Tag Archives: Piero

At long, long, last!

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F-I-N-A-L-L-Y!

I suppose everyone does this, don’t they?

I look back at the very few photographs I have and think that, actually, I was quite good looking. By which, I mean that, at the time, I didn’t realise it or I thought that, whereas not downright ugly, I was not “all that”.

And, of course, at that moment, what I thought looked really cool, actually may not have looked that good. But looking back at these phtographs, I realise that, actually, I was quite good looking and I wish I had known that then, at that time and, better, had done something with it.

But, physically, my ideas of how I looked are NOT the same as the reality.

For example, for many, many years, in my head, I had a button nose. Even when I looked in the mirror, that’s what I saw. I hated this button nose. I wanted a long one, perhaps more of a Roman one. In fact, I would spend time pulling my nose down and out as I really hated this button nose.

It wasn’t until I mentioned it one time in company that I was put straight about this thing. I didn’t have, and never had had, such a thing as a button nose.

Now, although I realise this to be true, my mind plays tricks on me and, occasionally, I still think of it as a button nose. Which, even as I think about it, I know not to be true – like now, when I’m writing this. Still, in my head (at this moment), I think of it as short, stubby abd turned up.

The other thing that’s important to me, as far as physical looks go, is my hair. This has been so every since I can remember. At 12 I was telling my parents that “everyone has long hair at school, and I want long hair too”. Really! I only “saw” long hair on other kids but now, I realise, this cannot have been true.

My hair has always been ‘important’ to me. When I was about 17 or so was the ‘best time’ (apart from the other best times, of course). In reverse order, I’ve had very short and natural grey, very short and not-natural, almost-black, slightly longer and black, shortish and natural, longish and natural, spikey and long and blonde, normal and natural, long almost to my waist and natural, longish, just past shoulder-length and natural (the ‘best one’), spikey and sometimes blue and before that I don’t remember.

But, since F convinced me to stop dying my hair (and I ended up with the first one in the above list), I haven’t been entirely happy. So, since the summer before last, I grew it.

In my head, it reminds me of the ‘best’ one from when I was 17.

In the mirror, I see a head full of hair, longish flowing locks, nearly as it should be – but not quite.

And then I see photos of myself now. It looks quite dreadful. In the photo. In the mirror (and my head) it looks nothing like that. I picture myself as I was at 17, just back from holiday, brown, with these flowing locks and looking really good.

And, even if I know that the camera doesn’t lie, I still think that it does. Or, at least, it distorts. Maybe it wasn’t a good day? Maybe it was a little windy?

And my hair is thinner now. I know this for if I put a mirror to show me the back of my head, you can see I’m going a bit bald. Except I was thinking that about 20 years ago. It just never really quite happened! But I am certain it’s much thinner than it was and the almost-bald-patch is now almoster bald.

So, where were we?

Ah, yes. So, in my head and when I look at myself in a mirror, I am almost the same as when I was 17. Except I’m not, of course.

And I started growing it because I wanted a style. Some sort of style but I wasn’t sure what. I thought: if I grow it I can choose what to have. Except, after almost a couple of years I’m no closer to making a decision.

And, even if I’ve asked F for his advice, I get nothing from him. And I’ve been wanting him to suggest something or say something but I could solicit nothing.

Until last night.

For our anniversary, as normal, I came with a last-minute idea for a present. The present was one of those digital picture frames. I’ve always thought they were a bit of a waste of time but, you know, when you have little idea of what to buy, it came in a flash that this might be something he would like, being keen on photography and all.

And, it turns out, it was a great choice. He loves it. And so he spent a long time putting over 300 photos on it which he brought over last night to show me. Of course, they are 300+ photos of the dogs!

But in some of them, there is him or me (with the dogs).

One came up of me the summer before last, when we were on holiday in Umbria, just before I started growing my hair.

“You should cut your hair,” he says, when he sees it. “Short hair makes you look younger.” I tell him that I am very happy that he is making some comment. And I AM very happy. It’s just not quite the comment that I want.

Sure, I want to look younger.

I’m not that bothered about looking younger.

Maybe he WANTS me to look younger? Maybe he thinks that I look much older now? I want to do what he wants. I don’t care about being younger or older and, yet, …… I do care on some level.

Later I suggest that I need a style and should he see something, to tell me. His response was “It’s too thin.” He means, of course, go and get it cut, really short, all over – like it was.

In my head, of course, it’s not at all THAT thin. I reply that it’s been like this for years and years.

But he’s right, of course. He suggests that maybe I can keep it like this for the winter and get it cut in the spring. He doesn’t really think that, of course. He’s just saying that. Maybe my face said too much?

Of course, this isn’t really what I want to hear but, in his way, he’s being nice whilst being quite direct. This idea I had that I have hair like I was 17 or, even, that I had almost convinced myself that I look like some old, eccentric, English professor should be banished from my brain. Should be but it’s very difficult to do.

And, although I absolutely HATE the idea of not having a choice any more, he is, of course, quite right. And I am so glad that he’s finally said SOMETHING!

Now all I have to do is to summon up the courage to go and get it done! This is not easy for me and will take me some time and then I have to choose somewhere to have it done. This, too, is quite difficult. I have to pick the right place. I remember when I went from waist-length to quite short, when I first went to work. It was almost the most excruciatingly painful thing I had ever done (not physically but mentally). I can only imagine how Samson must have felt. This will be the same.

I am convinced that no one else has this problem (the pain of having one’s hair cut). For no one else does it seem such a big deal. I don’t even know why it is for me. It’s just weird! It’s the stuff in my head …. again!

Or, maybe I CAN find a style ………..?????

A change.

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It all feels a bit unreal.

As if I’m in some sort of fuggy dream. As if I’m not really there.

The change seems overnight although, in reality, it’s over a weekend.

And now, for me, it’s a race to the other end; a race to the light – almost literally.

I had promised to take the dogs out this morning as it was probably going to be raining and would probably keep right on raining until later in the morning. Which it has.

Although, when we were out, it didn’t seem too bad; not the heavy rain predicted, more of a lighter rain – the one just after or just before the heavy rain. It was dark, of course, but, then. it had been dark at this time for a few weeks.

As we approach the second traffic lights, they change from flashing amber to the normal red/green. I thought I must be late but, instead, it’s the lights’ change that’s early – by about 5 minutes.

The dogs (even Piero) keep as close to the buildings as possible.

I don’t let them into the dog area. They are wet already and there’s no need to get them really dirty as the puddles testify that the area will be just mud. Anyway, there are no other dogs in there (and probably won’t be, at least this morning), so Piero isn’t missing any play time. But, then, there aren’t usually any dogs in here at this time.

It’s raining, slightly, but not really ‘cold’ as such. About 13 degrees.

We walk back home. We, all three of us, want to get back.

As we wait for the lift, Dino is trying to dry himself on the walls. He looks forward to the towelling he has when he gets wet.

We get in the flat and I get the towels, Dino not taking his eyes off me, knowing what’s coming. Obviously, I do him first, dropping the towel on his head and starting to rub him down vigorously. He throws himself into this ritual and I think he would like it if I didn’t stop – but the other one has to be done.

The other one, on the other hand, does not really like it and tries to escape. But he’s still small enough to be able to keep in check without too much effort and he gets ‘done’ anyway.

I get ready and have coffee and leave to go to work.

It’s still raining – in much the same way – not too hard.

The car is close and, since it’s service, starts first time, which is great.

But it’s the drive to work that’s different. It’s still dark. It’s miserable. And different to Friday morning when it was light.

Of course, it’s made darker by the rain clouds.

But, as I drive, I don’t feel altogether “there” and it’s unnerving.

The traffic is, for the most part, quite light. Soon it won’t be like this.

It starts to get light on my way but I see the 50-shades-of-grey clouds, patchy and bleak, in the sky.

The race is on to February or March when it will (hopefully) get warmer and brighter.

On the plus side, F noticed that the heating was on last night (at home, obviously. At work the place is close to fridge conditions – especially as these fucking crazy Italians feel the need to change the air – or let the bloody cold in, as I like to say) and I am VERY happy about that.

1 Englishman, 1 American and 2 Italians in a pub.

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There’s an Englishman, American, two Italians and two dogs, sitting in a bar ………

Sounds like the start of a good joke, doesn’t it?

OK then, let’s continue …..

The humans are talking about this and that, having a few drinks. It’s a pleasant evening, quite warm and, whilst not exactly outside, they are in a semi-covered area, stuck in a corner. It was the only place available. They are sittiing around a small, round table.

They haven’t seen each other for a while and it’s good to chat.

Suddenly, and without warning, there is this awful, retch-inducing smell.

The Englishman, being English, says nothing but pretends that nothing is happening.

The Italians, being ‘out’ say nothing and pretend that nothing is happening.

The American, having lived in Europe long enough, politely says nothing and pretends that nothing is happening.

The dogs, being non-human, say nothing.

The position in the bar means that there is no escape. And, to move would be to ‘know’ and no one wants that, do they?

Two, three or maybe four times this happens.

Each time it seems worse than the last.

Eventually, everyone leaves to go home.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

“It was Piero,” says F, as we are walking home. And I agree.

We had brought the dogs with us as our friends wanted to see the puppy, even if he is 5 months old and quite large now.

I mean, you get this problem with oldeer dogs. Occasionally, Dino ‘drops one’. But for such a young puppy – but it’s true and I agree. That night, when they were in separate rooms, it comes again and confirms it’s Piero.

Bloody dog! I haven’t even changed his food!

In any event, it wasn’t a joke at all. But what were we to do?

It is psychological

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I thought it was psychological.

And I was right.

Piero, in spite of there being no newspaper any more, has it in his head that it’s OK to pee and pooh in the lounge, near the french windows.

As he didn’t do anything when we were on holiday (because it wasn’t the ‘usual’ place, whereas, here, even within an hour of being out, there would be fresh pee), I was convinced it was all in his head.

So, on Friday night, I ‘shut off’ that area of the lounge.

And we’ve kept it shut off since and, so far, nothing, not one drop. He has waited until we go out. I knew, from the holiday that he COULD hold it and now it proves it.

This is rather excellent and I am very happy about it.

He is a great puppy in many ways.

And becoming much more affectionate now (although another dog is always better than a person in his view :-) )

Accidental experiment (2)

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Last night was the same.

This time, they had the run of the house but I did shut the shutters. It seems it has the same effect as denying him the lounge :-) Maybe because there is no ‘outside’? I don’t know. I guess we shall see as it’s getting colder at night now, so soon the shutters AND the doors will be closed.

I like it a lot.

Accidental experiment

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It was a kind of accidental experiment. Accidental in that I didn’t purposefully set it up that way. Experiment in that, what I thought was true was ‘proved’.

Piero is a really good dog in many ways. OK but he’s a puppy so the chewing of a piece of furniture in the hallway is not unexpected. Fortunately, it’s not an important piece of furniture. It was given to me FOC and is more utilitarian than nice. It doesn’t fit with my other furniture, for certain.

The getting on the bed seems to have stopped since I moved all the little things on the bedside table to a place well out of reach.

When we go out for a walk, he nearly always does a pee within a hundred yeards of the front door of the building. He nearly always does a pooh on the first bit of grass/stony area where cars park.

Sometimes the pee is very long. Sometimes short. Sometimes the pooh is huge, sometimes small. The small/short ones happen if he has already peed or poohed in the house.

But, I KNOW he doesn’t NEED to do them, since, when we were away, he does nothing at all in the house, even if we’ve left him all day. So, in general, I know he can hold it. And my thought was that, even if I don’t put paper down any more, he still thinks it is ‘acceptable’ to do his toilet in that one place.

And, last night, with a friend sleeping in the lounge and them with me in the bedroom, I had proof that this is a psycological thing for Piero.

When I got up this morning, there was no pooh or pee to clear up whereas, if he had had access to the lounge, there defintely would have been.

Now I know it’s a psycological thing, I have to find a way to stop him thinking that this area is a toilet.

But it’s a big step forward.

We have successes and setbacks.

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Further to my post below. It worked! Well, it worked at one level.

About 6.30 a.m., Sunday, I heard the start of playing.

I encouraged them out of the bedroom and shut the doors, putting something behind the doors to stop them opening.

Only once did I hear an attempt to get through. There was no whimpering or other noise. I slept until 9!

So, Sunday was a good day.

F suggested that I get some sort of latch so we can latch the door. In fact, I will be getting two. One for when we are in the bedroom and one for when we are not.

The reason for the latter is because of two reasons.

1. Sunday night, we got back from having a pizza and, as usual, the dogs came to greet us. Piero was a bit late. As I thought, he had been on the bed. Worse, he had taken soomething fromo the bedside table and destroyed it. It wasn’t important in that it was only a box of plasters but that wasn’t really the point. The getting on the bed has to stop.

Of course, the problem is that it is not possible to enter the bedroom without coming into the flat through the front door – which always gives him time to get off the bed.

2. On Monday morning I got up a little later as F was going to take them out. I got up and, as usual, Piero was asleep in the lounge. I closed the doors to the bedroom and got ready for work, had a coffee, etc. Piero was completely quiet. When I left, I had opened the doors to the lounge but not the bedroom. Apparently, at about 7.30, he started whimpering, which woke F up.

So, for these two reasons, a latch or latches of some kind must be bought and fixed. And it’s not so simple either. The latches must be operable from both sides since I must be able to close the door from outside the bedroom and yet F must be able to open it when he gets up.

Actually this may require a ‘man’ to do it.

But, you may ask, why don’t you just shut the door properly?

Well, the problem is that these doors are very old (possibly as old as the flat) and they have warped and been painted over numerous times so that they a) don’t close exactly and b) anyway the handle doesn’t actually work.

On a more positive note, this morning, both dogs came with me as I went to get ready and have coffee. Again, I left the flat leaving the bedroom door closed but Dino knows you just need to push it. F informed me that, this morning, they were quiet.

Things HAVE to change.

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It’s about 6.30.

6.30 in the morning.

6.30 on a Saturday morning.

After a week of getting up at 5.40.

We stir enough for Piero to come in from the balcony. It is light. Dawn has broken.

In his mind, light = day. Movement = awake. Day and awake means getting up and going for a walk.

We don’t move from the bed. It is September and Autumn has well and truly arrived. It is cold, not helped by the balcony window being open. The bed is warm. F is warm. I need another hour or an hour and a half.

Piero doesn’t.

Piero tries to get our attention, which doesn’t work. So, he turns his attention to Dino.

He wants to play if he can’t go out for a walk. Dino is more like us and doesn’t want to play.

There is some playing on Piero’s side.

Dino gets fed up and gets on the bed. On Frankie’s side, of course. He lies down.

Piero puts his front paws on the bed but it seems a little too high for him (thank goodness).

I try to go back to sleep.

After a few minutes, Piero makes it onto the bed. Dino moves further up the bed. F, who is under the covers, whispers ‘Ti voglio bene’ (meaning I love you – as you would say to a child/relative/close friend). This sets Dino off and he moves further up the bed so that he is almost sitting on F’s face. Partly to get away from TLB (The Little Bastard) and partly because of what F has whispered to him.

F gets up. It is about 7.

We talk later about this. I tell him that this is not acceptable. He agrees. I say we should shut them out – shut them in the kitchen. F doesn’t want to do that. He says we can close the bedroom door. It doesn’t close properly – they will come through, I point out. He says we can put something behind it, like the laundry basket.

So, tomorrow morning, about 6.30 a.m., I guess, I will, most likely, be getting up to shut the door to the bedroom and, hopefully, giving us more time to sleep.

God, I really hope so. I feel as tired now, as I write this, as I did before the holidays!

Shit City

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Well, it was a bit of a disaster alright, last night, but not at all in the way that I had thought.

It was, in fact, what I used to call ‘shit city’.

Great piles of the stuff, mostly on the newspaper but, when the newspaper ran out of space, the floor.

And I do mean huge piles of it. So much so that I ‘growled’ at Dino. Obviously, TLB (The Little Bastard – my new name for Piero) could not possibly have done it all.

However, after cleaning up, I took them out for a walk. We were out for about an hour and a half. At the start of the walk, Dino did a pooh which was normal. It made me doubt that any of the shit in shit city could be his …… and, yet?

On the way back, when we were nearly home, Piero had diarrhoea. So, it WAS him after all. I really don’t know how he fitted it all in his body in the first place!

The ‘culprit’ was a pine cone from a display we had had at Christmas. He’s been used to picking pine cones up in the pineta and thought this was the same. However, it probably had some ‘stuff’ on it that, I guess, wasn’t good for him.

Anyway, it all seems better this morning. We shall see tonight.

On the plus side, there was no damage done (that I could find), nor was anything ‘taken’. Let’s hope it continues!

Worth mentioning?

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I suppose that what I haven’t told you about the holiday is, quite probably, the most important bit which has more long-term repercussions.

Piero is growing up.

Well, that’s obvious, I suppose. He’s now about 3/4 the size of Dino. I do wonder if he’s going to be bigger that Dino? But that’s not at all what I meant to say.

What I mean is that he’s become “bolder”. Now, anything within reach is a potential toy. Also, he climbed on the furniture whilst down in Carrara. I caught him only once and that is the problem. I need to catch him to stop it.

And so I have fears for my house today. I have no idea what I will find when I reach home. I am a little bit worried.

Just thought I would mention it.