It all started as a game.  Sabra was showing off her acrobatic skills, after a big Sunday lunch at Terre di Conca.

As usual, a small group of people had gathered to watch.   Suddenly a man came forward and insisted that I enrol Sabra in the upcoming dog show at Roccamonfina.  (This event was part of the inaugural festivities of the Regional Park and was being held to raise money and awareness for a sterilization campaign in the area.  Stray dogs are a major problem in Campania where they are often hit by cars, leaving them homeless and crippled)

“But she’s not even a pure breed” I protested, secretly proud that he seemed so impressed.

“Non importa” he interrupted, “Nobody here has ever seen anything like this!”

You must know that Sabra loves to perform and will do just about anything for her pallina (her little ball).  She sits and lies down; she jumps on command, she twists, rolls over and comes to heal;  she slaloms like a down-hill racer; she throws herself down any slide in the playground; she will sit up and beg like a chihuahua; so long as you have her little ball in your hand.

So I enrolled her in the contest and on the day of the show, as we left the villa, chef Berardino Lombardo’s parting words were: “If Sabra wins a prize I’m going to cook her a steak!” and off we went.  The town’s central square had been cordoned off and a raised platform constructed for the judges. On a table to the left were the trophies, medals and statues.  I pointed to a sculpture of a german shepherd that looked like Sabra and told Chiara “We’re going to win that one”.

There were alot of dogs. Pure breeds, mixed breeds, and a couple of alien breeds pathetically dressed as ballerinas, shivering in their bows and tutus. In the initial round Sabra behaved beautifully, trotting elegantly by my side and seating herself in the center of the piazza. She performed two or three commands, received her pallina and trotted back to our group. She was chosen as one of the 10 finalists.

On the second round we managed to present an “orsetto” (always a favourite, meaning ‘little bear’, where she sits up on her back haunches looking absolutely adorable, and a “rollover” which were received many “ooh’s” and “ah’s”.

It took the judges another half hour to make their decisions.  They announced the “Best of Breed” winners and the dogs and owners were duly photographed with their trophies.  Then came “Il Più Grande” (the biggest), “Il Più Piccolo” (the smallest), “il Più Carino” (the cutest), “Il Più Simpatico” (the most endearing), “Il Più Buffo” (the funniest)… It was getting dark and we had to admit that Sabra had probably not won over any hearts.

Then, just as we were starting to head back to the car, the judge announced, “And last but not least, we award the prize for “Best Show” to Sabra and her owner Signora Goldfinger!” (it’s the closest they ever get to Goldfield)

What a rush! I started to scream and jump up and down like one of those crazy ballroom-dance moms. We ran to the stage, Sabra prancing like a princess, where we recieved our prize: lo and behold, it was the german shepherd statue mounted on a thick slab of marble…

…and when Sabra got home, there was a huge steak waiting for her.

Che soddisfazione!

It’s time that I introduced you to Sabra, our german shepherd, seeing as she is such a big part of our lives.

Sabra came to us two and a half years ago. We were about to start a new chapter in our lives and moving to the country meant that I could finally have a dog, a BIG dog. My friend Rachel called to say that she had met a young couple who had a giant german shepherd pup that they were trying to find a home for. I liked the sound of ‘giant’; the more dog the better, I always say!

We spoke to the owner and Kaya (as she was named) was delivered into our arms one fine morning in November … torn from her mother, miserable, dishevelled and covered in her own vomit.

Soon however she was comfortably settled into our home in the Sannio. She grew quickly (and remembering that she was going to be a ‘giant’) we decided that it would be better to give her some proper schooling. I had read Jen Fennell’s “The Dog Listener” and began a search on the internet for an amischien trainer in Campania. Lo and behold I found a school located at the foot of Mt. Vesuvius. It was unforgettably named ‘Happy Snout’.

Federico, Sabra and I went to school for six months and it was the best decision we ever made. We studied how to become pack leaders (which basically means learning how to ignore bad behavior and reward the good behavior of your dog). It was difficult at first but the results were rewarding.

Sabra eventually grew to become a normal-sized, german shepherd mix and she is a real beauty. Whatever she lacks in size and breeeding is more than compensated by her outstanding temperment and intelligence. She has been instrumental in making the insertion and weaving of our lives into the tapestry of S. Agata dei Goti a seamless success. I have become known as ‘la signora col cane’ (the woman with the dog) and when I go out alone, the first question I am inevitable asked is “ma signora, dov’è Sabra?” (”so where is Sabra?”)

All over the world it is common for people to have a nickname. But in S. Agata dei Goti, the phenomenon became so widespread over time that many people actually forgot their neighbor’s real last names and knew them only by the nicknames! Mario Rossi, (our town’s accountant) who has had to do with just about everybody, showed me a list he has been compiling over the years. The names usually define a physical trait or a person’s habit or line of work. They are often funny and sometimes derisive. Here are a few (if you would like the full list of over one hundred, contact me) :

A - Acchiappacani (dog catcher), Affitto (rent), Aiza a capa, Assassino, Avucatiello (lawyer)

B - Babà (after the famous Neapolitan rum cake), Baccalà (stock fish), Battilocchio (eyelash beater), Bellu Uaglione (handsome man), Braciola (pork chop), Brigante (brigand)

C - Cacaglia (stutterer), Campusantaro (grave digger), Carciuoffolo (artichoke), Carnacotta (cooked meat), Chiancarotta (broken hip), Collamuorti (funeral helper).

D - Dentepazzo (crazy teeth), Duca (duke), Daziario (tax collector)

F - Fuchista ( the person who sets off fireworks), Ferracavallo (horse-shoe maker) , Ferraciuccio (donkey-shoe maker), Fetuso (stinky)

G - Geluso (jealous), Giudice (judge)

I - Ianara (witch), Iettatore (a person who brings bad luck), Imbianchino (wall painter)

M - Mezzarecchia (half an ear), Mazzacane (dog killer)

N - Nasone (big nose), Ncopp casa (on top of the house), Nirone (Blacky)

P - Petone (fart), Pisciapoco (little pisser), Parlachiano (soft spoken)

Q - Quattuocchi (four-eyed)

R - Ricciulillo (curly), Ricuttara (ricotta maker),

S - Scassato (broken), Scuparo (street cleaner), Sinnaco (mayor), Strunzillo (little shit), Stuorto (crooked)

V - Vorpe (fox)

Z - Zizzella (flat-chested), Zizzona (buxom)

For the past ten years the amateur theater group in the little town of S. Agata dei Goti, has been masterfuly directed by my next door neighbor, the retired comedy actress Hilde Maria Renzi, has put on a play in neapolitan dialect by Eduardo de Filippo. This year’s offering, Fortuna con la “F” Maiuscola, débuted inside the courtyard of the town’s 17^th century episcopio, or bishopric, and was filled to the brim with men, women, children, and local dignitaries. In its 11^th season this is such social a high point that the show is prolonged for four days, allowing the whole town to see the show. Tickets are free.

But who could have forseen that this year Italy would be still be in the European Championship playoffs?! For days people were talking of nothing else. The local bars had set up improvised screens with big white bed sheets. At 8 p.m. people were already arriving, armed with chairs, flags and anxiously tooting their whistles. As I walked towards the outdoor theatre, I wondered if there would really be anybody willing to forego the excruciating excitement to see an old Eduardo de Filippo play…

At 9 o’clock there were 10 old women sitting in a sea of empty green chairs. However, in dribs and drabs, slowly but surly more and more people began to arrive. By 9:30 the episcopio was practically full: women of all ages had decided to come to the theater, leaving behind their husbands and sons to watch their soccer team.

As the lights were about to go down an old woman looked around and chuckled to her friends: “It looks like we’re all widows for one night!”

It’s been three years since we moved to the Sannio and as memories of the big city fade, an ever-increasing regard for the process of Nature unfolds before me. While walking my dog I welcome the morning dew. I smell the earth, sense the weather and delight in the taste of fresh fruits and vegetables appena colti. Springtime is luscious in every sense: there is a promise of good things, in the greenness of the grass, the budding fruit trees, the climbing pea stalks and the sweet smell of jasmine.

Cantine Aperte takes place on the last Sunday in May and is a perfect occasion to appreciate all this in a single day and to learn what makes the wines in this area so special. For me and the wines of the Sannio, it is the roses…everywhere.

This might seem like a feeble attempt at waxing poetic, but it’s basically true. The oenological reality of this territory is still one of small, single-estate producers that heralds back to a time when families lived off the land and worked their orchards. And so it was that before the advent of metal wire, farmers used their fruit trees as a support for the grape vines. And since the different crops were hand-picked it was easy to harvest (for example) the pears without damaging the grapes and vice versa.

It is wonderful to see the vestiges of this tradition in the Sannio which is why a well-made Aglianico will taste of wild berries, violets, walnut and tobacco and a good Falanghina will speak of apples and almonds and the presence of jasmine and roses.