This must be what it’s like when traveling with a rock star.
Taking Enzo for a walk in public isn’t for you if you’re the least bit insecure. But even if you are, the experience is kind of fascinating.
Over time I’ve learned I’m only providing navigation and poop scoop services. It doesn’t matter how I’m dressed, or how much I smile. Heck, it doesn’t even matter if I say hello. It’s all about Enzo, from the streets of Munich to the shores of Cascais.
There’s the woman in the park who’s likely been a great grandmother for years (you know the type: short, with toothpick legs miraculously supporting a disproportionately large torso, wearing a bulky coat, a cap, poorly applied cosmetics and walking a Jack Russell terrier that, in dog years, is the same age as she):
“Ah! Blah blah blah Mops! Blah blah blah sehr schöner Hund!“ *
Then she walks away. I don’t even get a glance.
Two stylish women on the sidewalk, smiling as they approach:
“Ah, ein Mops! Blah blah blah Hund blah blah!”
Their conversation continues as they walk away. I guess their smiles were directed at the rock st . . . I mean Enzo.
Then there was the man and his buddy who were having a smoke outside the door of a questionable bar, dressed head to toe in black latex and leather, with aviator sunglasses and dangling chains**:
The entire staff of the office in the subway where I buy my monthly subway pass, plus their customers:
“Oh! Ein Mops! Blah blah blah blah blah!!”
Add to that a stuffed teddy bear dressed as a subway conductor, which they gave to Enzo as a gift. I just got a bill for my subway pass.
And then there was the group of Asian tourists in Cascais. Smiling, talking, taking pictures. Of Enzo.
* “blah” is used in place of the unintelligible German.
** I had to walk by this bar to get to the subway. I swear.