Monday, November 28, 2011
Got Fed?
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Gobble, Gobble; Nap, Nap
Happy Thanksgiving!
In Switzerland, it's hard to find a whole turkey to roast, and there are no cranberries either. So Mom and Dad are going to eat schnitzel and fries. I'll eat my same Dr. Hill's Science Plan kibble, which I like very much. After our walk around the cow pasture, I plan to take lots of naps.
Today, I give thanks to all the people who have taken such good care of me and who continue to love me. I want to give a special bark-out to Pet Mobile and my vet Dr. Ward, whom I love deeply and truly. Thank you for giving me a new leash on life.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Val d’Abondance
Val d’Abondance lies across the mountains from the French (southern) shore of Lake Geneva. As we drove there in our rented "Picasso," I kept thinking about Picasso's little sausage friend and muse named Lump.
At Hotel Plein Soleil, the lovely lady owner of the hotel let me come into the dining room, though I did so inside my transcontinental house, as is my preference.
At dinner, the lovely lady owner visited with us. After soup and steak, and before dessert, she served us a platter of fromage from Val d’Abondance. Mom and Dad wouldn’t give me a taste, but they both said it was wotten waven. It smelled great!
Two chic Italian greyhounds were also staying at the hotel. Their owner looked as stressed out as a pit trader on Black Monday and wouldn’t let them meet me. But I overheard them chatting in the parking lot.
For the night, we had our own apartment. I was a little worried we were moving in, but Mom said we were lucky to have a whole apartment for the night. Apparently in French-speaking countries, you often find a separate room with just a toilet and then another room with the bathtub and sink. I don't understand the logic behind this design, but Mom says it's different and maybe there is no logic. It's cultural.
My question: is there logic to culture? Because what sense does it make for a human to use the toilet in one room that doesn't have a sink and then open the door after using the toilet and walk down a hall to open another door to the room that has the sink?
This is why I prefer my four paws and going potty outside. I don't have to worry about things like this. And the next day, we went on a hike in Val d’Abondance. Wotten waven!
At Hotel Plein Soleil, the lovely lady owner of the hotel let me come into the dining room, though I did so inside my transcontinental house, as is my preference.
At dinner, the lovely lady owner visited with us. After soup and steak, and before dessert, she served us a platter of fromage from Val d’Abondance. Mom and Dad wouldn’t give me a taste, but they both said it was wotten waven. It smelled great!
Two chic Italian greyhounds were also staying at the hotel. Their owner looked as stressed out as a pit trader on Black Monday and wouldn’t let them meet me. But I overheard them chatting in the parking lot.
For the night, we had our own apartment. I was a little worried we were moving in, but Mom said we were lucky to have a whole apartment for the night. Apparently in French-speaking countries, you often find a separate room with just a toilet and then another room with the bathtub and sink. I don't understand the logic behind this design, but Mom says it's different and maybe there is no logic. It's cultural.
My question: is there logic to culture? Because what sense does it make for a human to use the toilet in one room that doesn't have a sink and then open the door after using the toilet and walk down a hall to open another door to the room that has the sink?
This is why I prefer my four paws and going potty outside. I don't have to worry about things like this. And the next day, we went on a hike in Val d’Abondance. Wotten waven!
Friday, November 18, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Berlusconi Unplugged
In one on my recent naps, I had the opportunity to interview Italy's former Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi.
Q: Mr. former Prime Minister, are you a dog person?
A: Not really, even though the well-being of my wiener has always been my number-one priority.
Q: I can see why Italian women have so little respect for you. Since you're being a smart ass, I'll just go for the bark. How did you manage to single-handedly ruin Italy?
A: I spent fifteen years brainwashing Italians through my stupid television stations, broadcasting soccer and sex. When a power vacuum came about in the government, I already knew how to control minds and hearts and gen-Italia. Then I came in like a Hoover.
Q: Your bunga bunga parties are your greatest contribution to Italian culture. How did you find the time to run the country?
A: Did I run the country? Many people argue I didn't.
Q: Yes, you did! Into the ground. How do you sleep?
A: At my age, it's good to have something that keeps you up at night.
Q: Like your four pending trials?
A: I love trials. In the end, I always get off.
Q: Some say you have let the country go to the dogs, but I disagree. Dogs would never have voted for you three times.
I woke up barking angrily at the cover of "Time." My collie cousin Ester lives in Italy. In her honor: Viva l'Italia e abbasso Berlusconi!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Ode to Tootsie
I received this poem of appreciation from my cousin, Pat, the Human. I want to share it with all of you.
Thank you, Pat!
Keep on wagging,
Love,
Tootsie, the Dachshund
Thank you, Pat!
Keep on wagging,
Love,
Tootsie, the Dachshund
ODE to TOOTSIE
Tootsie, my Tootsie, oh what a dog
You even have your very own blog!
You manage to put us humans to shame
For who can aspire such heights to attain?
You travel, you ponder, you write and you frame
Your thoughts and your photos in the public domain
Of the blogosphere--There you reveal the heart of a dog
With finesse and aplomb that leave us agog
I so love you, Tootsie, and needless to say
Reading your missives just brightens my day!
From your devoted follower,
Pat, the Human
Monday, November 14, 2011
Loving Livigno
Just across the border from St. Moritz, Switzerland lies the town of Livigno, Italy. Spread out in a valley 6,000 feet above sea level, Livigno looks like an Italian-style outdoor mall, except one with alpine grace and wotten-waven pizza. Located in a duty-free zone, Livigno has slot machines and a casino, but surprisingly little booze.
On either side of the Livigno valley, gondolas take you up to 9,000 feet high mountain ridges. Since I had ridden in cars, boats, buses, planes, and many kinds of trains, it was high time for my first gondola ride.
As we rode up the Costaccia gondola, I sat on Mom’s lap and looked down at the valley below. Livigno is one of the few places in Italy where the water flows into the Black Sea.
As we stepped out of the gondola, the operator came out of his booth to say, “Ciao.” He and my dad talked about our route along the ridge. It had snowed the week before, so we were concerned about the trail. But all was clear, said the operator: "Nessun problema!"
We climbed 2,000 feet to the highest point along the ridge with mountain views in every direction along the way.
At the top, we met a British couple who live in Sri Lanka. They were visiting family in Britain but flew over to see friends in northern Italy for a week—and because they love the cool, mountain air. The man had an intent gaze; when he listened, he heard. They told us about a road trip they took around Switzerland in the eighties before moving to Sri Lanka. Based north of Colombo, they do extensive volunteer work and were very much involved in tsunami relief efforts. We asked about the Sri Lankan civil war, which they said is over now. Bombs had exploded near them in Colombo, but bombs had also exploded near their homes in London in the eighties.
"It's amazing what you get used to," said the woman.
Our mountain top friends are Jehovah’s Witnesses, and I think they gave us a silent blessing. It sure felt that way.
On either side of the Livigno valley, gondolas take you up to 9,000 feet high mountain ridges. Since I had ridden in cars, boats, buses, planes, and many kinds of trains, it was high time for my first gondola ride.
As we rode up the Costaccia gondola, I sat on Mom’s lap and looked down at the valley below. Livigno is one of the few places in Italy where the water flows into the Black Sea.
As we stepped out of the gondola, the operator came out of his booth to say, “Ciao.” He and my dad talked about our route along the ridge. It had snowed the week before, so we were concerned about the trail. But all was clear, said the operator: "Nessun problema!"
We climbed 2,000 feet to the highest point along the ridge with mountain views in every direction along the way.
At the top, we met a British couple who live in Sri Lanka. They were visiting family in Britain but flew over to see friends in northern Italy for a week—and because they love the cool, mountain air. The man had an intent gaze; when he listened, he heard. They told us about a road trip they took around Switzerland in the eighties before moving to Sri Lanka. Based north of Colombo, they do extensive volunteer work and were very much involved in tsunami relief efforts. We asked about the Sri Lankan civil war, which they said is over now. Bombs had exploded near them in Colombo, but bombs had also exploded near their homes in London in the eighties.
"It's amazing what you get used to," said the woman.
Our mountain top friends are Jehovah’s Witnesses, and I think they gave us a silent blessing. It sure felt that way.
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