Babby Otto....

When Otto was a puppy, about 6 months old, a Italian bistro opened up next to our home in Chicago. Several times a day the handsome trio of Italian men would stand outside of their restaurant and smoke like chimneys for about 20 minutes. One day, the older Italian fellow, who no speaka english, saw us walking down the street and came out to meet my puppy. He asked, "What-ha his name?" I said, "His name is Otto," and with that he put his hands up in the air and said, "Babby Otto!"

From that day on, every time he saw us, no matter how many people were eating outside on the sidewalk tables, he would say in a loud voice, "Babby Otto!" and Otto would drag me down to see him. Sometimes he would give Otto a roll or a piece of Italian bread. Otto loves bread more then he loves anything in the whole wide world. I think it was because his mother (the breeder) would give him bread and goats milk when he was a puppy. Must have warmed the little terrors heart.

Anyway, this bread and pony show went on several times throughout the day. There was not chance of an left exit from our door, Otto headed right down to "Babby Otto" land for his daily treat. This seemed natural enough, he liked the Italian, he loved the bread and I do believe he enjoyed the attention.

A problem developed in that "Babby Otto," (it helps if you throw your hands up in the air when saying it) didn't understand the concept of STORE HOURS. At 7:00 am, Otto would go hauling down to the restaurant. He would look up at me then look back at the closed door, giving the glass door quick head butts just to make sure he couldn't nudge his way in. Then he would sit....and sit...and sit....for what seemed to be an eternity at 7:02 in my "pre-coffee" morning. There was no reasoning with him. I would have to distract him with a biscuit and drag him away. This went on until the day we moved to Wisconsin and still goes on during the infrequent trips back to Chicago.

"Babby Otto" doesn't forget kindness.