A year ago I helped a moose calf get reunited with its mother. Lately there has been a marked increase in animal rescue cases. I didn’t even mention this before, but in Corsica Isabelle saved two tiny stupid dogs from running on a busy road. The owners were so thankful they let us stay for several days in their guest apartment. Although the dogs escaped several more times during our stay, so I don’t have high expectations for their wellbeing.

 Civitavecchia on the first day in Italy.

In Italy the trend has continued. On our second day back on the continent, we were checking out the Caldara di Manziana nature preserve area. It’s a volcano crater northwest of Rome, with some small geysers. A strong stench of rotten eggs permeates the area, due to sulfur escaping from the ground.

I saw some movement in the high ferns. It was a shy black dog that seemed curious about us, but kept vanishing into the shadows before we got a good look at it. When no owner appeared, we became equally curious. Eventually we found it lying under a tree. She looked scared, hungry and was covered in ticks. Isabelle gave her water and some of her dog food (despite Kira’s protests). When she got up to eat, we finally saw how thin she was - basically just bones covered in fur. She must've been there for months, and was probably mere days away from dying.

 In this photo she doesn't even look that bad.

Camping was probably not allowed in the area, but we couldn’t leave the dog alone, so pitched our tents at sunset. While trying to decide what to do, there was a stroke of luck: A local man with five dogs came strolling in on his evening walk. Exactly the kind of person who would know how to deal with the situation! He took one look at Felicia (as we named her), and shook his head seriously. He would call some animal rescue people and come back in the morning.

Franco kept his word and arrived with help the next day: A man and a woman from a nearby shelter. Felicia was surprisingly calm with five people, Franco’s five dogs plus Kira milling around. She seemed to understand we were there to help. We got a closer look at her fur in the daylight. There were dozens of ticks. Maybe hundreds. The food we had given her was all around the tree, undigested. She could barely walk, and I don’t envy the guy who had to carry her to the car, parasites and all. 

 For some reason the shelter folks had uniforms that looked like they belonged to German police from the 70s.

The shelter people seemed uncertain whether she would make it, or whether she’d find a home. We got their number in case I would have to adopt a dog of my own. But I thought there was a strong change they might have to put her down.

A week or two later I got a message in Trevignano: “The dog is doing fine. She is gaining weight and having more confidence with people. There is already a family that wants to adopt her.” I cried a little.

Fast forward another couple weeks. I hitchhiked to Radicofani because I needed to visit a pharmacy for some antihistamines and it sits on top of a high hill. Radicofani is a village I would describe as “delightfully Italian”.

 A stereotypical street in an old Italian village.
 Awwwwwwwwwww.

Outside the pharmacy on the road there was a tiny black kitten. Probably slightly under a month old, the cutest thing ever. I didn’t see a mother, and no one seemed to know who he belonged to. I tried to shoo it away from the traffic to the pedestrian path. When a car left a parking spot, I heard a scream and another equally young kitten, a grey one, half ran half limped away from under the car. Apparently one of its front paws got squashed by a tire. Well, shit.

I cleared my schedule for the rest of day. I was supposed to hitchhike back down the road, but fortunately Isabelle found a helpful van and came up to the village with both bicycles. We hung around to feed the kitties. When they couldn't stop running onto the road, we put them in a cardboard box for safety. Evening came and no humans or felines had arrived to claim them, so we started to look for a surrogate in town. Plan B was to take them in our handlebar bags and find a nice farm the next day. The grey one was walking on all fours again, so the paw wasn’t too badly hurt.

 This one was particularly active and kept getting into trouble all the time.

Again it was getting dark, and again we got lucky. A woman walking past us in the park saw the cats and came over. One of the kittens had been under her car in the morning, and a day earlier a friend of hers had already adopted another little furball, probably from the same batch, a few streets away. She went to fetch the friend, and within minutes the kitties had a home! We left the village feeling pretty good about ourselves.

I like it when stories have happy endings.

 It's a flower.

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