One thing you should know about Macerata if you’re ever planning on coming here is that it is a town swarming with dogs. Big dogs, little dogs—all over the place! Of course, you guys know me, the biggest dog lover out there, so this poses no problem whatsoever, you could almost say it’s my favourite part of living here. However, the story I am about to relate does not concern the generally well-behaved dogs-on-leashes you find in the city centre and public gardens. Warning: the following story is not for sensitive readers!! Parental guidance recommended for children under 15!
So today I decided I was going to go for a walk. I’ve had some headaches and haven’t been sleeping too well, so I had the bright idea that maybe some fresh air would do me good! Great idea, wasn’t it? Well, in theory, yes. However, unfortunately I forgot to bring my sub-machine gun along on the walk, the results of which were consequently not as positive as might otherwise have been anticipated.
Anyway, so I’m cruising along down a country lane, the sun’s shining on and off, the weather’s pretty much perfect for taking a walk: not too hot and not too cold. The first sign of possible trouble is in the form of an enormous WOOF in my ear as I’m walking past a garden. I turn my head to see a white dog approximately the size of a Shetland pony staring at me longingly through the fence. Fortunately its elephantine size hinders it from getting through the fence as it obviously wants to; this, of course, does not prevent it from running along next to me barking encouragingly for the length of the property. I’m not at all fazed by this: I simply do an Owen and put my finger in the ear closest to the animal, and stroll along calmly without changing my pace. I won’t be dictated to by a mere dog.
A hundred metres further down the road I see the dog’s cousin—i.e. huge, white and hairy—in a garden which is kind of down an embankment, also barking excitedly. To my unbounded horror, I realise that this dog is in fact not enclosed in the garden, but actually on the loose and making use of its freedom to come galloping up the hill toward me. I’m obviously terrified out of my wits, but you know, I’m thinking “Anna you can do this! Dogs can smell fear, so don’t be scared!! Dogs can smell fear!! Whatever you do, just don’t be scared!” So I stick out my hand and courageously start scratching its head in what I hope is a professional dog-handler’s manner. To my outrage and disgust I notice a number of black things on its white fur that I can only assume are fleas. I also have to endure the dog sniffing and licking all over my hand and am forced sacrifice my watch to its antisocial behaviours. Anyway after 30 seconds of this I’ve had enough and decide I want to keep moving. The dog (hereafter the monster) is having none of this, and starts—I kid you not—leaping up on me, putting its dirty paws on my shoulders, my clean singlet, &etc. I try telling it to “go” in both English and Italian without much success. Finally I just force my way past and pretend nothing is happening. The monster, of course, starts following me down the deserted road, first gallivanting behind, then in front of me, then “sniffing my hand with its teeth” (#JamesAllen: otherwise known as “biting”). However, just when I start pulling out my phone with the firm intention of obtaining some photographic evidence of this harassment by an Italian canine, the monster decides to run away, possibly thinking I’m calling the police.
I heave a huge sigh of relief and keep walking. I have peace for maybe another 10 minutes, and then, lo and behold, another rabid dog free to persecute innocent passers-by.
What is with Italian dog-owners and not understanding to keep their dangerous beasts in barbed wire enclosures?? This dog is about a quarter of the size of last one, but it’s still large enough to cause me some discomfort, with similar uncontrolled “leaping” habits and the identical intention of following me to the ends of the earth. In addition to being hideously ugly, however, this dog is also intelligent. I’m almost at the point when I’m ready to stop one of the cars passing by and ask its occupants to rescue me from this pest of an animal, but the problem is that whenever a car comes, the dog dives into the nearest bushes and disappears, so I have no evidence. Of course it reappears as soon as the car has driven by. I managed to get a picture of this dog, you can see it below, I mean this is clear, unedited proof that it was actually trying to eat me.
Anyway I’m continuing down the road doing my best to ignore the unwanted company when I see a sight that makes me almost faint with fear: THREE members of the canine species streaking down a driveway toward me. And these are not white, Shetland pony sized dogs; they are black, lean machines that look like Doberman-Pit bull crosses. I actually think my last hour on earth has come; I see no humans that could conceivably offer me assistance if all four of these dogs decide to attack me—and make no mistake, the three newcomers look very prepared to attack.
I do not stop, but keep walking, putting one foot after the other, and hoping the end will be swift. After a few seconds, I realise that the vicious dogs don’t appear to be coming any closer. I risk a quick turn of the head and guess what?? The three dogs have set on the one that was following me, and they are all of them having a huge discussion/fight/game together. I don’t stop to analyse the situation closely, as far as I’m concerned, if the dog that was following me gets eaten by these three newcomers then its owner is to blame for not keeping it on his own property. I’m just thankful that I am still alive to tell the tale!
This marks the end of the traumatic experience otherwise known as “Anna’s first and last walk in the countryside of Macerata.” I hope you enjoyed it, more updates to come soon here on Anna in Italy.
