Zita

Cute yet sad

I first saw Zita, sitting away from her humans at a cafe overlooking the Atlantic Ocean in Tenerife. She had a forlorn look on her face so, naturally, I had to go make her feel better. We were sat at the table next to her and I was struggling to figure out what language the two guys with Zita were speaking. It sounded like Russian to me but it could also have been Ukrainian or Polish, I ashamedly admit that I can’t tell the difference. I like to think I’m pretty good with languages but I just haven’t had enough exposure to Eastern European languages to be able to tell them apart.

In any case, what I really wanted to figure out was whether to approach these dudes in English or Spanish. I speak both languages natively but, for a moment there, I wasn’t sure if they might be speaking in some regional Spanish dialect, my hearing is not what it used to be either.

Wait a minute, you say you speak both English and Spanish natively and yet are confusing Russian with some Spanish dialect??? Yes, I said my hearing is not what it used to be! Didn’t I?

So much fuss to just go up and ask a couple of guys if you can take a picture of their dog? You might be thinking. And you’d be right. I’m not a gregarious, outgoing, extrovert like some psychopath, I’m a shy, introverted, ADHD kinda guy; so going up to perfect strangers to talk to them is daunting to me and only the prospect of petting a dog and taking their picture fills me with enough courage to undertake such a daring operation.

I finally went up to them, looked a round, red-faced gentleman in his unmistakably Slavic face and, like a fucking idiot, spoke to him in Spanish. To add insult to injury, what I asked him was “Do you speak English or Spanish?” (In Spanish of course). My Slavic non-friend seemed to assume I was selling something because he waved me away saying, “no, no, no” like I had just offered him some dodgy Rolex knockoffs.

Undeterred by the promise of some dog-petting I reached deep inside me for some more courage and, aided by the second coffee I had just imbibed, asked him in perfect English “Can I take a picture of your dog?” He seemed very surprised at the idea but must have quickly concluded that maybe the locals were just weird because he simply nodded and waved me away again, I think he just wanted to get rid of me and my crass interruption of his important conversation.

So I proceeded to pet the loving Zita who seemed starved for love and attention, she was so cute! And gave me the classic Jack Russel treatment of lying on her back with her belly exposed for belly-rubs and her front paws in that cutest, retracted position which should have its own term but since it doesn’t I shall furnish you with one, I’m calling it “Pawtracted”. You’re welcome.

I was delighted with Zita, couldn’t get enough of her and was able to also get a couple of pictures in between belly-rubs.

After we’d both had our fill, I risked poking the bear and igniting his anger by asking the dog’s name. He gave it curtly and I buggered off to my seat, where I surreptitiously kept taking photos of Zita. And when she ventured near me, petted her some more until the pair with her decided they’d had enough harassment for the morning and left, taking beautiful Zita with them.

So here she is.

Enjoy