Didn't sleep much last night. The dogs of my neighborhood went crazy at 4:30 a.m., a crescendo of barking, one dog sparking another, for about 10 minutes.
Since one of the biggest, loudest barkers -- a sleek German shepherd -- is kept not far from my bedroom window, there's really no hope of sleeping through that.
Dog ownership here is just so different from the States -- and England.
Most of the dogs here on my side of the hill are guard dogs. They're kept outside. And they're supposed to bark like crazy to protect their owners' properties. One dog, at a house going down the hill into town, lunges so viciously at the fence when someone walks by that you pray nothing ever happens to that fence between you and him.
Like good dogs everywhere, they're doing precisely what their owners want. And Italians do have a point about guarding their properties -- there are a lot of robberies here.
But the differences don't stop there.
Italian television is full of public service announcements now in August -- when every Italian goes on vacation (you MUST take your vacation in August) -- not to abandon your dogs when you leave for the beach.
It reminds me of a few years back, before we moved to the States, when we lived in an attic apartment in an apartment building on the northern edge of Rome. In the ground floor, garden flat below us, the wealthy owners had a large German shepherd, who lived in the garden (where else?). Every August they would go away, but the dog would stay there outside.
We never saw anyone go in to feed the dog, but obviously someone must have or it would've died. Regardless, this dog would go insane for the entire month his owners were away -- just barking wildly at all times of the day and night at everything.
And then, you could barely walk on our posh street there for the piles of dog shit everywhere. Italians know nothing about scooping.
Not that you ever see an Italian walking a dog, that is. There, for apartment dwellers without gardens, it was just take the dog across the street for a second, have him shit, leave the steaming pile right there, and take the dog directly back. For dogs who had gardens, there wasn't even that.
Here in my little town, I think the only person I've actually seen walking their dog is a German woman who lives here. I see her almost every day, like I used to see people in my neighborhood in the States.
There was a dog park near our house in the States where dog owners would take their dogs to romp and play together, everyone always meticulously, obsessively, scooping. You couldn't not scoop in the States. People would report you.
And then there's the status thing. Gotta have a pure-bred dog here.
Like Ray-Ban sunglasses.
Almost everyone I know who has a dog here has a pure-bred. There are some beautiful dogs here, to be sure, shining, powerful examples of their breed.
And of course in the States dog owners splash out on pure-breds too, spending hundreds of dollars for a dog as well.
But there was almost as much status -- if not even a bit more -- in having a rescue dog, a dog you saved from the pound.
Out of my three (potential) homes these days -- Italy, the States and London -- Britain wins the dog stakes hands down, light years ahead of Italy and so much chiller than in the States.
People walk their dogs there, they scoop, they own a variety of dogs, who don't just bark madly alone in their gardens, and dogs are allowed to run free in a lot of public places.
London's many parks are full of dogs off their leashes, happily romping and sniffing. In the States, you're only allowed to have your dog off leash deep in the woods somewhere (not even there, really, but since you often don't see anyone, it doesn't matter) or in designated dog parks.
And I've never seen one steaming pile of dog shit on my London street yet.
Almost makes you want to hop the next plane back to London, find a rescue dog, and take him to the park to run.
At least you know you'll get some sleep.
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