I am at a farm north of Rome in the Lazio region near the Tuscan border to dog sit with my friend Kathy.
The one-hundred-year-old farmhouse is at the end of what some call a road and is divided into three apartments. The not-quite owner loves dogs, not people. I say not-quite owner, because he could not keep up with the payments so the bank owned it. This bank, being Italian, did not want to evict an elderly man.
They simply sold the farm to another man who thinks he is an artist. Not-quite owner has lived here long enough that for not-quite artist to evict him requires years of red tape.