(I like the name Lola; it's exotic. Thank goodness he didn't call me Fido or Spot, or give me a trendy name like Marigold, or something else as equally ridiculous. Humans give their dogs the silliest names.)
Lola and I were inseparable, the best of friends. She slept on the end of my bed no matter how many times I told her to get off, and she became a regular at the Vineria, my favourite wine bar in Campo de’ Fiori.
(Gave the place some class)
As I had expected, getting her in and out of my flat unseen proved to be very cloak and dagger. The trick was getting past the landlord, who lived on the first floor, without being seen. I lived on the third, but, as the lift was frequently…
(Always)
… out of order, Lola and I often had to tiptoe up and down the stairs.
I’ll never forget the time the landlord popped out of his flat without warning and caught Lola and I sneaking past his door.
(Scared the living daylights out of me)
“What’s that?” he shrieked.
“What’s what?” I could be just as hysterical.
“That!” he shouted, one very angry finger aimed at Lola.
“Aaaahhhh!” I screamed on seeing Lola, faking terror. “It’s a dog!
“What’s what?” I could be just as hysterical.
“That!” he shouted, one very angry finger aimed at Lola.
“Aaaahhhh!” I screamed on seeing Lola, faking terror. “It’s a dog!
(And not just any dog!)
“A dog. Exactly!” His look of triumph really pissed me off.
“Signor Brunetti! How dare you!” I screamed.
“You know the rules! Dogs and children are not allowed in this building.”
“Signor Brunetti! How dare you!” I screamed.
“You know the rules! Dogs and children are not allowed in this building.”
(I envisaged being thrown out on to the street. Okay, I could’ve handled it - I've been there, done that - but could Robert? However, I have to admit, he surprised me with his performance; turned the landlord inside out. And I realized I had finally found a real friend, someone who truly cared about me. It was a nice feeling; made me warm all over!)
(I ought to be in the movies! Rin-Tin-Tin, Lassie and all those other canine legends were nothing compared to me)
“This is the most despicable trick it has ever been my misfortune to witness!” I said, mustering up all the indignation possible, while backing away from Lola as if she were the plague.
“I’m revoking your rental contract!”
“And I’m going to sue you.”
That got him. “For what?”
“For psychological and bodily harassment!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m allergic to dogs!”
“So why do you have one?”
“It’s not my dog!” I bellowed, leaping behind the landlord and holding him at arm’s length to distance myself from the jaw snapping ‘beast’.
“I’m revoking your rental contract!”
“And I’m going to sue you.”
That got him. “For what?”
“For psychological and bodily harassment!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m allergic to dogs!”
“So why do you have one?”
“It’s not my dog!” I bellowed, leaping behind the landlord and holding him at arm’s length to distance myself from the jaw snapping ‘beast’.
(I finally got the message, and started growling and barking, and ‘jaw-snapping’)
“Aaahhh!” I screamed again. “Oh, please, keep it away from me before I go all funny and come up covered in nasty hives!”
Lola was brilliant, acted up a storm.
(A real Oscar-winning performance)
A real trooper.
“Get your hands off me!” the landlord roared, struggling to break loose of my grip.
“First chase it away!” I screamed as I stepped into his flat and closed the door.
A moment later, of course, he was pounding on the door demanding to be let in. “Open the door!”
“I will after you’ve put your dog on a lead.”
“It’s not my dog!”
“I’m not coming out unless you put your dog on a lead!”
“I SAID IT’S NOT MY DOG!” He sounded really angry now. “Open this door, or I’m calling the police.”
“Go ahead, call them. They’ll chase the dog away, and I can go home.”
Lola raised the intensity, and the volume.
“Get your hands off me!” the landlord roared, struggling to break loose of my grip.
“First chase it away!” I screamed as I stepped into his flat and closed the door.
A moment later, of course, he was pounding on the door demanding to be let in. “Open the door!”
“I will after you’ve put your dog on a lead.”
“It’s not my dog!”
“I’m not coming out unless you put your dog on a lead!”
“I SAID IT’S NOT MY DOG!” He sounded really angry now. “Open this door, or I’m calling the police.”
“Go ahead, call them. They’ll chase the dog away, and I can go home.”
Lola raised the intensity, and the volume.
(I was so good, I even felt a little scared of myself)
“Aaahhh!” my landlord screamed. “It’s going to bite me.”
Yeah, go on, Lola, take a big lump out of his despotic ass. Lola would have loved to do it too. She knew Signor Brunetti hated him. The feeling was mutual.
“All right, I’m coming out to save you!”
“Thank you,” the landlord’s less than assured voice came back.
A bucket on my head, a dustbin’s lid as a shield and carrying a mop as a sort of lance, I opened the door and stepped out ready to do battle against the growling, snapping ‘dragon’.
Yeah, go on, Lola, take a big lump out of his despotic ass. Lola would have loved to do it too. She knew Signor Brunetti hated him. The feeling was mutual.
“All right, I’m coming out to save you!”
“Thank you,” the landlord’s less than assured voice came back.
A bucket on my head, a dustbin’s lid as a shield and carrying a mop as a sort of lance, I opened the door and stepped out ready to do battle against the growling, snapping ‘dragon’.
(I ought to be in the movies! Rin-Tin-Tin, Lassie and all those other canine legends were nothing compared to me)
The landlord immediately darted into his flat and slammed the door shut behind me. Fortunately, his door did not have one of those peep holes, so he couldn’t see the farce of me gesturing at Lola to go up the stairs, while I pretended to chase her down the stairs and out of the building.
On my way back up the stairs, my relieved and positively humbled landlord poked his head out of his flat. “I want to thank you for saving my life,” he said. “You were very brave to chase that flea-ridden, mangy, possibly rabid dog out of the building!”
On my way back up the stairs, my relieved and positively humbled landlord poked his head out of his flat. “I want to thank you for saving my life,” he said. “You were very brave to chase that flea-ridden, mangy, possibly rabid dog out of the building!”
(Hey, I heard that)
“Think nothing of it, Signor Brunetti,” I responded as I handed him the bucket, dustbin lid and mop. “It’s all over now. The dog must have followed me in off the street.”
He was actually civilized for a couple of days, but of course it didn’t last.
I had to find a new system for getting Lola in and out of the building. I racked my brains for a solution. Then it came to me - a sling!
I had to find a new system for getting Lola in and out of the building. I racked my brains for a solution. Then it came to me - a sling!
(No, not the sling! Please!)
A towel tied to the end of a length of rope. But the problem was that lowering Lola to the street meant passing one of the landlord’s windows and risk being seen. It would be all right at night because he always closed his shutters, but daylight would be another matter. But I decided it was worth the risk.
And I knew Lola wouldn’t mind.
(Sometimes I wish I could speak!)
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