The man's name was Ercole, that is to say, Hercules; and though he was not a giant, he certainly bore a closer resemblance to the hero than his dog did to dogs in general.
"He was born in my house," Ercole said, when any one asked questions.
"Find a better one if you can.

His name?
I call him Nino, short for John, because he barks so well at night.

You don't understand?
It is the 'voice of one crying in the wilderness.' Did you never go to Sunday school?
Or do you call this place a garden, a park, a public promenade?
I call it a desert.

There are not even cats." When an Italian countryman says of a place that even cats will not stay in it, he considers that he has evoked a picture of ultimate desolation that cannot be surpassed.

It had always been Ercole's dream to live in the city, though he did not look like a man naturally intended for town life.