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| Andrea typically looking out of the camper window |
Before walking out of our favorite Melbourne mega
shopping center, we glimpsed Andrea through the huge sliding glass doors.
Seated behind them, he was playing his favorite game. From time to time he
stood up, and stepping forwards a couple of feet, caused the doors to open.
Then he retreated and the doors closed. By trial and error, he had learned the
limit within which to seat to keep the doors closed: a difference of only a few
inches! The first time, as soon as the doors opened, he had tried to follow us
inside. We had brought him back outside and explained to him he would have to
wait there as dogs were not allowed in the store. He never walked in again.
From inside, unseen, we had kept watching him for a
while. His decision to obey pleased us but “playing the doors” turned out to be
an irresistible temptation. On the other hand, the game was harmless and in
exchange for his staying out, we decided to let him play as he wished.
In the tide of people walking in and out, many didn’t
notice his behavior and carried on. Some looked around as if in search of the
owner. Others would get curious and stop. A few would
pet him, addressing him with words of encouragement. Children were fascinated
and had to be dragged away by their parents.
Burdened with the usual load of shopping bags,
once out of the mall we walked to the camper, stationed a few streets away.
After placing everything on the floor of the dinette, we took our seats in the
cabin. Soon after, I saw my Greek friend Spiros, stop outside my window.
In the meantime, Andrea, apparently exhausted by
“playing the doors”, had collapsed at Patrizia’s feet on the cabin floor.
“Ti canis? (how are you?),” Spiros greeted me in Greek.
I instinctively looked down at Andrea. His muscles tightened while he
repressed the impulse of springing up and glancing out of the window. This time
he only sat and raised his head, searching for eye contact with an
interrogative expression.
“Are any dogs out there this time?” he seemed to ask. But he already
knew there were none.
I was pleased and at the same time amazed he had only needed one
opportunity to overcome the sound impulse of the word “canis” identical to “dogs” in Italian, that Georgios
had pronounced in similar circumstances a few days before. We reassured him that, again, it was a false
alarm, that there were no dogs in the street. He remained seated.
Spiros did not understand. “What is Signor Andrea doing?” he asked.
I related to him the previous episode with Georgios and how he had
jumped up upon Georgios’ use of the same Greek words. And that now, he had
repressed the urge of looking out of the window. Spiros did not hide his
amazement.
In the meantime, Andrea, perceiving
we were talking about him, looked in turn at each of us. I had him come on my
lap.
“I want to show you something,” I said to Spiros.
“But, for what I have in mind, I would like you to move near the door of that
shop. Please, stand on the sidewalk a few yards away. Hear what people say.”
I told Andrea to sit in the driver’s seat and I knelt
on the floor. So did Patrizia who knew what I was about to do. Now, what people
walking on the sidewalk saw was only the head and the torso of a dog above the
wheel. We had repeated this trick so many times that we could predict the
passer-bys’ reactions.
I switched the ignition key on the first of the two
positions available: now the closed electrical circuit allowed the horn to be
activated. This big round “button” located at the center of the wheel was too
heavy for a dog to push down. Actually, a substantial pressure was needed.
Andrea sometimes succeeded the first time, sometimes it took him a few goes.
When a family with a little girl had just walked past,
I told Andrea to blow the horn. From a gap between two packages on the
dashboard, I saw the little girl instinctively turn at the sound. When she
spotted the dog blow again, and again, she froze on the spot as incredulous as
if she had seen a Martian.
“Come on, hurry up,
what are you stopping for?” said her mother to the petrified little girl who
had stopped on the sidewalk a few steps behind.
“Mum, there is a dog
blowing the horn!” she said without taking her gaze away from the dog.
“Sure! Hurry up,” said
the father.
“I am telling you,” the little girl insisted with a
screechy voice and a tone of helplessness, “that dog is blowing the horn!”
“Stop being silly. Dogs do not blow the horn!” The
parents kept walking.
“Why do you never believe me?” she added in a resigned
tone which said a lot.
Spiros had heard everything. As a teacher, he must
have been as disturbed as I was. With a presence of mind I wouldn’t have had,
he sped up after the family and when he reached them he tactfully said to them,
“Excuse me? She is telling the truth! I saw it too! Down there, in that camper!”
The little girl turned to her savior with a thankful
expression as Spiros would relate to us later on. Her parents were disoriented.
They were being taught a hard lesson. Spiros kindly brought them back and had
them stop on the sidewalk at the height of my window. I understood what he
wanted me to do.
Before he opened his mouth I told Andrea, “Blow the
horn please, one more time.” He complied.
The mother, with wet eyes, hugged her little girl.
Spiros winked at me with a sly, satisfied smile.
A few years later, on another continent, Patrizia
returned from walking Andrea with a nice story. She was sitting on the bench of
a park when a little girl of no more than three years old, approached and asked
the name of the dog.
“Andrea,” Patrizia replied.
The little girl petted him for some time, asked a
couple of questions, and then walked away. After a while, a gentleman came by,
holding the hand of the little girl.
“Is it your dog? Nice dog!” he commented. “What’s his
name?”
“Andrea,” Patrizia replied.
He seemed to be relieved. “Usually,” he said with a
sigh, “she does not tell lies. This time, I was not one-hundred percent sure.
It’s such an unusual name for a dog… a person’s name… I wanted to check… ”
After raising his little girl in his arms, he hugged
and kissed her, saying, “You were right, honey. Sorry for doubting you.”
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