Thor's owner

The passage of the seasons, in the countryside, is marked for us by the arrival of swallows, the leaves on the vines, and green or brown fields, but in cities there are other markers. In the city, you know Christmas is coming because in a taxi, one day, Last Christmas by Wham! plays. And you know that spring has arrived, definitively and resplendently, because the phenomenon that we try to describe below, after the paragraph break, occurs.

The dog that is taken for a walk, every day, to do its pee or whatever is needed on a paving stone (the owner will pick it up or rinse it, diligently) is also affected by the heat. The owner has taken off his jacket, of course, because when he went out he thought it "wouldn't bother him", but now, once outside, he sees that it does. The dog, furry, can't take anything off and is tired, due to much less efficient body cooling. And then, it stops at the first shadow it finds, sits or lies down, and declares, with an unmistakable body posture, that it doesn't want to move. The owner first tries to convince it with kind words. "Come on, Thor...", he says. He does this especially because the other people passing by are looking at him and might judge him. The dog's name is Thor, which is a fictional name to show that we are talking about a large dog. Small dogs, if they throw a tantrum, don't win. The owner pulls them by the leash and, if not willingly, they are dragged. Large dogs, like the generic Thor, weigh too much.

The owner, impatient, pulls. In vain. He pulls harder. In vain. And so you find yourself, then, with annoyed owners who have to wait for the dog to decide to get up and continue the walk. This doesn't usually happen in winter, or perhaps I haven't seen it. Today was the first day. For me, Thor lying on the ground is the equivalent of the arrival of the swallows.