This Pic Makes Sookie and Rory Tear Up

While we have a lovely Rainier cherry tree in our Seattle backyard, Sookie and Rory still dream of the days when they spent hours eating persimmon parts under the tree in their yard at Cielo Chiaro:

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Florentine Pugs

I’ve mentioned this before, but it deserves reiteration (or re-bark-eration): we’re dog people. And so took pictures of lots of Italian dogs, including these adorable pugs (or pug and a pug-mix) in Florence. I love how that little tongue is sticking out—touring around is so hard for a dog. While our dogs are big ‘uns, my sister-and-nephews-and-brother-in-law have pugs (as well as pals Ame and Ron), so we definitely have a pug soft spot:

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Oscar Searches for Treats

Oscar is (if you didn’t already know) Italian/British auntie and uncle-y Marianne and Andrew’s puppy, who we saw tons. He quickly figured out that I kept dog treats (and crumbs of dog treats) in my right hand coat pocket:

*Wanna meet Oscar? Start your own dreamy Italian vacation by stopping by Amici Villas

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Dogs in Sunny Italian Springtime

The sun has been insistently splendid so far in our April Italian springtime, with temperatures ticking above the norm (so we’ve been told), and afternoons begging to be spent lazily. Which is okay with us, that’s for sure—we love sitting outside reading while the sun shines (and if we have a cold bierra or vino bianco, all the better). The dogs have been reveling in the weather as well, with Rory enjoying his favorite Italian pastime-of-the-moment: lizard hunting. The little Italian lizards are everywhere when the sun is heating things up, but especially on the rock walls:

Sookie would much rather sit in the sun and be petted, but every once in a while Rory gets just crazy enough that it catches her eye and ear and she checks out the hunting action:

before pouncing. Of course, with the sun comes pretty high temperatures, so a black dog like Sookie gets pretty heated with just a little lizard chasing. Sometimes, she gets so hot that she can’t even sit and be petted, instead heading for shade and greenery:

Eventually, though, the shadows start to overwhelm the yard and we have to head back inside. Of course, when trying to get Rory to leave his lizard-hunting, this is the look we get:

Ah, kids are the same no matter what species. They always want to have five more minutes of playtime.

Fat Cats in Florence

We were back in Florence the other day and night (more pics from that and from dinner in the next day or two), walking through Santa Croce and took a peek through a window into a side garden and saw two cats that looked like they enjoyed the Italian cuisine as much as we do (and yeah, I’m putting these up in some ways to just torture the puppies, who would like to chase these kittens until they slimmed down):

Citta di Castello’s Retro Market

I believe (though hey, my memory isn’t 100% sieve-less, so if I’m mistaken, take it up with the court of universal blog authorities, or CUBA) I’ve mentioned the regular Citta di Castello (or, in AJ-speak, CDC) market (basic clothes, stuff, and veggies) somewhere on the blog, and know I’ve mentioned the small city itself, one of the closest small cities to us (where the truffle festival is). CDC also has another market, on the third Sunday of the month, called the Retro Market. It’s very different than the regular market (which is every Thursday and Saturday), sometimes smaller in scope, with a focus on, well, antique-y kinds of things: furniture, books, knick-knacks, jewelry, records, and more. Not as massive, or as massively expensive as the Arezzo antique market, the CDC Retro market sprawls in the old city square and some surrounding buildings and overhangs:

We went last weekend (only the second time we’d been this trip—sadly) and found tables holding everything that could possible fit under the designation “retro” and a lot that fit “flea market” just as well:

I think it’s a kick to amble around the aisles of stuff, sometimes day-dreaming about what furniture I might pick up if I had a little Italian hill house. The trunkish, table-ish, number in the front here was especially nice:

Perhaps the cutest thing at the market I found under one of the tables, though, when I was browsing some Italian books:

Here and there when walking around you come across a tableau (yeah, I talk fancy) that is almost like an art installation all on its own (makes you wonder if the seller is sad when a piece in the middle of an artistic grouping like the below is sold):

Usually, we’re okay just browsing, or picking up something small (okay, honestly, I should say I’m usually okay with browsing—Nat’s a buyer). This Retro market stop, however, we came across a couple art pieces we couldn’t turn down (the prices tend to be reasonable in the CDC), even if it might mean stretching our suitcases to get them back:

Aren’t those wonderful? We especially were drawn in by the frames, which have a metal layering on them that blends into the picture and adds to overall effect:

We also (okay, honestly, this one was my extra pick) found a sweet six-piece set of Ramazzotti coasters. Ramazotti is an amaro (or Italian slightly bitter, usually digestif-y, drink) both of us have been known to sip, and these coasters called to me (buy us, buy us):

My fav was probably this one, which has a lady carrying a ginormous bottle of Ramazzotti while riding an ostrich:

Now, that’s the kind of Retro market find I can get behind.

Dogs in Springtime

It’s still a mix of days here in the Niccone Valley (the most beautiful valley in the world, some say), with some sunshine, some days where the rain beats the earth as if it were angry, some with wind whipping around the olive trees, and some with only a handful of big clouds hinting at blustery evenings. The sun is starting to win out more often than not, though, which leads to the dogs spending more time outside, sometimes running wild, and sometimes just smelling the newly blooming flowers on the breeze (as well as the deer droppings on the breeze):

Of course, all these smells also lead to a hunting mentality, because who knows what critter might be sunning itself, just outside of the world’s flimsiest fence:

All that spring can make a dog tired though. Luckily, recently Sookie had an awfully friendly pillow to sleep on—Jon Sholly’s lap. Sadly, the changing of the seasons also means that visiting friends have to hit the road, back to homes and stateside habitats, which means Sookie can’t have such a comfy spot all the time:

Sookie and Rory and Their New Toys

Different dogs, like different people, enjoy different toys (even in Italy), and enjoy their toys in a different ways. That’s a lot of difference for two dogs who spend a good amount of time smelling each other’s butts. But hey, difference makes the world spin even for dogs. Just look, for evidence. Here’s Sookie with her new Ratt-Ratt, cuddling up after just a little chewing and chawing:

On the other side, here’s Rory, with his new toy (after not being as interested in his own Ratt-Ratt):

Looks almost vicious, doesn’t he? Only to plastic bottles though.

Sleepy Italian Dogs

Some evenings even the elusive black squirrels of Niccone can’t nudge the dogs off the couch. Whether it’s Rory trying to break out-under-through the world’s flimsiest fence to chase the yappy neighbor dogs, or Sookie scouting out how to slip through the front gate to skip across into the olive grove across the street to chase deer (eleven were there the other morning), some days just wear puppies out:

Maybe it’s not just puppies that get worn out though:

Hey, pre-tirement isn’t always go-go-go.

Teaching Rory to Play Yahtzee

The Italian pre-tirement isn’t solely pizzas, pastas, and artistic and natural wonders. There’s also plenty of time to play Nightmare Before Christmas Yahtzee (ya-ya-yatzee!), which was sent over the sea as a holiday present from my awesome nephews (and sister and brother-in-law). The only bad part was that Nat won the first game and that Rory got a smidge overly excited by me shaking dice in the pumpkin king’s head:

He got used to it after a while (and I won the second game--thankfully on both counts). Sookie? She was nonplused about the whole ordeal, kicking it Sookie style (which is a bit diva, between us--but if you're a star like Sookie, you can be a bit of a diva. Look at Beyonce) on the couch:

Puppies and Persimmons

Some people (I’ve heard) like persimmons. I think they’re icky. Which is a shame, cause there is a persimmon tree in our Italian backyard. In the dog part of the backyard, to be specific (the dog yard, I suppose. The dog domain. Where they run around, chase mice, do their business, wrestle, bark a bit, smell cats, and gnaw on each other. But not the part of the yard where they eat deer droppings. That part we walk by in the mornings. It’s their breakfast buffet, normally). While the persimmon tree doesn’t do anything for me, lately, the dogs are always near it when they’re outside. Even when the persimmons don’t look even close to appetizing in my opinion (it was a little gloomy when I took this pic, but even so, it’s late-ish winter and the persimmons left aren’t looking near to snazzy):

The dogs, see, have developed a persimmon addiction. They love these old persimmons, and usually head straight for the tree when we go into the yard to see which of the twenty or so persimmons left have fallen off since their last visit to the tree:

They’re pretty focused once under the tree with their dish-divine-of-the-moment, with Sookie even licking the persimmon juice and muck from leaves (oh, as an aside, the branches on the ground are mostly from the olive garden . . . wait, I mean the olive orchard, as the branches are pruned olive branches that we drug into the dog yard to help cut down on muddy paws):

And Rory’s developing a strategy for moving rocks around to better find the persimmon remnants (which is a huge step above his developing a strategy for tunneling under the fence to try and get to the little yappy dogs next door, a practice which was his favorite occupation before persimmon-dropping season):

The one downside to all the persimmons? What our German neighbor Doris calls (when she watches the dogs): ka ka. It’s not that the persimmons are bothering them internally (if you know what I mean), but they are, um, going to the bathroom more. And that’s probably enough said (except to add that we do get lots of plastic bags at the markets. So, the bags are being put to good use). The tree doesn’t have a lot of persimmons left, however, and the birds are also pretty excited about their winter fruit experience, so soon I think the dogs soon can again devote more time to what’s important: Doggie Wrestlemania 2011!

Panettone is Italian for Christmas—Just Ask Rory

Panettone is the traditional Italian Christmas dessert cake, historically often made with raisins or nuts and with a bit of a love-it-or-hate-it reputation. Now, it’s available in a host of flavors and designs and with numerous fillings and such, and available from many different brands as well as available around the world (or there-abouts). I’d actually never picked one up in Seattle (and neither had Nat), but we figured that since we were here we should do as the Italians. If nothing else (or if it was too dry) I figured that I could soak it in liqueur and it’d be delightful (liqueur has healing powers, after all). When picking it out, I went for a snazzy model, one in a star shape, with little star candies on it and a thin band of cream and one of chocolate running through the cake. It looked reasonable lovely:

However, we made a, well, not fatal to us, but fatal to the panettone error: we left it on the edge of the kitchen table when we were away from the kitchen. Rory doesn’t usually get on the table, even when the stray kilo of cheese is left there. However, the holiday lure of the panettone was too much, which meant that only one member of the family had more than a nibble, as after Rory got to it not much was left:

Ah well, we’ll have to try again next year. And anyway, Rory needed some holiday cheer.

Sookie and Rory, Sookie and Rory: Italian Dogs

Sometimes, it’s easy to get caught up in the many hilltowns perched like living history atop the rolling green hills here, and to dwell too much on the difference between creams, and the menu selections on ristorantes in this village and that town, forgetting about the really important things here in Italy, which are the same (funny enough) as the really important things anywhere: dogs Sookie and Rory. With that in mind, here are some pics of the finest dogs in Italy and how they spend their time. As you can tell from the paw on the screen, Sookie forced me to write this (nah, I’m kidding. But what a cute paw). First, Sookie gets up (after much prodding) and looks out over the valley from the balcony:

Then (when it’s sunny, at least), they go outside and Rory does a check of the grounds for intruders (lizards, mice, old Italian men driving those three-wheeled trucks that max out at 15 mph):

Then, it’s off to the wrestling matches. The dogs would be happy to wrestle and run throughout the day (or, until they get tired, or, until Sookie decides she needs to sun herself and Rory decides he needs to eat persimmons):

Then Rory watches for the neighbor dogs:

and sometimes Sookie also does lookout duty (or, shows that she’s the queen above all things):

Eventually, even doggies get tired, and so we come in to watch the fire burn and read stories aloud about Lassie or Rex the Wonder Dog while sitting on the couch:

At some point, even the most energetic pooch wears down, and then it’s time for the end of the day, and a short nap until it starts over again:

Sookie Goes to the Veterinario (Or, Trying to Say “Anal Gland” in Italian)

We’d been meaning to take the dogs into the vet in Umbertide since we arrived, so that they could get dog passports, which allow them to travel over continental Europe without having to carry reams of paperwork (most of which was talked about way back in a post on bringing dogs to Europe). However, the dolce vita lifestyle seemed to get into the way until recently when Sookie ended up demanding to go to the vet (well, she didn’t demand it, but he body did). Something about the move, or the increase in her cheese intake, or new foliage in the dog yard, caused her to have a flare up in a very delicate spot—her bottom. I won’t take a picture, but we could tell by looking at it that it was bothering her, so we decided to take her in to the vet. First, we tried to ask our super handy and friendly German neighbor Doris (who speaks German, natch, and Italian, and English, and who has two dogs and a horse) how to say “anal gland” in Italian, thinking (as Sookie had an infected anal gland in the past—I just realized that I’ll probably get some very odd traffic to this blog now that I’ve said “anal gland” so many times. Yikes) that we should know the right words going in. After some very odd looks from Doris, though, we stopped, asked if she knew the vet’s hours, and headed out with Sook in tow.
The veterinario is just outside of Umbertide, under a very small and thin tunnel under the train tracks, and located in a sparse, vaguely industrial area/sketchy part of town. At first we were confused—it’s just a house:

but then we saw the sign for a vet named Rebecca and the hours (the sign was falling off a bit, but looked clean):

Once inside, there’s a little waiting area, so small that we left Sookie in the car cause she doesn’t like to be crowded in with cats and such (or, she likes it too much). There’s no check-in desk or receptionist or anything, just some doors off the small waiting room. We didn’t know what to do, exactly, so we peeked in one of the doors and there was a lady (turns out it was Rebecca the wet—we met the other vet, Rudolfo, or Rudy, later) in a white lab coat looking at a cat. We didn’t want to interrupt, so we sat back down and then when the cat (and the cat owner) left, we walked in. At first, we tried to explain (Rebecca the vet has okay English) that we had a dog with an anal gland problem. But she just looked at us weirdly, and so we got smart and just brought Sookie on in to the office. Once we brought Sookie in we could use the international language of pointing to show Rebecca the vet the problem. We had to pick Sookie up and put her on a big metal table, and Sookie had to get a not-very-happy checkup (which I won’t describe, cause you can probably imagine it), and does indeed have an infection, which meant we also took our first trip to the Farmacia to get antibiotics (the pharmacists here dole out doggy drugs, too, as well as acting more like doctors). We did finally (we took Rory and Sookie back together a week or so later) get doggy passports, so if we want to take the dogs to France we can:

though right now they’re pretty happy just running around Italy: