Moritz, the Fluffy Security Service

Moritz is Max's brother. Since the two were separated, Moritz has been living on the farm and fulfilling a role that is essential on any traditional farm: being the farm dog. Naturally, there are also cats. Four strays that I lovingly call 'The Gang' because they always appear together, lounge in the sun, or walk like little roofers over the beams towards the hayloft. Whether and how they are related to each other, no one really knows. They don't have names either. Apparently, cats don't need such things; after all, they have staff.

Moritz is different. He has a name, a story, and presumably also a self-image. And as I was told, this story begins with a vacation flirtation.

Family Tree with Summer Romance

Before Moritz, there was a female dog on the farm. She was, let's say, a bit special. The previous owner had probably not treated her very well, and her basic trust was severely damaged. However, that didn't stop her from enjoying the warm summer nights in the Pustertal with an American Collie. And as it apparently goes with summer nights in the Pustertal: Eventually, the holiday guests were gone again, of course along with the Collie. Left behind was the female dog. Pregnant. Just like in Italian arthouse films, only with more hay.

What about the mother?

Around the time Max and Moritz were born, there was a helper on the farm. A quantum physicist. And this very man had an incredibly good connection with the female dog. Her basic trust was suddenly back, at least towards him. She no longer left his side.

You don't break such a bond. So he took her with him. Without a leash, she followed him all the way to his home. By train. A female dog, a quantum physicist, and the Deutsche Bahn, or rather its Italian-Austrian variant: That also sounds arthouse, but it is reality. And reality, as we know, writes the best stories. Max later found a new family. Moritz stayed. And became the local farm dog.

Protect, Guard, Get Cuddled

Like every animal on the farm, he also has a role. To protect the farm and guard everything. From animals or intruders. Actually.

Guarding sounds archaic. Like baring teeth, deep growling, and an animal that is only chained during the day because otherwise, it would shred the delivery person along with the delivery van. A guard dog, indeed. Fearsome. Incorruptible. Loyal. Duty following regulations with sharp teeth.

Moritz interprets this job description fairly loosely. 'This is not a guard dog; he’s more likely to help carry things out,' David mentioned at some point. And when it comes to protection against wild animals: A while ago, a fox managed to pick off over twenty hens. So Moritz apparently understands that his job has something to do with visitors. Just not which direction.

The Moritz Method

Moritz is a mix of Collie and something else. Not exactly small, but incredibly fluffy. And he knows it. His tactic, therefore, does not consist of aggression but rather of emotional overwhelming. As soon as someone enters the farm, he trots over, silently stands in their way, and waits. Not for commands. For cuddles.

Sometimes he accompanies this demand with a sort of purring. He probably learned it from the cats, even though they don't actually purr. So it might be less of a sound and more of a very clear contract offer:

· I block.

· You pet.

· Deal.

To secure the deal, Moritz perfects his trusty operational strategy:

· He lays on feet.

· He lays in front of the front door.

· He lays under the car.

· Or behind it.

· He lays on the terrace.

· He simply lies right in the way.

Of course, this significantly complicates the removal of any valuables. With a safe or piano in hand, one cannot easily step over a huge ball of fluff that has just decided to become part of the interior design. So, one dutifully leaves everything behind, pets the dog, and exits the farm empty-handed.

Moritz in Action. Well, Almost.

I have seen Moritz in action just once. Apparently, he had his eye on the cows. Suddenly there was a 'Bark!', the cattle began to move in the pasture, and Moritz ran after them behind the fence. For a brief moment, it looked as if something deep inside him had flipped the sheepdog switch. Herd, instinct, purpose. Herding. HOOORAY.

Or perhaps, and this is unfortunately much more likely: He was lying in the meadow, something stung him, he barked, and ran at the same time. The cows too, because they were startled.

Thus, Moritz remains what he is: not a guard dog in the traditional sense, but a fluffy concierge. When someone enters the farm, they are not confronted but rather gently overwhelmed. And probably that is his brilliant security plan: No one can steal anything here because first, they have to pet this dog for at least twenty minutes.