It was beyond cloudy. That was the first thing I noticed as we were pulling in. The land was ominous, far from rolling out welcome. I remember it being exactly what I was looking for.
I told a woman at the port to take me to the black sand beaches. This was where I wanted to stay. She obliged, warned I would have the entire back half of the island to myself. I said fine, gave her 45 Euros for a room that would be mine for three nights.
My own bed, shower, bathroom…remarkable. You don’t know what I had been through.
…
I threw my bags on the tile floor and went out walking. The streets were empty. Cars seldom passed. Most of the stores and businesses and restaurants had packed up for the season. The back half of the island was mine. A ghost town.
It wasn’t long before I met them, The Dogs of Santorini. They came from under telephone booths, from inside the half-torn houses, from under cars, all following the same etiquette. They’d run up, barking, fierce, wild…look into my eyes and fall into formation, some ahead, some behind, and we would walk together along the 2 miles of back island road. Their spacing was scientific, their strut…confident. They were either leading or following as I made rounds to the bakery, the cleaners, the one bar, or one restaurant still open in my part of town. When I’d go where they couldn’t follow, they would wait. When I’d return to the streets, they’d fall in line and we would continue, aimless, wandering…a force to be reckoned with.
We were greatness, Team Greatness.
At the height of our empire, including myself, we were nine strong. And I found myself going out more often than necessary, soundtracking the walk with songs like Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” or the Beatles’ “Come Together.” I’d buy extra flatbreads from the baker -- whose name, I think was Zelda -- to nourish my comrades in times of hunger. They were weak, sure…but their spirits were high. I found this evident in the freedom of their walk. Passing tourists from more populous parts of the island would pass in their rented cars and stop to take pictures. We were a sight to see. Zelda even came out of her bakery to take a picture. A local. Brilliant.
…
On the second day, we walked to the far part of the island, to the end of the black sand beaches. I stopped to survey our options. Team Greatness stopped, waiting as I pondered. We could continue on the road, through the hills into Oia to watch the sunset. Or, we could head back and stop by Zelda’s for snacks before turning in.
I was tired, the sun was setting, we were all in the mood for snacks. The choice was easy. That’s when it happened. Batshit. I saw her coming from a mile away, this Doberman. She came sloshing down the hill, from a junkyard. Yes, a fucking junkyard. She was barking, prancing, potentially rabid I thought. Immediately, I saw it in Team Greatness’ eyes. They weren’t afraid. More annoyed, maybe confused…as if they’d been through this before.
When Batshit got closer, I could tell…this empire I had built, forged through love and trust was going to soon be tested.
Team Greatness began to rally. We actually broke formation…
Let me stop here for a second to say something. If you often read my words, you know I can be something of a deceptive, somewhat manipulative, dramatist whore. I’m not going to dispute this. But I am truthful, quite certain I’ve always been truthful. And the Dogs of Santorini…as real as anything I’ve ever written.
So we actually broke formation. The three trailers rallied around me, coming closer than ever before. The four leaders prepared for Batshit’s approach. She was approaching with vigor only an insane dog could harness. She was fast, pushed through Team Greatness’ first line of defense. Our nipping provided little deterrence. She was coming straight at me, barking, in this agitated prance. I scanned the battlefield. Our first line seemed suddenly disinterested, as if she was now out of their jurisdiction. Perhaps our morale wasn’t as strong as I had recently speculated. Suddenly, I grew fearful.
After all, this was a fucking Doberman.
She came within an arm’s reach when my last line sprung into duty. They leapt for her, nipped at her ears and tail. And in the midst of their inspired defense, the rest of Team Greatness re-engaged. Seven on one and Batshit stood little chance…
My fear subsided.
I watched as Team Greatness chased her into retreat. We were victorious!
My first thought was to hit the road, to leave this place of turmoil and return to the more fertile, peaceful lands we called home. So we turned back, heads held high…
But something was off. Way off. It was our formation. Every few paces, I would watch as a member of Team Greatness would stray and run off, barking wildly into the distance. Some would never return, AWOL.
Suspicious and scanning the horizon, I saw…Batshit was following us.
The 50 yards that stood between Batshit and Team Greatness dwindled down to 40, to 30, to 20. She was again trying to crack formation…
By the time I found myself saying things like, “If you come any closer, I will fucking punt you, bitch,” the glory hours of Team Greatness were but a semi-sweet memory.
We were all over the road. Those that hadn’t abandoned and weren’t fighting with Batshit began fighting amongst themselves, mutinous.
As we passed the bakery, I was too shamed to stop. We were such a mess. What was so recently a symbol of strength and grace had transformed into something else entirely. It broke my heart. When the two remaining members of Team Greatness began making sexual advances on the very thing that had corrupted us, I had had enough. I slipped into my room and watched BBC World until sleep found me.
…
I woke the next morning, packed bag and left my keys in a drawer behind the check-in desk. Honor code. I walked to the bakery and picked up some breakfast. Zelda wasn’t working. As I walked outside, Batshit was waiting for me. She approached, barking. I threw her a piece of bread and we started walking. She jumped into formation ahead of me, constantly urging me with barks or odd spasms. At times, I thought she was going to attack. She never did.
When we reached the bus stop where I would await my ride into the port, I found a seat on the dirt. It took Batshit a good while before she turned, noticed I was no longer advancing. Quickly and inspired, she doubled back, urged me on. I had no choice but to refuse.
Following a dog I named Batshit didn’t rank very high on my list of must-do.
She began running circles around the stop, barking wildly, obviously disapproving. I told her to shut the fuck up and then placed what was left of the bread on the ground. She curled down next to me, began pulling bites from the bread and I thought it somewhat fitting…stuck here, alone with this spastic and alienated dog.
My ride pulled up as she was finishing. She began sneezing as I stepped inside. I closed the door, the window open, and negotiated the fee to port. She wouldn’t, couldn’t stop sneezing. The driver looked to the dog, to me…I shrugged, leaned out the window, said something like be good and we pulled off.
