Work on the inner puppy

Work on the inner puppy

It was a sentence like thunder. Panini and I roam the paths in the allotment gardens when two young joggers meet us. They take a short break from walking and have a chat. Once at our height, one of them points to the bread roll and says: “Even I wouldn’t be afraid of that!” When we get home, I look at my animal for a long time. “Panini”, I say to my extremely intelligent and intelligent dog, “we have no street credibility whatsoever. We urgently need to work on our image. ”Panini nods. Perhaps she has just discovered a fallen sunflower seed and therefore lowers her chin, you can’t say for sure.

It is actually true – no one respectfully moves aside when we come. Right now that would be practical. Everyone touches Panini without hesitation, they think we are toothless tigers. “It’s up to your mindset,” I say. “There is still this vulnerability of your inner pup, you want to be liked by everyone. But you can’t please everyone! ”In order to avoid misunderstandings, I quickly add:“ It is enough if you please me! ”. Meanwhile, my dog ​​has withdrawn into his basket, the lunch snack needs to be digested. It’s very cheap, so I can easily continue to talk to her about our standing in the neighborhood. “You finally have to leave Italy behind you, understand your migration background as a strength, not a flaw.” The animal closes its eyes. I have understanding. It’s not just your fault. I don’t even have a tattoo or a piercing either, which could seem daunting. And then I also gave her this name, which looks so childish and cute. Perhaps I should have given her a grown-up, noble name that a Weimaraner could wear with dignity. Perhaps Penthesilea would have been cheap. But as I know myself, I would soon use an abbreviation and it would not be “Lea” but “Penthilchen” or something stupid like that.

And there is nothing particularly noble about myself. I might need to wear more breeches. I don’t mean the so-called fat accumulation on the hips and thighs, no, the real ones. In movies, respectable women with dogs always wear breeches. And then they say: “If you will excuse me now, I have to do.” I also have to do, but nobody believes that because I am wearing Indian harem pants from eBay. Breeches would be much better. I still have a Barbour scarf, but it’s too warm for that now. And I still have pearl earrings. But they are not obvious enough for passers-by.

Panini scratches itself. “Have a look a bit purebred!” I say. That might help. Panini continues to keep his eyes closed. I could perhaps pass my dog ​​off as a member of an ancient Egyptian temple dog breed. But nobody would believe that either. “Are you actually working line or show line?” I ask, but my dog ​​is more of a bagel than a line at the moment. She could wear a muzzle, that might be helpful, for me too. She wouldn’t eat that much anymore and we would be treated with respect. Now the animal sits up, indignant it seems to me. Panini looks at me. Yes, I have to admit, she has already worked hard on her self-efficacy. Waving is followed by stroking, which works just as you would like. She never wanted to be wild and dangerous, proud and noble. Basically, I’m glad her name isn’t Penthesilea. When children ask if they can stroke panini, I can safely say “yes”. Then I am proud of my dog. On her noble nature, her lovely manner, and nice look, which nature has managed so wonderfully without the criteria of a line. On the other hand, one can also think of us as harmless.

Leave a Reply