An American Dog in Rome

Our dog, Grinzing, was ten and a half years old when I stuck her in a crate and she disappeared out of the end of our driveway in a van destined for the airport.  Accompanied by our cat, Rumble, in a second smaller crate, they too were entering our adventure of moving to Italy.  My wife was already in Rome and I was still back in Bellevue, Washington, selling the cars and packing up the house.  It would take almost two days for the animals to travel between us.  First on a flight to Frankfurt, where the airline had a “pet hotel” and they could get cleaned up and recover a little before a shorter flight to Rome itself.  Originally they were scheduled by our “pet travel agent” to arrive on a Sunday, the traditional Catholic day of rest, until we realized that there might not be anyone working at the Rome airport to receive them.  About a week before they were to leave we scrambled to reschedule the arrival to a known workday just to be on the safe side.

When they arrived in Rome my wife said that Grinzing was in surprisingly good shape and seemed her normal self.  Rumble, on the other hand, looked a little “shell-shocked,” having spent his whole life as an indoor cat and only leaving home for the annual vet check-up.  It didn’t take long for him, however, to get excited about exploring a new apartment, particularly the rooms with armoires where he could get the high vantage point on the room activity.

Grinzing had a privileged upbringing in a suburban home with a fenced backyard full of trees, grass, and chickens.  She was easy to train because she has always been eager to please and very sensitive to our moods.  She came to work with me for years, accompanying me on forest hikes during field days and sleeping in an overstuffed chair next to my desk on office days.  Coming to Rome would convert her from an outdoor adventure dog to and an urban exploration dog.

The first thing she had to learn was how to poop on the pavement.  Previously, she had been able to do her business in the quiet solitude of a relatively natural setting.  And now there would only be the privacy afforded by a three-foot leash.  Our first rental apartment was across the street from the Aurelian Wall, which provided a sort of park to walk along.  She liked it because there were some grassy stretches that she preferred.  But the accumulation of urban decay (e.g., the smell of human pee, broken glass) made the situation less than optimal.

Our second rental apartment had a small park kitty-corner across a street intersection out in front of the building.  The neighborhood dogs would congregate there during the day, relegating the little kids to a tiny playground at one end and the odd vagabond to the benches in the dark margins.  The gritty neighborhood came alive at night with small bars and partying students.  But I still wouldn’t go to the park after dark.

Our third, current, and long-term rental villa is five blocks from the second biggest park in Rome.  Villa Ada has mostly forested trails with a small lake at one end.  Like a lot of other city parks in Rome, it used to be a wealthy family’s villa estate and is now public space.  Grinzing loves it there, as do I.  There’s an official off-leash area at one end of the park, but most people let their dogs run freely everywhere.  She doesn’t make it there everyday, because like us she is getting older and can’t handle high physical activity too frequently.  But she’s been there often enough that after a few days of not going she actively leads the way there.  She still has three to five walks a day, but we vary the direction that we head to keep it fresh.

Through all this she still has some peculiarities to her “business.”  She hardly ever goes just on the pavement out in the open.  Instead she prefers to use the holes in the sidewalk where trees are planted, on cobblestones where the easy runoff keeps her feet dry, or below the curb between parked cars.  Anyway, someone is always there to clean up after her.  Poop bags are now the most important commodity that we purchase on a regular basis, though some dog owners are not as diligent as others.

Traffic safety, particularly crossing streets between parked cars, has become a constant issue.  Vigilance is key, and walking the dog is not for daydreamers.  Little dogs tend to be untrained because they are easily overpowered by their owners, and this generally doesn’t make them good sidewalk companions.  Often, owners of territorial male dogs will avoid confrontation by crossing the street.  Having a well-trained dog definitely pays dividends.

Grinzing can go, and is indeed welcome, to most places in Rome except for the grocery store, where there are often leash hooks mounted outside.  Her favorite places are the gelateria, the butcher, and the pet store.  She has perfected the art of turning her head sideways to elicit treats, be they empty ice cream cones, the odd slice of prosciutto, or almost anything from bulk section of the pet food store.  This seems to work particularly well with Italian men.  She has also mastered sitting in restaurants and generally staying out of the way of the wait staff.  The sideways head inquiry when we’re out to eat usually gets her a bowl of water.

Speaking of water, Rome has an extensive system of drinking fountains throughout the city that provide a constant supply of potable drinking water.  Called nasone, they also supply water for our dog on hot days, when we try to bring along a collapsible bowl on our forays about town.

Grinzing has ridden on trams, buses, subways, local trains, and in the back of taxis.  We have to carry a muzzle just in case, but the only time she had to actually wear it was on an uncrowded funicular that had a finicky conductor.  Otherwise she usually sits quietly at our feet.  Grinzing also has her own E.U. passport, which required some hurdle jumping in the Italian bureaucracy.  This allows us to buy her a ticket on long-distance trains.

Roman society has been very welcoming to Grinzing, where the culture includes dogs into everyday life rather than excluding them to the margins.  She, of course, loves to be included and would rather come with us than stay at home with Rumble.  I think that she would say that she loves it here.