Rocco

Time goes by slowly when you’re locked in a cage. Rocco didn’t think he would ever escape this place. His world had been reduced to dull cement walls and cold concrete floors. He still didn’t quite understand why he was stuck in this place, what he had done to deserve this. 

He constantly replayed the memory of his last few days at home. They were simultaneously full of energy and urgency. His owners had been packing away the entire place into cardboard boxes. He remembers bounding around the newly spacious living room and bursting through piles of packing peanuts. When almost nothing else lingered around the home, Rocco remained grateful that the bed stayed until his last day. As always, when it was time to go to bed, he had laid down at the foot of the bed, resting his snout in the crook of his owner’s ankles. 

Rocco thought about that bed often, especially when he submitted to the pitiful little bowl lined with a frayed blanket each night. This sorry excuse for a bed could barely contain Rocco, his body on the blanket and his face on the floor while he slept. 

Sometimes, he’d awaken to the sound of a rumbling car, reminding him of his own last journey. Rocco had gotten into the car with his parents as they normally did, expecting to go to the park or the Wendy’s drive thru. That day, however, the ride was eerily silent. When he hopped onto his owner’s lap in the passenger seat, he felt her body shaking beneath him.

With his head out the window, floppy ears and droopy jowls waving in the wind, he took in the scenery. Eventually, the roads became unrecognizable. Rocco had been on plenty of walks to know his way around town; these roads were new to him. But to a dog, the whole world is contained within the city limits, so even a slight detour was an adventure. His owner began to pet his coat furtively as the car slowed down and rolled into a parking spot. 

That was his last car ride. Rocco wondered if or when his car would pull up again, that small silver vehicle smattered with bumper stickers. He remembers the days when he stared out the front window of his home, waiting patiently for that car to pull into the lot, signaling that his owners had returned. He would tap his feet by the front door, anxious for the bolt to turn and his owners to rush in to greet him.

He resented the thought of someone opening his door now. The hinges of the cage squeaked, and the lady entering was never there to give him a belly rub or stroke him behind the ears. They hardly gave him a second look. A few ladies routinely entered his cage, but their presence didn’t entertain Rocco in the slightest. One frequent guest was the cleaning lady. 

Rocco didn’t like relieving himself so indecently, but he had no choice. On his first day, he pawed and barked at the chain link fence waiting for someone to let him out so he could do his business, but no one came to release him. The cleaning lady sanitized the room for Rocco and his other fellow dogs, always moments before the stench was about to become too much to bear. 

The only stench that was comparable was the one he smelled when he first entered this prison. What he smelled then was borderline foul. He couldn’t put a name to the stench, but it was appalling. He had just stepped foot into the place, and Rocco immediately pulled and backed up into the door, desperate to get out. His instincts raised every hair on his back. There had been a woman behind a large desk. He was too short to look her in the face, but he could see right up her sniffer. She, like his owners, wasn’t affected by this wretched stench. 

He could still smell that scent now, locked in the confines of his cage. Some dogs reeked of it, and he noticed that these particularly stinky dogs didn’t last long in the shelter. Rocco hoped they were taken to get a much needed bath. Several dogs had come and gone during his time here. The new ones acted the same way he had when he first arrived. For the entirety of Rocco’s first night, he barked, cried, and barked some more. He jumped onto the fenced cage and stared down the hall, waiting to see his owners’ faces pop into the doorway. They never did. 

He used to react to each footfall he heard in the hallway, leaping to his feet to see if his owners had returned to rescue him from this forsaken place. Time and time again, he was disappointed. Strangers weren’t uncommon to the shelter, and Rocco soon learned to ignore them as they walked past his cell. 

Rocco ignored the feeble cries of the new dogs now, knowing their efforts were fruitless. He had little energy left in him which at least partly explained why he was losing weight. At first Rocco couldn’t eat at all; he could do nothing but stare at the door at the end of the hallway, waiting. Eventually, hunger got the best of him. Meal times here were nothing like they were back at home. No scraps of turkey or a bite of cornbread snuck to him under the table. No begging with precious puppy dog eyes for a taste of fruit or toast. No after meal treat when he had finished all of his food and water. Instead, a lady opened their cage twice a day and slid in boring bowls of dry food. 

Shortly after their first meal each day, the dog walking lady would swing by with her fistful of leashes. He couldn’t be fooled anymore. The first time he was taunted with a walk, he was met with sour disappointment. The sight of the leash convinced him that he was going to break free. His excitement quickly faded as the lady attempted to handle five dogs at once on a ten minute walk. He didn’t even get to go outside. They simply walked through the mazes of cement floored hallways. Worse, the lady never stopped for a second so he could sniff. She pulled and tugged on his leash to keep up the pace. Multiple times he looked up at her, but her eyes were always elsewhere. Now, the more seasoned dogs, such as himself, walked patiently alongside the lady while the newbies and the puppies tugged and strained.

Life in the cell became a monotonous routine. He ate when it was time to eat, and he walked when it was time to walk. Rocco decided early that he did not like it here; his whole world had become gray. 

Rocco could no longer be stirred. He became immune to the shelter’s barks and whines, squeals and growls. Rocco simply slumped his too big body into his too small bed and lay there for hours on end. His legs were achy from laying all day and getting only minimal time to stretch his limbs. The cell was crowded and the best exercise he could muster was meandering aimlessly through the mess of buckets. He was too old to play with some of the other dogs, and anyways, they came and went often, so Rocco could never truly find a friend. 

He stayed put when strangers entered his cell and took one of the other dogs with them. Rocco would follow them with his eyes longingly until they disappeared, never to be seen again. Other times, a lady would enter the cell and leave with one of the awfully stinky dogs, also never to be seen again. The smelly dogs didn’t go out the door at the end of the hallway; they went into another room that Rocco couldn't see. Rocco didn’t know where these other dogs went, but he knew where he was going: nowhere. 

Unbeknownst to him, Rocco cried in his sleep. He would have sweet dreams of a simpler time, a happier life. His paws twitched when he dreamt of running, free as a bird. Other nights he was plagued with nightmares, constantly waking up in darkness. Fitful nights bled into days, and somber days bled into nights. Rocco began to lose hope of ever being free again. He hadn’t recognized his freedom until he was handed this unbearable sentence. His face was prematurely going gray.

One day, Rocco was lying down, his gray snout inches from the caged doorway. He half watched shoes pace in front of his cage as he often did to pass the time these days. But this time, the shoes had stopped directly in front of him. He waited patiently for the door to open and a lady to come in to clean up after him or to come take another dog with her. But the shoes stayed where they were. He lifted only his eyes to see a lady, a new lady. Not the lady who gave him food or scooped his poop or gave him walks. A new lady with a flowery dress and kind eyes. She was smiling at him and reached small fingers in between the chain links. Rocco felt his tail, an appendage he had nearly forgotten about, lift. The dress lady cooed at him with approval. 

Confused, but not displeased, eager, but not ignorant, Rocco stood slowly and nosed the fingers. The dress lady wiggled her fingers and scratched his jowls. He bent his head, and she scratched lightly behind his ears. Rocco’s tail began to whip side to side. The lady was all smiles and wiggly fingers; Rocco felt comfort like he hadn’t in weeks.

Then the man came. A new man. A man with a big mustache and a ball cap. He tapped the dress lady on the shoulder, said a few choice words, and beckoned her down the hall. The dress lady retracted her hand and waved at Rocco as she walked away.

Rocco’s tail slowed, drooped, and finally dropped as he watched her leave, the footsteps echoing off the walls. Head low, he made his way to the back of the cage and plopped down heavily, his snout facing the wall. He lay there silently, alone. He didn’t even stir when he heard the door to his cage creak open. It wasn’t until he heard his name that he was zapped with life.

“Rocco?”

This name from eternity’s past made his ears perk.

“Rocco?”

He tilted his head and stared in the direction that the voice was coming from. It was the lady. The dress lady. The flowery dress lady with the wiggly fingers. She was crouched low to the ground and held a treat in her hand. Rocco watched her carefully, remembering the last time he had been goaded with a treat. 

When he had first arrived, the front desk lady had caught his attention with a treat, beckoning to him. Pleased and oh so ignorant, he had walked over to her and taken the snack. She was petting him and telling him what a good and brave boy he was. Distracted by the attention, he had missed his owners’ departure. When he turned around to see them again, they were nowhere to be found. 

With a sigh, Rocco turned away and faced the wall.

“Rocco, come here boy,” the dress lady called. 

Then it wasn’t just the lady; it was the man too, the mustached man, and the dog walking lady. Their voices were full of eagerness, kindness, and excitement. Excitement to see him? Rocco had blended in with the shelter dogs for so long that this felt extremely foreign. 

Finally, giving in, Rocco hoisted himself up and trotted over to the flowery dress lady. His roommates glanced up at him in wonder and curiosity. Upon taking the treat from the lady, he was met with several pets and pats and words of encouragement. Then he saw the other lady nearby too, the tricky treat lady, and he withdrew. She was waving a hand at the mustached man and dress lady from the door at the end of the hallway. Rocco was filled with the sudden dread of potential abandonment. He began to whimper and cry. To his surprise, he was met with an embrace, a hug from the flowery dress lady. Rocco jumped at the touch, and she recoiled. The man began to pull her away. 

Afraid and uncertain, Rocco thought of going back to his bucket and calling it a day when the lady with the dress held her hand out to him. Rocco approached and sniffed her, as he had done with many others in his past life. Slowly, she began to walk backwards down the hallway, her walk turning into a playful skip, her arms outstretched towards him. Obediently, as if in a trance, Rocco followed her. 

He turned sharply as he heard the bang of his cage closing behind him. The dog walking lady was turning a key in its lock. Rocco’s ears once again perked up. He picked up his speed, now trotting towards the flowery dress lady at the end of the hallway. If the hallway had been any longer, his pace would have progressed into a full on run.

The tricky treat lady held open the door for them, and Rocco squeezed past the flowery dress lady to get by first. He stared at the last door standing in his way, jumping on it to see out its small square window. All the humans were chatting, paying him no mind. He turned in circles, shooting glances at them, waiting to be let out. 

Eventually, the mustached man knelt beside him and clipped his collar to a leash. It was a short chain one, not the retractable one he had had most of his life, but he would give up a few inches of freedom for the potential in a world full of it. 

He impatiently tapped his paws on the linoleum tile and nearly ripped the man's arm from his socket when he finally opened the door. 

The sun was shining a brilliant yellow, the grass was bursting forth a vibrant green, and the birds and bugs were bustling together in a beautiful symphony. His world transformed from sullen gray to vivid, overwhelming color. The sun rays warmed his dark coat, and Rocco breathed in crisp summer air, tingling his nostrils. The lady in the flower dress ran to a car, a snazzy red one, and opened the back door. 

Taking this as his cue, Rocco broke free from the man’s grasp and bounded to the car, leash skipping on the ground behind him. He leapt in, taking his rightful place in the backseat. All parties now securely in their spots, the mustached man, the flower dress lady, and a rejuvenated Rocco drove with the windows down on the beautiful, sunshiny day.