Paw-rivileged Access: A Coddiwomple with Clyde

Stepping through the solid wood door of our farmhouse apartment onto the busy street is an affront to the senses, even at this time of early morning. Rapid whirs from the motorino mafia and the buzzing of tiny cars as they race past drown out the protests from the lanky smoker pleading to the cigarette machine across the street. In the quiet between the turbulent waves of vehicles, one can hear the rustling sound of the discarded supermercato ads and torn wrappers as they trundle down the lane like errant sagebrush with each new gust of air received. I gaze above the disparate skyline of buildings ahead and pause to admire rosy whisps of clouds catching the sunrise. They cause a smile, I yawn and regroup, and then we set off on our adventure to a new dog park. 

On the way Clyde stops to smell the multitude of urine marks scarring the walls like haphazard dog graffiti. The recent rain enhances the foul odors, so I curl my nose and mush him forward. The jingle of Clyde’s chain collar against its attached trinkets and the rhythmic clickety-clack of his nails on the stones only add to the chaotic cacophony that is bustling city life experience in Italy. As we navigate the faded crosswalk at the corner, the melodious clanking of church bells signal an order for the park gates to open, and I can’t help but smile again at the lovely sound. 

Closer to the park entrance, I see the other canine squires patiently awaiting the gruff groundskeeper as he accomplishes his morning duty. This motley group of locals chatter and assess while their furry companions engage with their own restrained greetings. The jangle of the doorman’s crowded analog keyring, the ka-clunk of the gate locks, and the screech from the aged iron hinges as the doors open are almost cliché in how authentic they sound in this modern, digital world. We approach the queue and Clyde excitedly appraises the new cohort. As I wait, I wonder to myself whether dogs are as superficial as humans… I mean, do rhinestone or embroidered name collars matter to Clyde? Will other dogs interpret the highfalutin odor spray I used on Clyde before leaving as a sign he is more civilized (was it Woof Lauren or Tommy Holedigger?), or would they instead just prefer each other’s au naturale aroma? 

Suddenly the older lady in the faded floral frock pulls her small schnauzer close as we come near. She proceeds to pick up and comfort her tail-wagging consort, seemingly sure of my big dog’s aggression, this outsider looking for new territory to conquer. She glances hurriedly at the now-ajar gate for an escape and she, along with the others, enter the park as we collectively advance with the anticipated paws-seggiata. 

A few owners take off to the trees with their dogs while the remainder of the circle standing outside the gate simply transplants themselves in an identical formation inside the park, and their conversations begin anew. Many of the dogs, on the other hand, have now slipped their surly bonds and fervently commence their tireless census-taking obligations, keeping tabs on any new additions or revisions to the neighborhood roster gleaned from unseen scents—a veritable Who’s Who based on their ‘#2.’ Clyde excitedly wants to partake and he pulls on the leash. The ‘council’ stops and looks. Clyde raises the hairs on his back as he nervously wags a taut tail, quickly bombarded by a sniffing mob bent on being the first to add his details to their nosecount.

Immediately I too raise my hackles as I now respond to the urgent inquiries of “Maschi?!” (Is he a male?) with a “Buongiorno.” I hesitantly confirm their fears that he is a male, but I add in that he is only a “mezzo maschi”(half-man) on account of his missing accessories. Seriously? No question of whether he is “molto gentile”(very kind) or playful, just his gender?! And regardless of the positive response I would give to those questions, many had already built tall walls of bias and expectation of his behavior and the assured negative interaction with their respective dog. These “satellite dog parents” give a frustrated look as they re-attach their minions, keeping them closer and infringing on the dogs’ ability to complete their important surveys. I too pull Clyde in, nervous to have already jeopardized our chance for inclusion in this stalwart group. I half-smile and look around, and my eyes rest on a smiling face. 

With a raspy voice, a soft smile and gentle green eyes made larger through her brown-framed, coke-bottle glasses, a middle-aged woman in a pale green t-shirt and flowy patterned pants asks me (in Italian) my dog’s name and where I am from. My name doesn’t matter in the dog park-world and I smile knowing at least some things are universal. I begin my canned speech of memorized dialogue regarding our provenance and I notice the group members all listening intently, assessing, deciding. She continues the beneficial interrogation, and I feel as though she is like the groundskeeper, trying to find the right key that will open the gate to the group circle. When she asks where I live, I explain that we live on Via Pisana nearby, that we just moved to Firenze, and that we really like the Oltrarno area. I paused and honestly think I heard a ka-clunk… and exultantly I see some raised eyebrows, and smiles too. No longer were we perceived to be just “stranieri in vacanza” (foreigners on vacation) on a morning stroll, intent on consuming as much pasta, wine and resources as possible before returning elsewhere. We were new neighbors, muddling through Italian (me, not Clyde), and soon having to run the Italian gauntlet of bureaucracy as they have had to endure… and that mattered, a bit. 

Clyde was bearing his own form of interrogation by the locals, though mostly unspoken (but for the yappy jack russell). And he arguably fared even better than I, in terms of acceptance, if the array of excited tails and allowed violations of his personal space were any indication. I pause and consider the annoyance of his tugs on the leash at my hip… and conclude that we are at a dog park, that there is an enclosed area, and I was feeling triumphant… so I told him to sit and I unclipped the leash from his collar…make or break, as they say. Immediately Alba ran up, a beautiful but shy collie mix with a long, gorgeous brown and white coat, and after the pleasantries, they are off running through the steep planted areas as they team up to explore. The rest of the untethered assembly quickly runs in pursuit. 

The woman with the mini-schnauzer gazes at the unruly band as they joyfully romp. She looks down at her pup with guilty trepidation, and sets the wire-haired ball of excitement on the ground. After giving him some stern commands, she then releases him too. Without hesitation, but with limited speed and ground clearance, he was off to join the group. 

I stay and listen for a few more minutes to stories about family in New York, visits to Las Vegas, and the beauty of California. I answer a few more questions, and then I bid my “Ciao, a presto…” (Bye, see you soon), not wanting to overstay my welcome. The kind ‘gatekeeper’ with the green eyes offers up a “Ci vediamo a presto!” (See you soon…) and I race to chase down my hound. 

The path back to the apartment is illuminated now in an orange glow. The road is even busier now, but I don’t notice as much. As we pass the neighborhood café, Clyde and I step in, ready for another adventure… and a proper espresso.