ReHoming Il Cane

Relocating has its wonderful crown of new adventure to keep one motivated through all the departure duties, but some goodbyes are harder than others and wrought with grief and guilt. This story ends well. It ends as it was meant to be. Though, I still get a lump in my throat when I think of having to leave this fella.

Once upon a time there was an elderly man who lived in a rural village in Northern Italy. He had a small, female spaniel dog that he trained to herd some goats he kept at a nearby farm. One day, the dog got “caught” and pups were born at the farm where the goats resided. Each family in the neighbourhood was asked to take a pup. We were one of those families. My Italian wasn’t good enough to explain that we were only there temporarily, and the farmer persisted so I said yes and fell in love with the friendly, energetic character that “Gallo” grew up to be.

Fast forward a couple of years and after several weeks of tormented discussions that proceeded our return to Ireland, we knew Gallo would have to be re-homed. It wasn’t a light decision and as soon as the posts went up on public sites, I received some shame mails and spent an exhausting amount of time trying to find a new home. A lady came forward and took him on a trial, but after a week she decided he wasn’t a good fit with her family. In the meantime, we had to make the move to meet the school year and Gallo stayed with friends, and then in a nice but expensive boarding farm. I don’t want to put too much attention on the ordeal that followed as it was incredibly challenging with lots of obstacles, lost in translation moments, frustration and spells of feeling completely helpless. There was no way I’d surrender him to a shelter, and we could not find accommodation in Ireland that would permit a dog.

I knew I had to widen the search net. So I wrote to contacts all over Europe and with the help of my cousin in the South of France, I came across a FaceBook Pet Group and met a wonderful fairy dog mother.

I’ll call her Tatiana. She invited me to bring Gallo to her house near Nice and said she’d keep him until she could find the perfect home because re-homing strays and refuge dogs was a passion of hers and she had a great track record. She was very sympathetic to my plight and decided to help out.

We had a few long conversations on the phone and I had a plan. I booked tickets, grateful that my schedule afforded me the kind of flexibility that made the flights cheap and reserved a car for a whopping 55 euro inclusive for three days. I always check out the links on the Malpensa website for cars. The major companies seem to offer their best deals there.

My trip started early on a Friday morning in mid October. The worse part of living in the West of Ireland is that there aren’t enough flights out of Shanon Airport so one has to go to Dublin. In yester years, that was a bigger ordeal but now we have the Go Bus—comfortable with wi-fii and toilets and economical, and the Zombie Motorway—a really good road with very little traffic on it. So I drove into Galway City, jumped on the Go Bus and after 2.5 hours, I arrived at the airport.

I like traveling in October because it’s usually quiet and the weather doesn’t require scarves, hats and coats, and other things that weigh me down. But as soon as I got to the terminal, I noticed crowds heading towards security. Dublin is a hot spot for English language schools and on this day, there were at least three enormous groups of noisy teens heading back to other parts of Europe. I felt like a piece of driftwood in a choppy current as they pushed past me, cutting in front of me and basically, whether they were just excited or oblivous, behaving rudely. One of the security guards apparently notice, she approached me and asked if I was part of the group and when I said no, she escorted me to the front of the line.

I love that sense of somebody watching over me, and it was a much appreciated theme on this trip. However, the flight was delayed. Three hours. I felt bothered, of course, but also after the relocation, I was tired and the downtime was really welcomed. I had my laptop and my Netflix account. Tools for passing time when one’s eyes are too tired for reading. I binged watched House of Cards until the flight was finally called and we were airborn.

Two hours later, I was back in Italy trying to shake off the feeling that the last six weeks had been a dream. I no longer lived here, yet I still knew the ropes on auto pilot. I knew, from experience, that the queues for the rental car companies were always long no matter what time and since it was now after ten pm, there wouldn’t be many attendants on. I rushed down there, happy to find no queue. I spoke in my rusty Italian and the attendant answered in English. There was the usual upsell notes and he turned rather unpleasant when I declined. But I got my car and turned around to see a long line behind me. My run from the gate had not been in vain.

By the time I arrived at my friend’s home, it was past midnight. She had kindly made soup for a late supper but we were both really tired and my allergies had revved up brutally. I was either so stuffed up that I couldn’t breathe or my nose was running like a faucet. It was a fragmented night of sleep but I was comfortable and got enough rest to mount the adventure the following day would bring.

In the morning, I had to make an early start. My friends and I went to the local pasticceria so I could get some specialities to take with me. Brutti e Buoni are the Gavirate biscotti that are gorgeous. They are messy looking broken meringues with lots of nuts in them and they are delicious. Hence the name: Ugly and Good. I got a few bags as they make the best gifts. While there, the owner of the pasticceria insisted I try a locally made aperitivo that they were selling. It was pink in colour and in a beautiful bottle and called Apollo 11. It was 9am and little shot glasses were fished out, even though I explained I was driving up to France. I had a small taste. It was gorgeous so I  picked up a bottle for my new fairy dog mother, wishing I was checking in a bag so I could take one home.

I said arriverdi to my friends and made arrangements to meet another friend who had organised the kennel for my dog. I was actually feeling nervous about seeing him. He’d been there for a month and before that he’d been in two different homes and left alone a lot. I like to think I’m tougher than I am. I’ve given homes to many pets over the years—of of whom came from shelters or people in my situation who couldn’t keep their cats anymore. And, I’d seen them all die of old age. But, that morning, I was back to feeling like I’d committed a crime making a decision not to keep him. I took comfort in telling myself that there was a perfect match for him. A family with children who’d play with him and parents who would both love him. My husband and son are not dog people. They like certain breeds but they never really bonded with Gallo. They were never cruel to him. They took him for walks, helped me look after him, and played with him from time to time, but not at the level he wanted. Somewhere out there, I knew a family existed that would be crazy for him.

The kennel was in a rural area. I met my friend in the parking lot of a nearby Carrfour and after a quick shop to buy water, food and treats, I followed her to the place, which was nestled in a forest of pines. It was operated by a woman simply known (to me anyway) as the Signora. She was in her seventies with thick, short red hair and was wearing a plaid shirt and green wellington boots. She had not English but spoke slow for me and I understood that Gallo had been well behaved but demanding. She had to give him lots of cuddles she said. That sounded about right. She told me he got on with the other dogs when she’d let them out into the fenced field for exercise and play, and he ate very well. I gave her 500 euro for his board and tried not to gulp too hard.

Each animal was in a large cage/pen under a nice high roof. Each pen had a large dog house. Gallo was hiding in his when I arrived. He didn’t come out when I went inside. When he saw me, he growled. I crouched down and held out my hand for him, and he gingerly came out of the house, took one sniff and was suddenly in my lap, despite the fact I was precariously balanced in an odd crouch. He licked my face and then barked at me—giving me a right ‘telling off.’ His tail whipped against my legs and my hands were suddenly in his mouth being “teethed” despite his age.

I was forgiven. That sort of made it harder.

We went for a walk, had a nice visit with my friend, and then it was time to pack up. His large crate had been brought with him and getting it into the car was a bit tricky but fortunately it all worked out. Gallo was never a very good traveller; he’d only ever been in the car for trips to the vet. I didn’t know how it would do, but because he was crate trained, I was hopeful he’d settle once situated inside it.

He whinged and barked quite a bit for the first leg, down a long road filled with mini round-abouts; there was lots of slowing and accelerating. By the time we hit the A26 motorway, he had settled and I was off.

The car was great. It was my first time driving with six gears and I liked how a prompt on the dashboard told me I needed to shift up or down. I wished I’d had that when I was first learning how to drive a manual. It also had more power than I was used to and easy to maintain the 130 kilometre maximum.

The weather wasn’t great heading up the Torrino Motorway. Almost a year to the day, we’d been on the same stretch of road and the severe fog had caused a fatal accident; the road had been closed and we’d had to cancel our plans to go to Torino for the day. I was relieved there was good visibility and hardly any traffic.

I got into the grove and two hours later was passing the signs for Genoa. The scenery changed as I hit the coast and was on the celebrated SS1/E80 and the scenery became more distracting. I wished Gallo could take pictures.

There was a service stop opposite a high cliff near Varazze. I didn’t need petrol (the car was good on mileage) but I wanted to walk Gallo and stretch my legs. The view was lovely and the weather was hot at 25 degrees. It had been 12 degrees in Ireland when I left the previous day. Gallo’s tail didn’t stop wagging and I was reminded of how people always responded to him. Quite a few folks went out of their way to pet him and visit with him. I thought this was a good omen for attracting the perfect forever family.

Back on the twisty, coastal road, we drove through the border without having to stop and I felt appreciative of the breathtaking scenery. Having to do this, was a good problem to have. I was driving up the Riviera to take the dog nobody wanted in one part of the world, to an angel who was going to help. I felt blessed and also a little spoiled because a birthday windfall was funding the trip. I’d just had a big birthday, I might add, so this little excursion was also a spiritual jaunt for me.

My sat nav served me well. It got me right into Opio, just passed Nice and up the narrow mountains to Tatiana’s house. She greeted me warmly, like we were old friends. We let Gallo out into a fenced garden filled with beautiful trees and he met Tatiana’s two rescues. The trio of dogs got on instantly and that was also a great relief.

My allergies had not improved and my nose was raw. I was happy that the plan involved me staying for the night rather than getting back on the road to Nice where I’d planned a visit with my cousin the next day. Tatiana’s house was amazing. It was built after WW2 and she had lovingly filled it with antiques and beautiful furnishings. And it was completely dog friendly. They were fed from porcelain bowls and allowed to lounge on luxurious sofas with soft pillows and blankets. We watched the animals and Tatianna decided she wanted to keep Gallo for herself. This was not possible but I reckoned, it boded well for a good family, that he as endearing himself effectively.

After a good night sleep and more time with my beloved dog, I took my leave of him. It was hard and he did kick up a fuss when I left but I knew he was in good hands.

Tatianna had three families to chose from when she started advertising in her circles.  And a forever family was sourced. It was that easy. What had been countless hours of trying down in Italy had been accomplished with one post. Time and Space makes all the difference. As his fairy dogmother, Tatianna checks in with him and brings her dogs for playdates, I get pictures and updates and the two children and two parents that Gallo now calls his forever family are just like the image I had hoped for.

After a short visit with my cousin in her home in Bouyon, I got back on the road. I would have cost 300 euro more if I had wanted to take the car to Nice airport and fly home from there. I decided the road trip along that amazing coast was more desirable than spending that kind of money, especially as the motorways are easy and good and I was technically on a holiday…

It was stunning until after Genoa, then it rained but there was great ease and flow on the motorway. I made it back to Malpensa an hour earlier than I’d planned. The flight was on time and I even made the last Go Bus in Dublin (at 11:55pm), which got me back to Galway at 2:45am. The only problem was that I couldn’t risk the time it would take for baggage collection, and therefore didn’t check one in. That meant I couldn’t stock up on good wine, and that gorgeous Apollo 11!

Small sacrifices!