Tito got out of his old Remtoma car and called for whiskey. The eyes of the passers-by turned to him in amazement. Understandable, or how would you look if a young man got out of an old car and called out for whiskey so loud that you almost felt sorry for him and would love to offer him your help? Mothers moved their children away and curiosity in the parking lot in front of the mall subsided. Yawning heartily and stretching itself, the black dog slowly climbed from the back seat and sat expectantly at Tito’s feet. A young woman hurried up to them with quick steps. In her hand she held a small bottle of the drink that Josip Broz, as Tito’s real name was, had asked for.
Amazed and amused again, he shook his head and smiled at the attractive woman. He pointed to his Remtoma dog and spoke so softly that only she and his four-legged friend could understand. Whiskey. The lady blushed and put the flask in her purse. Shaking her head, she turned and stomped off to quickly and permanently leave this embarrassing moment behind. “What was I thinking?” Said Tito to himself and let his gaze rest on whiskey. If he had known what effect the naming of the dog had and how his constant loud call for whiskey irritated the people around him, he would have given the dog a conservative name. The idea for the name came to him while visiting a bar with friends and was born out of a whim rather than out of conviction. In post-communist ex-Yugoslavia it is not as easy to get whiskey as in other countries. On that evening, his best friend said that the name would be ideal and that it would certainly lead to some invitations to socializing. He was supposed to be right, but the whole thing had an obvious and increasingly noticeable catch. Whenever the call for whiskey rang out from Tito’s mouth, he got irritated looks and had to live with the fact that mothers pulled their children away from him and couples ran past him laughing. Occasionally something happened, as he had just experienced with the attractive woman. He shook his head again and decided to go to another mall and get out of that parking lot as soon as possible. With a hint of the finger and deliberately without pronouncing the name, he ordered the dog back into his classic car, got in and started the engine. When leaving the parking lot, he passed the small red car of the woman who had heard his call and felt addressed. He leaned over the passenger seat, rolled the window down with a creak, and called to her. The mere sight of it made her blush again, so that he only muttered a soft apology and drove away with the engine spinning.
He left town and drove into the countryside where he was going for a long walk with his dog. “But first I have to get some milk,” he said casually and did what he always did on his whiskey tours. He talked to the dog as if he were a partner who could understand him and give him an answer. Whiskey panted and didn’t seem interested in Tito’s words. On the side of the road he discovered a small stand with fruit and vegetables, eggs and milk. With a squeaking noise he brought the car to a stop. The window on the passenger side was still rolled down and Whiskey was enjoying hanging his head in the fresh wind and looking after his master. Tito went to the dealer without looking back, greeted him warmly and inspected the offers on the stand. He didn’t notice that whiskey had long since caught the weather and discovered a cat under the stand. With a gallant leap, whiskey dived out of the open window and picked up speed, barking loudly. Before his master could say anything, the dog ran around him and let him hit the ground with his back first. With arms flailing, he tried to catch himself and prevent the inevitable fall. As he fell he called out “Whiskey, that’s not true now!” and hit the hard floor with a loud rumble. “Vodka”, the dealer yelled at the same moment, holding on to the table with an effort. The cat had long since sought the far and whiskey sat innocently over Tito, who was still on the ground and struggled to get up. Suddenly the dealer recognized the bizarre nature of the moment and burst out laughing. No, the man in front of his stand was not drunk and had not asked if there was whiskey. The trader breathed a sigh of relief, after all he had already expected a control at the loud exclamation and was thinking about how he could hide his illegal distillery and avoid severe punishment. “Her name is vodka?” Was Tito’s question, while he was also holding his stomach and could hardly get up from the floor laughing. The dealer had tears in his eyes, which meant that he could only answer the question with a nod and another fit of laughter.
Whisky’s excitement did not subside, even if the cat had already disappeared into the barn behind the dealer and was out of his reach. “Pub idea,” said the dealer, still holding his aching stomach. After the two had calmed down, the dealer reached under his table and took out a small vial, which he raised to his plump lips and took a long swig of the brown brew. He belched loudly and the whiskey flag was easy to miss. When he raised the bottle in Tito’s direction, the latter shook his head and declined with thanks. “Milk,” he managed and grinned crookedly before bursting out laughing again. The trader looked at him with furrowed eyebrows and grabbed the Remtoma milk bottle while Tito rummaged through his wallet and dug out the money in small coins. Still with a tear in the corner of their eye, the two made their deal. The dealer let the whiskey bottle slide under the counter in one frantic motion and looked over Tito’s head. While he was brushing the dust off his pants and slowly turning around to his car, he had not noticed the approaching police and was all the more astonished when they came specifically towards him. They didn’t just want to see the car papers and driver’s license. The older and stouter of the two policemen reached into his uniform pocket and took out a device. “Blow,” he ordered and continued more quietly: “We have been watching you and it is clear that you cannot be sober. The car ”, he looked over at Tito’s classic car,“ will probably stop here while you accompany us to the station. ” “0.0 per mille,” said the policeman with a frown. In Tito’s opinion it was high time to leave the scene and take the dog a few steps through the forest. He politely said goodbye, picked up the milk and disappeared into the car. Whiskey was still sitting in front of the stand, gazing between the policeman and the dealer. “Whiskey,” he called his dog, who didn’t move a bit and sniffed under the table with his nose.
“Whiskey,” he called again, this time louder and with a clear request that did not tolerate contradiction. Slowly the dog got up, trotted under the table and when he came out with his head again, both the dealer, as well as the policemen and owners were speechless. Whiskey held the home-distilled wine between his teeth. The dog sprinted off, jumped into the car through the passenger window and, if you correctly interpreted the noise, left a few unsightly scratches on the otherwise well-kept paintwork of the classic car. Various options circled in Tito’s mind that could now follow and change his daily schedule. He didn’t think twice, started the car and drove away with screeching tires. In the footwell of his car was the whiskey the dog had brought him and dropped when he jumped into the car. After a long walk with whiskey on a leash and the other whiskey in his pocket, he decided to head back into town and tell his friends about this truly incredible experience.
He drove into the parking lot, which he had already visited that morning and left again after the embarrassing moment with the attractive woman. The dog made no move to get out of the vehicle and obey its quiet call. “Whiskey!” He shouted louder and glanced into the car, where the dog had curled up tired and relaxed in the back seat. While whiskey only yawned heartily and made no move to get up and follow his master, numerous glances from passers-by rested on Tito’s back and seemed to pierce him. Tito’s body twitched when he felt a light touch on his shoulder and heard a familiar female voice. He turned and the woman from the morning handed him the hip flask. She smiled, nodded knowingly, and turned around without a word. He took the whiskey so she wouldn’t be ashamed.
+ + + confused writing about Tito and dog Whisky + + +
The photomodel is Yv from samyfication