Dominick is this 'poor soul' as my friend Martha would say, that hangs around the monastery hoping to engage one of us in conversation as I suppose the locals have long since tired of him. His story, as he had told me numerous times, is that his wife died Nov 7 of last year when she was only 53 and that they had been married 40 years and he is very sad. He knows two English words 'hi' -with a very exagerrated 'h' sound-and 'doggie'. I went looking for Dave after lunch as I have a pork chop for him (and don't like them myself). I have to be careful who witnesses me feeding the dogs. If word gets back to Antonietta that her food is going to the dogs, I will be taken off her good list. I looked in all of Dave's usual spots and ran into Dominick and said (all in Italian)that I was looking for Dave. Cerco il cane grande e bianco.'Oh, he's in my house. He's my dog. Come I will show you .'' This surprised me as Dave seems to have lost his owner. I stupidly went into his house. Of course no Dave who would have instantly appeared due to my 'eau de pork chop' perfume. Dominick again launched into his I'm so sad story, I lost my wife, blah, blah, blah. Here, let's listen to music, I have 'English' music, let us have a drink...I said I needed to go as I have to study Italian this moment and I quickly ran away.
These hideous red splotches on my leg feel hot. Most of us 'older' people got them yesterday-mine being the worse. But they didn't repel Dominick. I'm much bigger than him and he limps so I didn't think I was in real danger but I won't fall for a trick like that again.