A Short Story about a Dog and a Dirt Road
*In August 2007, I ventured to Siena Italy again for a weeklong visit. A week after I returned from Italy, I traveled to Colorado to visit my best friend who was recovering from a double mastectomy. This is of course a true story, written shortly after those travels.
Discreetly tucked away in the hills, just outside of Siena, there sits a sleepy village named Orgia (population: 36 quiet Italians, a handful of cats and a town dog). If you wanted to know how to get to Orgia, an Italian would happily, give directions – ‘leave Siena, toward the seaside, pass fields, sunflowers and corn rows, take a right, then a left onto a dirt road and cross a bridge. Sei arrivato/a a Orgia! (You have arrived in Orgia!)’
After crossing the bridge, you know for certain you are in Orgia when you go around three bends in the road and there, lounging in your path you’ll notice a black dog — let’s call him “Il Cane Nero”. (Translation: “The Black Dog” – adjectives follow nouns in Italian by the way.)
Drive slowly, going around Il Cane Nero as if he were a permanent fixture in the scenery and make sure to greet him with a casual “Ciao Cane!” After all, this ritual is the toll to get into Orgia.
I took a few trips into Orgia; I had a relationship with both a Tuscan man and his villa in Orgia, although I don’t think he knew just how fond I was of cara villa (dear villa). Just like the handsome Tuscan, Cara Villa was sweet and charming, and fit my every mood. I was just as delighted to knock on Cara Villa’s beautiful door as I was to be greeted by my friend when he opened it.
One late evening as I drove my dusty Fiat into Orgia, the entire village snored.
A narrow road led me to a place to park and I found myself tiptoeing up the street toward Cara Villa careful not to wake Orgia villagers. The stillness gave me a chill, but I welcomed the quiet. It was during this time, walking on the lonely street at midnight, that I remembered I was in a Tuscan village. The thought, then the reality, delighted my senses completely.
Then ahead, my eyes captured the silhouette of a dog … was this Il Cane Nero? I’d actually never had a good look at the friendly fella and only saw him laying down from the inside of the Fiat. But now … on foot, I stood there in the dark of night, in the middle of the road and like a western movie stand off, we stared at each other for just a moment. He steadily trotted toward me; I could hear the nails of his paws on the concrete of the little street. The big dog seemed to get bigger as he came toward me and I thought, it’s nearly midnight and the few Italians that actually live in Orgia are dreaming of gelato. No one would hear me scream if this was the guard dog of Orgia and I was an obvious American trespasser.
I could attempt to command the dog to behave, but would he understand my English? My nervous thoughts raced through my head in Italian, “Come si dice ‘Help!’ Come si dice ‘Down boy!’” (How do you say, “Help? How do you say “Down boy?”) All of these thoughts ran through my head in a matter of seconds and just before I fainted, I noticed the dog was Il Cane Nero and his happy sideways walk and wagging tail told me he was there to greet me, not mangle the American girl who ventured into Orgia.
I had never interacted with Il Cane Nero before, but I seemed familiar to him and like a gentlemen, he walked along side me to the villa and guided me to the beautiful front door. I knocked and when the door opened, Il Cane Nero looked up at me as to say “Buonanotte” (Good night); I curtsied to show my feminine appreciation to his manners and said “Grazie mille Cane nero.” (Thank you very much black dog). It was from then on, I was always greeted and escorted by Il Cane Nero, from Fiat to front door.
Sunflowers, dirt roads, quiet nights in Orgia and Il Cane Nero are characters that live in my thoughts. My mind can catch, embrace and remember them, but four months ago, they existed and they were real.
And still, the spirit of Tuscany travels with me wherever I go offering those firefly memories that I can catch, hold on to and remember. It was a week ago that I was in Del Norte Colorado visiting my best friend Kiley who just had a double mastectomy and her first round of chemo therapy. Del Norte, a small town were we grew up, is a village itself with only one stop light. As Kiley lay in bed, slept and started her slow healing process I was there sitting at the foot of the bed or peaking my head into the bedroom to see if her eyes were closed. I did not want to disturb her peaceful sleep (which wasn’t a common phenomenon at the time), but I wanted to be with her and spend time with her. I thought about when we were young and playing on the ranch where I grew up. I decided to go to the ranch, now deserted and empty; this would make me feel as if I were spending precious time with her.
I smiled as I thought about how an Italian might give directions to the ranch; I took a right at the stoplight, passed many fields of hay, and took a left onto a dirt road saluted by sunflowers, which led to the house where I grew up. I parked my dusty car and dreamingly walked around, noticing my childhood – the empty pond where Kiley and I once ice-skated, the fields where we would play, pick flowers and look out for snakes. I spent an hour at the ranch catching those memories that still lived in my thoughts.
Returning to Kiley’s home early that evening, instinct urged me to take a walk on a country dirt road. The sun was just setting and with no streetlights to guide me, a short leisure walk was in my best interest. As I walked down the road, kicking a pebble or two, I noticed ahead two bike riders and running along side them was a big black dog – let’s call him “The Black Dog.” I assumed The Black Dog belonged to the riders and even as he started running toward me with his tongue happily hanging, I thought surely one of the riders would call out, “Don’t worry, he’s big, but friendly.” They said nothing and in fact, they kept on their merry way and I think gladly gave up the dog who had adopted them on their ride. Invading my personal time and space, The Black Dog jumped on me nearly knocking me over, clearly unaware of his clumsy ability to box me out. Whose dog is this anyway? “Stop! Down boy!” I yelled. It worked; The Black Dog was well-behaved, friendly and not-so ferocious. I find myself once again, on a lonely dirt road with an insistent big black dog walking next to me, his presence so strong and steady and I felt safe. But like a child, I got distracted in my thoughts — thinking about the ranch, Kiley, familiar dirt roads and sunflowers and this dog and I dazed from the sounds of the river near by. The Black Dog somehow knew that I needed him because as the dirt road ended so did the sunlight. It was country dark (not like city dark with various hints of light) and the dog led me home, now and then nudging me with affection.
As we approached the driveway of the house, I said, “Thank you very much for walking me home Black Dog. This stranger of a Dog, slept on the outside of the front door all night and he escorted me from the door every day I was there. Kiley told me the day I went back to California, The Black Dog walked away, and they haven’t seen him since. Like Il Cane Nero, this black dog was loyal and loving; he disappeared upon my departure … perhaps to go back to Orgia? And now I wonder when I will see Il Cane Nero again, like before, probably when I least expect it, but when I most need it.
Written August 2007
