The Lindwurm and the Dragon Killer of Klagenfurt.

I can no longer count the number of times I strolled around on the "Neuer Platz" in Klagenfurt, the Capital City of the lovely Province of Kaernten (Carinthia). I always knew that there was the monument to the brave Carinthian in the middle of the square. Some people insist that the hero is "Hercules" defending a virgin from the virgin-eating dragon. I rather doubt that you could identify this man as Hercules. Herk, to the best of my knowledge, did not have a mustache.
The other day, about two weeks ago, I again found myself on the "Neuer Platz", with my camera at the ready. So for the first time I really looked at this monument to the brave defender (Hercules or a Carinthian farmer) of virginity.
The first thing I noticed was that Herk just sort of stood there. There is no tension in his stance. His body reveals none of the aggressive nature one would expect when a man confronts a fire breathing dragon. No crouch in his knees, no anxiety in his face. No, he just stands there with his nail studded club raised above his head.... But wait... does he intend to strike the Lindwurm?
Clearly not. Our Hero just scratches his head, contemplating his next move. Should he whack this thing over the head or just go home and tell his wife: "You won't believe what I saw today".
And then it occurs to me on still closer examination: The man is scratching his back with the club. He's got an itch at the place...you know it well.... this hard to reach place, just below and in between your shoulder blades. Yes that's what he is doing. He's scratching his back.He means the worm no harm. In fact, the two know each other well. They are almost friends. Look at the way the worm-dragon curls his tail. That's the same gesture as when a dog wiggles his. And in any event. The fire has long ago left the worm's belly and he just spits a little lukewarm water. A little like a friendly dog who, after having chased the stick thrown by his master, sweats from his tongue.

I stand there, looking through my camera, viewing this scene. Any moment now I expect the man to throw his nail-studded club, the Lindwurm turning around, fetching it and bringing it back to the man, panting heavily and dripping saliva from his tongue.

That's what it is: Not Hercules battling the virgin-devouring dragon, but a Carinthian mustachioed farmer playing with his saliva spitting, tail wagging, dragon-wurm.