As I step out of the Bulldog Pub, I realize that it is snowing quite heavily. When I stop to zip up my windbreaker, a chubby young man approaches me with a bunch of leaflets in his hand. I already know that he is taking part in a campaign to improve the lot of pets that has been going on in the Croatian capital for a few weeks already. “Do you have a cat or a dog?” he asks. “No,” I answer without blinking. “Do you have any other sort of pet at home?” he persists. “Only a wife,” I respond in all seriousness. By the way, “woman” and “wife” are indistinguishable in Croatian. In his late teens or early twenties, he bursts into laughter. But then he stops himself rather abruptly and gives me a closer look. He is confused. I must be joking, but the joke is off the charts. Having zipped up my windbreaker and pulled the hood over my head, I just slap him on his shoulder and walk past him. As far as I can tell, it will take him a while to figure out whether I was joking or not. One can never tell with the elderly.