Published: 18.02.2026
Helau! Alaaf! What?
Carnival - not with me.
I mean, why? Let's be honest.
You people have Carnival every day, the thing is, you don’t notice it. Seriously.
The other day I ran into an acquaintance. Tough guy, he is. A male who has his territory under control. And what do I see? A funnel collar adorning his neck. I wonder if he joined the Carnival parade. When I asked, I got a growl and gathered something about a vet, protective measures. So definitely not a costume. But back to homo sapiens.
Ms. Kati says today we’ll take a stroll in the old forest near the Montana Bermuda Triangle in the middle of Upper Franconia. But that’s an adventure for another time soon.
And as fate would have it, we soon find ourselves at the foot of an impressive hill. The Gallows Hill. Aha. Everywhere iconic figures, memorials of the grave inhabitants, I suppose.
The hill winds upward and we marvel at some of the monuments. Old identities, old roles, old masks.
Ms. Kati laughs, how fitting for the climax of Carnival.
Soon the spectacle will be over and today we already recognize the sober reality behind all this performance.
There is identity number one. The weary helper. Savior of the poor and needy victims, who after collapsing out of exhaustion at the roadside, was simply replaced.
Yes, that's how princes are. Galloping off to the next source - good that the savior now finds her final rest here.
Or the dragon.
Oh! Terrifying, it still huffs one last smoky breath from its dry mouth. How much strength it must have cost him to constantly appear important and powerful everywhere.
Now he is dead and behind him, we discover a small, utterly frightened girl, clinging helplessly to the nearest support.
Goodbye! This identity is history too.
Not to forget the conformist.
Always perfectly disguised, here as a tree introject. Only on closer inspection can one guess how exhausting this role must have been. Very pale, her arms. And yet one day someone came and whispered to the tree... 'Excuse me.. I think you have something on your bark!'.
Wham. Exposed. Done. Over.
Or the beautiful one. In a delicate dress as bright as spring, with floral decorations in her hair. Perfect would be an understatement. Even the neighboring graves have been hastily arranged to match, of course in the same look.
The strategy didn’t work out - eternally rests here the monument of missing personal responsibility.
But men wear masks too.
The best evidence would be Mr. Stein. 'I am unshakeable and strong. Nothing can touch me.'
He thought so, but then a family tragedy brought him to tears. And he could no longer hide his face in stone. Rest in peace, I think and for the first time on this tour, I am distracted by the scent of a rabbit.
There it falls. My mask. The identity of the good dog.
I WANT THE RABBIT NOW!
The view is honest.
After we have left the graveyard behind us.
Ash Wednesday in the forest.
There’s a small collection. For the peace of reality.
We gladly contribute something, today however only cheese scraps.
But new perspectives are opening up.
And gratitude makes our hearts glow.
Let us all be more genuine and also bury the masks here in everyday life.
Finally, we unexpectedly discover them.
Help yourself, then God will help you. Here he has created a small source of strength for us. The chapel of reality. With golden fruits for those who embark on their very own pilgrimage to discover the hidden behind the masks.
Hallelujah! What a conclusion to Carnival. Now hurry home, the last doughnut awaits its certain death, as well as a little bone with rabbit scent.
We are only human too. We dogs often more than we like.
Until the next adventure,
Your Gretl
