took the tactic that it was Me and NOT He who had left the window wide open for The Sparrow to gain entrance. So, feeling NO OBLIGATION to attend to My Distress & Alarm, he stayed rolled-up in HIS OWN BED!!! Details, details, details. I wanted to scream… “Substitute doctor, please! Is there another MD about? Hurry, please!” but, I was otherwise occupied with the damn bird tweeting around My Bedroom. Gads!

The Dog was Big Scared too, Laura. He hid “nel suo posto” until the All Clear Sounded… and still he stayed “nel suo posto”, so Big Scared was he.

I am in A Total Refusal Phase with My Art…
Well, My Art is just dandy. It is My PINK Painted Studio to which I do not want to repair to. It’s too BIG A MESS!!! There’s too BIG A HUMIDITY & COLD!!! And, it’s too BIG A CRAMPED-NESS!!! So, I am goofing off and having NO FUN AT ALL, in consequence.

Is this The Justice I deserve, Laura? However, Justice or not, it is The Standard Operating Procedure for Me. I goof off miserably until I can not stand it ANY LONGER and then I BUST MY ART BUTT!!! I must be conserving energy, A Most Vital Resource apparently, by getting DEPRESSED until the Stars, the Moon & Everything else lines up perfectly. Then, it’s… Go! Go! Go! Art!

Coincidentally, The Dog and I have this Particularity… The Doctor says it is a flaw of ours… in Common. However, The Dog gets hung up on having superb conditions… a delectably aromatic Bush, chilly fall temperatures, a soft breeze blowing AND NO ONE WATCHING HIM!!!… for making his Solid Waste Depoits. As for Me, all must be Right for Making My Art… the right Baroque opera to listen to, no errands to run for The Doctor AND NO ONE WATCHING ME!!! Hmmmmm? Perhaps there is more to this than I had previously thought… A Conjunction between Art and Crap. What are your views, Laura?

Other news…
Just 46 days until The Doctor & I arrive in Atlanta for Thanksgiving. Mark Your Calendar, Laura.

Love,
F