Dogs ruling the roost?

There is a strong local conviction that bottles of water prevent dogs from whizzing on public surfaces. Doorways, walls, and even wells are often defended by these bottles. Whether it works or not, it's better than attacking the animals, not to mention their owners.
There is a strong local conviction that bottles of water prevent dogs from whizzing on public surfaces. Doorways, walls, and even wells are often defended by these bottles. Whether it works or not, it’s better than attacking the animals, not to mention their owners. Just another example of the struggle to coexist with the neighbors without resorting to weaponry.

There has been so much madness-by-the-metric-ton here lately that it might have been easy to miss a small but perfectly formed fragment of recent craziness.

The stories in the Gazzettino kept the city apprised, moment by moment (translated by me):

STOP THE CHILDREN’S BIRTHDAY PARTIES AT THE PARCO GROGGIA     THEY DISTURB THE DOGS

Not made up, I’m sorry to say.

There is a large, luxuriously verdant park in the farther reaches of Cannaregio known as the Parco of the Villa Groggia.  It is understandably a favorite place for families, children, and the occasional canine to frolic and gambol. You might have thought that this would be the Venetian version of the Peaceable Kingdom, missing only a chorus of singing begonias, but you would have thought wrong.

I have expounded elsewhere on the passion of Venetians for their dogs.  But there is a subtle line that divides passion from obsession and some people have clearly crossed it.

Many dog owners — which is not a correct term, because it’s obvious that many dogs own the people — firmly believe that their pets were born with certain inalienable rights, including running around off the leash and often doing more tangible and disagreeable things. But apart from the repulsive and unhealthy reminders of this fabulous freedom, there is also the potential for an uncontrolled dog to harm a child. This may seem obvious to you and me, but not to a dog’s bipedal slave. The kind of person who refers to herself as the dog’s “mamma.”  I heard it just this morning. I don’t know how men of this mentality — and there must be some — characterize themselves.  Maybe they call themselves “Uncle” or “Cousin.”

This conflict at the Parco Groggia started a while back, when a balloon, pursued by a tyke, popped, thereby “terrorizing” a certain lady’s little dog.  “From that moment,” said Tiffi, a mother of three who has a dog, too, “everything the kids do is under attack.”

The dog slaves — or at least this one belligerent lady — have made many complaints about the children to Franca Caltarossa, the director of the local playroom called the “Grasshopper and the Ant.”  They want the children to play inside, preferably (I’m imagining this) in the dark, in the cold, with the windows shut and sealed by duct tape.

Next headline:

NOW THERE IS A PETITION FOR THE VILLA GROGGIA

Citizens and mothers, to the number of 120, signed a petition protesting the requested ban on alfresco birthday parties.  It’s not easy to find nice green open public space here, for one thing.  For another, Franca Caltarossa revealed that this is only the latest in a series of disagreements with certain neighbors. “This isn’t the first time that we’ve had problems with the dog owners.  We’ve had to call the police more than once because they let their dogs run free, endangering the children.”

While the dog-slaves are fixated on how disturbing children can be, they evince no awareness of how phenomenally disturbing their dogs can be to most of the rest of us, even if we love dogs, on the whole.  They bark, they shriek, they scuffle, while their human lackeys either ignore or abet them by smiling.  It would take Nanny McPhee with a blunderbuss to re-educate them to the notion of living civilly with other people.

The story even got big play on the newsstand billboards: "Stabs to death his neighbor's dog." A fantasy of many fulfilled by one?
The story even got big play on the newsstand billboards: “Stabs to death his neighbor’s dog.” A fantasy of many fulfilled by one?

Speaking of armaments and their usefulness in re-educating the neighbors, just the other day an unidentified man living at Stra, up the Brenta River toward Padova, decided to handle things his own way.

The headline yesterday was: “Stabs to death the dog that attacked his.”  Two mutts leaped on his Springer spaniel and he couldn’t get them to stop, so he pulled out a knife and stabbed both of the dogs, killing one.  The carabinieri arrived before he could play an encore on the enraged owner of the two dogs.  He has been cited for illegally carrying a dangerous weapon and for killing an animal, while the owner of the victims was charged with not controlling his dogs.

But of course, things would never reach that point in the Parco Groggia, especially if we were to herd the little kiddies into a cellar and push a big stone on top of the door.

Is there a special circle in hell for the Grinch, Ebenezer Scrooge, Silas Marner, Captain Ahab, Edward Murdstone, and their ilk?  There must be plenty of room left for the dog-owners of Cannaregio. Or rather, “owner.” A statement from the Comune referred to “complaints from a user of the park.”  It doesn’t take many to get the wild rumpus started and evidently this person is already well-known for his or her grievances.

The first official voice of reason was heard from Erminio Viero, president of the municipality. “The park of Villa Groggia is for everybody,” he said. “The park is under our responsibility and there is no preclusion of children.  Dogs can circulate only on the walkways and on the leash.” This must be the first time many of the dog-people have ever heard of these rules and I’m sure they think it’s a fable.

“THE ALARM” WITHDRAWN FOR THE PARTIES AT THE VILLA GROGGIA

The city’s statement on all this is: “There has never been a prohibition (against children in the park).  Children’s parties will continue to be organized by “The Grasshopper and the Ant” utilizing the park of Villa Groggia, just as it has been established by the City Council deliberation of October 2, 2003 which is still in effect, which permits and regulates the parties, even for birthdays, of the city’s playrooms (“ludoteca“).

That’s pretty clear, but Mr. Viero couldn’t resist chiming in, with all the ardor of a Russian provincial functionary in a story by Chekhov: He denied “in the most absolute manner that there is any provision whatever put out by the municipality with the purpose of prohibiting or limiting the children’s parties at Villa Groggia, parties which the municipality is more than happy to host in its territory. Common sense and the most elementary civic manners suggest to the owners of dogs to always keep them on a leash.”  (For those dog owners who may lack common sense and the most elementary civic manners, there is also a city ordinance — see above.)

The last word goes to Tiziana Agostini, city councilor for education: “If there is a happy place for children , it’s Venice, and in Venice, it’s the Parco Groggia.”

One dog is on a leash (inexplicable), while another is roaming free with no owner in sight. This is typical.
One dog is on a leash (inexplicable), while another is roaming free with no owner in sight. This is typical.
This busy little spaniel was released on his own recognizance for while.... no owner in sight.....
This busy little dog was released on his/her own recognizance for a few important moments…. no owner in sight…..
Then he was very civilly attached to his leash while his owner went into the cafe. Manners are a great thing, but they work better when you use them correctly.
Then he/she was very civilly attached to the leash while the woman who owns the dog went into the cafe. You see? She did know what she was supposed to do.
This little dog is never on a leash, and has a shrill, shrieking bark with which it defends itself against everyone and everything. It's unbearable, espcially when the owner is sitting for hours with her friends at the next table at the cafe.
This little dog is never on a leash, and has a shrill, hysterical bark with which it defends itself against everyone and everything. It’s unbearable, especially when the owner is sitting for hours with her friends at the next table at the cafe and every moving object the dog can see needs to be screamed at.
I like everything about this scene: The calm, the tranquillity, the equilibrium, the leashes.
I like everything about this scene: The calm, the tranquillity, the equilibrium, the leashes. But especially the calm.  It’s possible that this woman hates children and everything they stand for, but at least her dogs aren’t being used as pawns in some silent struggle.

 

 

 

 

 

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The end of art

This was when it was art.
That was then.

Does everyone remember the gondola loaded with cut-up gondolas that was parked in our canal in the opening fervor of the Biennale?

The opening of the Biennale is, as I’m sure I’ve mentioned, more like starling-swarming or the wildebeest migration than anything else.  Dramatic for a short sharp moment, then it’s over and people forget about it.

By now the process is complete.  The swarms began to depart the evening of June 2, and although fluttering shreds of tourists remain, the sort who seem to have come actually to look at the art and not each other (shocking, I know), life on the whole is back to its incomprehensible normality.

As everyone knows, the gondola assemblage was art.  A week has passed, and this creation has been demoted to Private First Class, downgraded to Economy, put back a grade, however you want to put it.

Having fulfilled its purpose — whatever it was — the object has been removed from its watery pedestal, and taken far away. Not so far in geographic terms, but extremely far in terms of appreciation. You may have heard of “value added”?  This is an example of “value subtracted.”

It is now resting quietly in the devastated territory of our rowing club.  Evidently the squero here nearby that confected it didn’t want it back soon (or ever); anyway, I was told that in exchange for painting one of our boats, we agreed to let them stash it here.

Sic transit.  

 

This is now.
This is now.

 

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I miss Giulio and I didn’t even know him

Giulio Andreotti in 1991.
Giulio Andreotti in 1991.

I waited to tell you the bad news about Giulio Andreotti’s demise because I didn’t want my blog to turn into the obituary column.  He entered the better life on May 6, and although he was 94, which means it was far beyond inevitable, I’m sorry he’s gone.

His CV tells you that he was important, among other reasons, because he was: Prime Minister (7 times), Minister of Defense (8 times), Minister of Foreign Affairs (5 times), Minister of Finance, Minister of the Budget, Minister of Industry (two times each), and Minister of the Treasury and Minister of the Interior one time each.

No need to ask what he did in his spare time — he couldn’t have had any.  But if he’d ever written a book about his career, hardly anybody would have been left standing.

You need to know the above to have the rudiments of appreciation of what a master he was of the scintillating quip.  First, he was Roman, and that gave him a huge headstart in the witticism department.  While every region, town, hamlet must have its own type of humor, the Roman type is famously quick and piercingly irreverent.

Second, being a career politician meant that he had endless occasions for practicing his exceptional talent for quippery.  Essentially he was Minister of Himself.

So it’s in that spirit that I offer you this glimpse of one of the pillars of 20th-century Italian politics.  People who know more about it, him, or them, please don’t enlighten me.  I want you to see his best side here.  By which I don’t mean his turned back.

One of the many pages devoted to him on May 7, 2013.
One of the many pages devoted to him on May 7, 2013.

From top to bottom, more or less, are the following observations:

Power wears out the people who don’t have it.

The wickedness of good people is extremely dangerous.

I know that I’m just of average height, but I don’t see any giants around me.

In politics there are more Draculas than there are blood donors.

It’s not enough to be right, you’ve got to have somebody who recognizes it.

Apart from the Punic Wars, they attribute everything to me.

Crazy people can be divided into two groups: Those who believe they’re Napoleon, and those who believe they can reorganize the state railway.

Humility is an amazing virtue, but not when it you use it in declaring your income.

You should always tell the truth, but except in the courtroom don’t ever tell the whole truth.  It’s inconvenient and often causes pain.

I love Germany so much that I preferred two of them.

Being men of the middle class, the middle road is, for us, the most congenial.

I’m posthumous to myself. (This is the literal translation, but even Lino can’t make me understand what he meant.)

 

 

 

 

 

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Boating Biennale

No, this reference isn’t to me or to my (or anybody else’s) oarage, or steerage, or careenage.  I am referring to a modest work of Biennale art that I happen to LOVE — just in case anyone thought that I was against everything that had the slightest connection with this event. This little creation makes me smile.

Yes, it's a little boat, 15 feet/5 meters long and made of plastic by Marco Tracanelli, a 577-year-old artist from San Vito al Tagliamento.
Yes, it’s a little boat, 15 feet/5 meters long and made of plastic by Marco Tracanelli, a 57-year-old artist from San Vito al Tagliamento.  It bobs around in the waves and is just as jaunty and blithesome as it can be.
Hardly the battleship "Potemkin," even if it does bear the famous name on its hull.
Hardly the battleship “Potemkin,” even if it does bear the famous name on its hull. I don’t know if this reference is intended to carry metric tons of deep significance, but I have to say that somebody who can think up something like this (and make it) can’t be up all night brooding on the unfairness of life, not to mention its deeper profundities. But what do I know.

 

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