A Dog Story

This sleekit beastie is the Cloud, original name, "Nikita." We found her guarding a ruin of ours. Of all the dog breeds I never wanted, Doberman Pincher was Number 3.

We were terrified. Our vet came out to see her and she was terrified, such is the reputation of Dobermans.

We did everything we could: posters on lamp posts and trees, notices in the local papers and vets' offices. A lot of people wanted her but none was the owner. We could not believe anybody would dump such a beautiful animal.

With the help of a Carabinieri acquaintance and a tattoo number on the dog's belly, we tracked the owner to Milan. The Carabinieri described the owner as a former "woman of the night". We talked to the woman on the telephone. She said she was sorry to have to abandon Nikita but she had to return to Milan and a very small apartment. Thud. We had a dog we didn't really want. Those who did want her were looking for a tough number, a guard dog. By then we knew the dog was a cup cake, a pussy cat, a timid animal cursed with the reputation of a killer. She has had a terrible life in that she was dumped by her first owner at six months, then dumped by her second owner at three years.

We re-named her Cloud or Cloudy. She was depressed for an entire year. She did not want our attentions, only our food. She is a thief without equal. By now, she has had an operation for breast cancer, and survived it, and is afflicted with arthritis. But she is at home now, sleeps on the bed if the wind blows and frightens her and she absorbs affection like a sponge.

Only once have I seen what people might fear. I was home alone at night, she heard a noise outside, went to the glass door and began to rumble and bark in a tone not heard before. My blood ran cold. If anybody was out there, I'm sure theirs did, too.