Jack has perhaps enjoyed the pleasures of country life a little too much these past few months. With only a few interruptions, he resided on the mountain in Sicily, which he probably secretly christened “Pico Jack”, because his landlord’s manner cannot be overlooked: he casually walks from one property to another. Quarrels with other dogs or hoofed animals are settled with an almost boring routine.
Whatever is on the floor will be nibbled on. And he has strategically distributed his beloved bones so that he can pass you on every conceivable walking route and enjoy the surprise find for a moment. Above all, however, a certain self-evidence, yes: laziness, has set in with him. Aside from his occasional outings, he spends a lot of time on the patio, only occasionally striving to keep a watchful eye. But most of the time he just sleeps. Even his food bowl stays half full for long hours. Because he knows that he doesn’t have to worry about his food either.
But as a human, you worry about that. Most of us have been taught that we need to be busy, have plans, and be stressed all the time. If you don’t hyperventilate once a day, something is wrong with you. But once you’ve turned the thought back and forth three times as to whether the listless dog might be depressed, you come to terms with it: No, it’s not. He’s just a dog. And thus created for idleness.
But what would it be like, we asked ourselves anxiously, if he had to return to the big city. Because hanging around lazily in front of the house, so we fear, is only fun if you can go on a little trip at any time and independently. In the city, however, Jack is inevitably tied to his masters. His walks are squeezed between morning conferences, pressing deadlines and evening appointments. In addition, there is a leash requirement. In short: We feared a wintry urban depression. As is almost always the case with this amazing creature, things turned out very differently.
Jack bounces through wet Rome as if he’s seeing the city for the first time. He greets the kiosk operator, where we drink our coffee in the morning, as warmly as only competitors at the Grammy Awards do. He examines the plane trees on the banks of the Tiber with fervor. Some of the dogs in the neighborhood stir up a rage as fresh as if he’s never had a bark with them. He allows himself a drink at every public water dispenser.
The most obvious is his joy at seeing urban life again on the Tiber Island, which he probably secretly christened “Isola Jack”. When a school class visits Rome, he greets every single young person (estimated half of them want to take him with them right away), he chases ducks and muskrats into the water with great zeal. He just looks after them in disappointment for a moment, because he seems sure that the next sensation is already waiting for him. Watching Jack throw himself into big city life makes me feel like we’re soul mates.
