I am having coffee with Emil Soldatić at Cotić’s when Milan Koraca, our local policeman, gets up from a neighboring table and stops by our table on his way to the door. “It’s time for you to start taking care of that dog of yours,” he says to Emil almost jovially. “He doesn’t like uniforms,” Emil chuckles and shrugs his shoulders. “He hasn’t attacked only me,” continues Milan, “but I hear that he has attacked quite a number of others, as well.” “Well,” Emil waves his hand, “the postman got compensated for the bite…” “Believe me,” Milan interrupts gently and puts his hand on Emil’s shoulder before waving us goodbye and leaving the café, “it is time for you to do something about that dog.” “True,” Emil turns to me a moment later, “Nero bit Sunčana Beletić a few days ago, and I was quite curious about that attack.” I nod. “Well,” he raises his arms victoriously, “it turned out that she was beating her little son, Lorenzo!” I nod again. That kind of explains it.