Puppy love – Life with Rocco

I can’t talk about our life in Italy – or our life in Canada – or our life together at all without talking about our dog Rocco. Those who know us well would call us one of those kinds of pet-parents. You know, the ones who take their dog everywhere, let him have the run of the house, do anything and everything to keep him healthy and happy – and love him more than they ever thought possible.

Rocco came into our lives a few weeks after we arrived on our two-year sabbatical in Umbria back in the late spring of 2008 (see the post “A Love Affair with Italy” category: Life – Italian Style). We had rented a stone cottage in the countryside outside of the medieval village of Panicale. Part of our routine was a one-hour walk through the hills and olive groves before dinner.

On this particular day, Peter ventured out alone. Not long into his walk, he came across a scruffy looking black and white dog tied up on a short rope in the middle of a field. A kitchen cupboard turned on its side was the only shelter from the blazing sun. Peter got down on his knees and beckoned the dog over. When the little guy backed away, Peter slowly crawled toward him with his hand outstretched, speaking calmly to him in Italian. The little mutt inched toward Peter’s hand and when he was close enough, Peter let him off the rope. He said later he wasn’t sure why he was compelled to approach him, never mind let him loose but he just knew he had to do it.

And then the scruffy mutt took off – racing down the hill to the olive grove. Peter chased after him; worried he might not come back. It was clear the little dog had just had his first taste of freedom in a long time, maybe ever.

Eventually Peter found him and reluctantly returned him to the rope.

He soon found out the dog’s owners were a Bulgarian family living across the street from the field. The dog’s name was Rocco. He was only a young pup, a gift for their nine-year old daughter who had long ago lost interest in him. So he was kept on a short rope, a tie for a collar, one bowl of food a day that had to be jealousy guarded from the wild animals around him. He spent every day and night alone in that field. For an animal lover like my husband, there was no turning back from this fledgling relationship.

Peter got permission from the owners to take Rocco with us on our walks. It was clear from the beginning Rocco was special. He literally smiled when he saw us. He had a unique way of moving when he was happy. He didn’t walk. He pranced like a show pony. People remarked on it all the time, “Look, that dog is prancing!!”

One night, we took Rocco home with us. We just couldn’t bear to put him back on the rope. We set up a blanket on the floor in the corner. Rocco crawled onto it, gave a big sigh and quickly fell asleep. His first night spent clean, dry and happy. I looked at his funny little face, his buckteeth and crooked nose and felt something break in my chest. I was falling in love.

Before long, Rocco was spending most nights with us. But every morning, he headed up the hill to be put back on the rope. Such was his loyalty to his neglectful family. He would always appear torn – turning to look back at us and then back to the road before slowly beginning to walk.  It broke our hearts. Yet we were torn too. We loved dogs and wanted one but we had very transient lives in television. We were traveling often for work. And our time in Italy was limited. We knew we had to go home in a year or so. What would become of Rocco then?

One day the decision was made for us. The mother of the Bulgarian family stopped us on the road and said, “You’re good people. You take Rocco.” We didn’t need any nudging. That day we took Rocco off the rope for the last time. We brought him back to the cottage with us. Rocco was home. We were his ‘forever home’.

When the time came two years later to return to Canada, we got Rocco a puppy passport and a ticket to Toronto. He pranced through Rome airport seemingly unable to believe his luck; to believe we were not leaving him behind. The local Italians said, “Rocco has found America.”

And so began Rocco’s life with us in Canada. He sailed on Lake Ontario…

Played ice hockey when the lake froze over…

https://www.facebook.com/anna.ladolcevita/videos/10153057462945115/

Took long road trips to the family camp on Lake Superior…

And became an irreplaceable part of our family. The bond between Rocco and Peter was especially strong. Like something I have never seen between an animal and a human. When Peter would go away, Rocco would sit all day by the front door with his nose in one of Peter’s shoes. They simply adore each other.

I often say, the moment Peter let Rocco off the rope, Rocco saw him as his savior and a lifelong love was born right then and there.

The years went by and Rocco adjusted to his life in big city Toronto. He learned how to walk on a lead, to wear booties to survive the harsh Canadian winters…

• 

• 

• 

And how to wait patiently for his Daddy to come home from work…

But he also often seemed sad. We wondered if he missed the hills of Umbria and the familiar smells of the Italian countryside.

When we started to formulate a plan to change our lives and transfer most of time to our house in Paciano, we considered Rocco’s happiness as well. Some people may think we are crazy (remember: we are those kind of pet-parents) but we wanted to take Rocco back to his homeland before he was too old to travel. We wanted him to spend the last years of his life roaming the hills of Umbria with us and spending all of his days with his beloved Daddy.

And so the Repatriate Rocco program was born. That is the name we gave to our big move. We packed up Rocco’s Canadian winter sweaters and booties along-side all of our things and we boarded a plane for Rome.

On the drive from Rome airport to Paciano, we rolled down the windows and turned to see Rocco with his head back, eyes closed, breathing in the distinct Italian countryside air. And we heard a big sigh – a contented sigh. Rocco was home.