What’s in a name?

Peter Phillips was a man who was fastidious in his habits and very protective of his reputation. Everything in his life was well organised. He rose every morning at 6.30 am, never needing an alarm. He made himself a cup of tea, which was the prelude to the day and, having drunk his tea, headed for the bathroom, where he carried out his ablutions.

This was followed by breakfast, always consisting of a soft-boiled egg, toast and marmalade, eaten whilst watching the BBC news. His routine never varied, even at weekends. Peter was an accountant specialising in corporate finance. He was a bachelor with only one living relative, a distant aunt with whom he exchanged Christmas cards. Due to the nature of his job, he was rarely obliged to meet many people; thus, his minor speech impediment was never a problem. Peter spoke with a slight lisp despite assistance from a speech therapist, but he was able to converse with others without problems and never considered it an issue. He always promised himself that if the opportunity arose, he would retire to Greece, where each year he took his holidays. He was particularly fond of the island of Crete and, in particular, the far eastern end where he enjoyed the tranquillity of places like Zerocambos where he could lay on a beach in the morning, eat lunch only a short walk away and return to the beach in the afternoon. This was Peter’s lifestyle for 30 years until he was the recipient of a large sum of money, a legacy left by the aunt with whom he had exchanged Christmas cards.

Retirement beckoned.

Moving to Crete

Now whilst Peter was a single man, he didn’t entirely live alone. His companion was, in fact, a Hungarian Vizsla dog named Suzie, although he often referred to her as Sue. He adored Suzie and spent much of his free time with her, going for long walks. He employed a dog walker every day that he was at work, who in turn took this canine to “doggy daycare.” So, with retirement on the horizon, Peter then considered where he would like to live. He eventually decided that East Crete would do nicely, so he spent weeks checking the websites of as many estate agents as possible and finally settled on a small house in a village that had the basic amenities like a mini market, cafeneon and a taverna, but Peter then was a little alarmed as he researched the approach to animal welfare on Crete.

Now as someone who lives on Crete, I can safely say that the approach to animal welfare has dramatically improved over the last few years. Driven by the younger generation, it is now very common to see people of all ages taking their dogs for walks on a lead, bearing in mind that 20 years ago, it was impossible to even buy a dog lead in my town. In fact, 2 decades ago, hardly anyone in Greece kept a dog in their house, but now it is very common. Most towns boast at least one veterinary surgeon, and whilst many of these practices have only one solitary vet, thus making 24-hour service almost non-existent, at least there is one, a distinct improvement in times past when it was commonplace to have to drive for a couple of hours to find a vet.

So Peter Phillips, having reassured himself that veterinary care was available in the nearest town, he prepared to emigrate to Crete. He chose to drive through Europe, taking the ferry across the channel, then through France and Italy, the ferry from Italy to Piraeus and finally to the port of Sitia. A short drive took Peter to his little village where he had decided to spend his retirement. He didn’t have a good grasp of the Greek language, but he had made sure he was familiar with the basics like Kalimera (Good Morning), Parakalo (Please), and Ephgaristo (Thank You)

Peter was a fairly shy individual and was very content with his own company and the companionship of his dog, so regular walks were a daily occurrence. These walks took place in the early morning to avoid the heat of the day, and most of them took place in the local olive groves, so he had limited contact with his new neighbours. This was to change dramatically.

An unfortunate encounter

It came when Peter was on his morning constitutional, and Sue decided to chase a rabbit. She disappeared, and Peter slowly walked through the village, calling his dog’s name.

Finding a lady hanging out her washing whilst still wearing her nightie, a common occurrence here in small villages, he uttered the phrase, “I’m looking for my Vizsla Sue.” Whilst the lady didn’t quite understand the words “I’m looking for my”, the rest, unfortunately, with Peter’s lisp, translated as “your tits!!

The outraged lady called her very large husband, who, dressed in a string vest and boxer shorts (presumably his night attire), approached in what can only be described as a threatening manner. Peter decided that discretion was the better part of valour and hurriedly left. He immediately sought out the village President, who he knew spoke some English, explained the situation and went home only to find Sue sitting on the front door mat waiting to be let in.

Needless to say, the event was met with a mixed response. When it was explained what had happened, the majority of the villagers saw the funny side, particularly the younger ones, although there was a minority who took offence. Fortunately, Peter has made a huge effort to learn the language and is now firmly assimilated into his village.

The moral to the story is, before you address ladies in their night attire, make sure that there is not a very large, extremely angry husband in close proximity, and if you come to Greece with a Vizsla named Sue, be sure to emphasise the second letter of her breed as an “eye” and refer to her as Suzie!!!