A Dog’s Day in Belgrade
If a dog could talk, what would it say? Most dogs would probably have some variation of “Hi! I love you! Give me food. Is that a ball? Give me the ball, give me the ball, ball ball ball…” Not exactly something I’d like to hear on a daily basis.
Milos, of course, is different. He’s possessed with a superior intellect–okay, he only knows how to sit–but an even more superior life story. In one year, he’s seen nine countries, learned commands in two languages, and made friends everywhere he goes. What would he say if he could talk? I think he’d explain why he misses Belgrade.
Everyone asks my owners about life in Belgrade, but no one asks me. It’s probably for the best. My owners put a good spin on our new life, but I know better. They talk about spicy foods and how nice it is to see old friends. I’m eating the same dry kibble and sniffing new dogs. I was even bitten my first month here–how’s that for a welcome?
In Belgrade, I had a daily ritual. I would go to Pionirski or Tasmajdan dog park and play with my pals while RHOB practiced Serbian with the other dog owners. Sometimes I’d see my friend Pablo, an 11-year old Frenchie. He looks pretty good for an old guy.
Sometimes, the pretty bank teller would help him out. Now THAT’s living, folks. Have you seen Serbian women? If these ladies had beagle ears I would have never left.
Speaking of leaving, everyone in town asked if I was going to stay in Belgrade. About ten people I barely knew offered to take me if RHOB had trouble bringing me to the States. I’d like to attribute that to my charm and good looks, but it’s also because Serbians are serious dog lovers. I could barely walk down the street without someone giving me a scratch or two. I guess that’s to be expected in a city where dogs “work” in shops and are in murals all over town.
Americans are more reserved. Their dogs aren’t as social, and only a few strangers play with me. I miss the days of finding burek on the ground, being invited into coffee shops, and people telling RHOB that I should be unleashed. Of course, the one time she finally unhooked me, I ran into my bank to find the guard. The leash went back on.
Afternoons in Belgrade, I’d curl up in my chair and help RHOB write her blog posts. Now that she’s busy looking for work and housing, my blogging expertise is rarely needed. Fortunately, I’ve come up with a new hobby here: playing in the nearby tennis courts. Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all.
Nole might be the most famous Serbian tennis player, but I’m aiming to be the best Serbian tennis fan. Watch out, America. There’s a new dog in town. Now, give me that ball! Ball ball ball ball ball ball ball…..