And Now a Word about Maggie

I am greatly relieved to know that German dog names are every bit as stupid as American ones. We go to the dog park daily, where Maggie romps with an enormous assortment of beasts, some on a consistent enough basis to be getting to know their names and personalities. There is a French bulldog named Anton with a large wen above his left eye, an 8-month-old Great Dane puppy named Ludwig (who stands as high as what remains of my chest), several chocolate Labs named Oskar, a few diminutive no-breed Betties, a Bernese Mountain dog named Donna (Donna!) who barks at me, a Jack Russell terrier named Cesar, and another silly big mutt named Travis (but pronounced Trevvis), who is easily subdued by the Jack Russell terrier named Leo. There's a Tyler, a Lola, a Leila, a Fraulein, a Helmut, a Spike, a Boomer and a Martini. A puggle puppy named Fattska. An ancient Rottweiler named Bruno. Another indeterminate brindle mix named Bones. There are no fewer than FIVE dogs named Keira, one of whom is a Weimaraner who prances obsessively in circles and figure-eights with a soccer ball clamped firmly in her mouth. That is, when she's not chewing on rocks or paving stones. Sputnik's owner has been told by Russians that Sputnik is NOT a good name for a female dog; Maximilian is a shepherd mix who has dug a hole so far under a tree all that shows is his rear end and wagging tail when he's in it, sniffing for treasure.

Maggie is particularly attentive to the two entry gates, continually watching for newcomers, as she gets bored quickly sniffing the same old posteriors. She runs with each new arrival - madly - for about 30 seconds and then putzes around on her own until the next novelty turns up. Sometimes it's not a newcomer at all but a scuffle between kids already on the playground and Maggie is quick to present herself for consultation on how best to resolve the difficulty. Of course, the others all speak German so her suggestions fall on deaf ears. Large, floppy ears, for the most part.

I have spoken to a few other dog owners during these daily excursions, but I don't have good chit-chat German and cannot maintain much of a conversation yet, beyond asking name, age and breed. One friend I have made, however, is a very nice hockey player-turned sports-psychologist, a native from Munich who lived in Spokane for a while, playing hockey for the Chiefs. He's the only person I've met here (not that there have been many) who's even heard of Spokane, let alone Walla Walla. And he speaks very good English. He belongs to old Klara, who became permanently bonded with me one day when I gave her a dog treat for sitting so nicely when I told her to.

German Oddities

I.  The current German fashion must-have is a long, soft scarf, wrapped around the neck the way Isadora Duncan's must have been wrapped around that hubcap. Around and around and around. Weather and temperature make no difference - 60 degrees and raining, scarves abound. 70 and sunny, ditto. I like a scarf myself, when my neck is cold, which it is NOT when it is 70 degrees outside. One day in early September Hannah and I were on the S-Bahn going to Ikea. It was quite warm, so Hannah opened the top window so we could at least get some air movement. A woman in the seat across from us made quite a point of rewrapping her scarf and pulling it up OVER HER CHIN. Sheesh.

II.  Maggie and I have found a small off-leash area at the Friedrichshain Volkspark. The offleash parks I've been to at home are usually occupied by people chatting and throwing balls and dogs running to chase things. At this one, however, the people just stand around. They lean against the fence, don't talk to each other and mostly they don't throw balls, which means that mostly the dogs just stand around, too, not talking to each other and not chasing things. Maggie tries her hardest to get a game going but these German dogs just don't seem much interested. Perhaps it's the language barrier. Once Maggie begins to just stand around I know it is time to go home. Again I say, sheesh.

III.  Street food is abundant and ubiquitous here; you can get just about anything: wursts of all kinds, hot dogs, Turkish döner and falaffel, pizza, sushi, Asian noodles and egg rolls, local bakery goods, Italian gelato, potatoes, sandwiches, fresh fruit, crepes, American hamburgers (and I don't mean McDonald's. These are honest-to-goodness real old-fashioned American burgers!). One of the most popular treats is the currywurst, which I felt obliged to try one day at the flea market. Never let it be said I don't sample the local specialties when they present themselves. This particular local specialty consisted of a large bland bratwurst, conveniently cut into rounds in a paper boat, sprinkled with a soupçon of curry powder, and then doused with catsup-based barbecue sauce. Served with a toothpick for tidy dining; this is one local specialty I won't be resampling.