The Dog Days of Summer

Sunday, August 02, 2026

The Dog Days of Summer

Rocco, as I found him on July 20th

July came and went. My month, and the month for so many people I know and love. I look forward to July every December, January and February. And then when it arrives, it careens through time, like it always does and leaves us in the dust and into the dog days of summer.

This July had an unexpected surprise. The weekend after my birthday, I settled back into my routine. Monday morning – off to the gym and then to my Italian store, Jimmy’s, to check on a project there that I have. On the way, I notice the homeless folks along the way. I saw Mrs. Jay-Z wandering in the streets with what looked like a new dress. Maybe there was hope yet for that poor lost soul. Further on down Greenville avenue, I spied Jim Morrison 2026 – he was still staring into space no changes there. As I neared the Italian store, I drove past the apartment building my Aunt Amelia used to live in. I saw a scraggly group of folks at the park, most of them with a place to call home. One of them was being trailed by an even more raggedy dog. “That dog has personality,” I thought to myself, as I drove a few blocks on to my destination.

Inside the store, there were folks setting up the produce from the market, a delivery man bringing in a load of Italian goods, and one of the owners, Mike. We stood around the espresso machine and made small talk. A scrawny man walked in looking for whatever Mike had bagged up for the unfortunate souls for whom their luck was running on empty. In with him walked that raggedy dog and he plopped down on the commercial throw carpet that stores have sometimes to absorb liquids from the produce stand. “Get that mutt out of here,” Mike shouted. “We’ve got customers coming in, and inspectors !” They shooed the raggedy dog outside. Jeff, the deli/meat market manager was watching and took pity on the dog, so he went in the back for some kibbles. I grabbed a cup and put water in it. We followed after the dog, who was in no hurry. It was 8 AM and almost 90°F. He was panting and woefully undergroomed. He was a white dog, but his coat was murky grey and black. It was a pitiful sight to see. But the little dog didn’t seem to care. He was thirsty, not hungry, at least for the dried kibbles Jeff tried to feed him. So, Jeff and I and the dog walked back to where I first saw the dog looking for his owner.

We walked up and down and found no one who claimed this poor little soul of a dog. I’m kinda glad we didn’t find that person, seeing as the dog was in such deplorable shape. I imagined the “owner” was probably not much better off, so a lecture - from a well-fed older white guy who has a home – wasn’t probably the thing the doctor would have ordered up.

We got back to Jimmy’s and Jeff had to go back to work. What to do? Little dog was looking at me with his hopeful eyes, and I said to him, “Come on, get in the car, let’s get you cleaned up.” And it was like he knew what I was saying. He jumped in the car, sat down in the passengers seat and was as quiet and well-behaved as an angel. And off we went.

I got him home to the surprise of all who were there – human and cats. I didn’t even know he was a boy; his hair was so matted. He had these dreads that fell from his body and constricted his legs. And yes, he was hungry.

A trip to the vet got him a look over and some vaccinations. No problems, a three-year-old Maltese mix (Malti-poo?) with good teeth, no heartworm and good ears. The worst thing, other than the months of neglect, were the sores on him from flea bites. The vet asked me if he had a name, for his rabies medallion, and I thought of Josh Neille in Australia and his crazy wombats he rescued. One of them had a particularly great personality, Rocco, and he reminded me of this little dog. “Rocco” I said. “Let’s call him Rocco.” Rocco it was.

We took him home, gave him a bath/shower and made an appointment to groom him the next day. He slept in the spare bathroom, away from the wary cats, and didn’t make a peep all night. He went outside to do his business and generally had an excellent attitude.

Rocco after his day of beauty

The next day I dropped Rocco off at the groomer for a day of beauty. When I picked him up a few hours later, it was an amazing transformation. Here we had this light as air, snow white, perky and very happy pup. And off we went. Another foster failure?

Since then, two weeks in, the remainder of the amazing month of July, Rocco has been working his way into our lives and our hearts. He has already made more friends in the neighborhood in two weeks than I have in 29 years. Everybody loves Rocco, and Rocco loves everybody. He’s a really good boy and only has one bad habit that we know of. For some reason he gets into the cat litter box (I don’t want to know why or what for) and when he emerges he has the litter (made from grass seed) “clumping” on the roof of his mouth. I know he likes to eat grass, as I see him outside doing so after he’s had his once or twice daily roll in the grass that he seems to love so much. So, we’ll have to figure that one out. But other than that, he eats well, he poops well (and outside) and he gets along with the cats and has made himself pretty much an indispensable member of the human and animal family here.

A dog or cat may only be your best friend for a decade or two, but you get to be their best friend for their entire life. Another foster failure. Rocco found his forever home.