Welp, we did it, we got a dog. We always said our chickens were our family dog, except that they actually contributed eggs, so that’s a little different. But as fate would have it, our chicken flock got wiped out in one fell swoop by some kind of neighborhood predator (raccoon? skunk? fox?), leaving only one lonely hen, name of Bach. A lone hen is a traumatized and unhappy hen, so Bach moved out and went to live with a neighbor down the street, and there we were with no chickens for the first time in a while.
Well, as part of the midlife crisis Peter and I are jointly engaged in (see my recent post about the boat), I really felt we could justify a puppy at this juncture. Plus, my parents had found this lovely specialty breed of Italian mastiff called Cane Corsos. (Cane is pronounced like sugar cane or walking cane if you’re an uncultured Amur-can, but if you have a little Italian heritage and like to say things right, it’s cah-nay).
So far so good. I’m immensely partial to mastiffs and other hulky big dogs; my parents got a puppy, and obviously we should get a matching puppy. Which is what we did.
This is Rocco. AKA, Rocco Baby.
This is Rocco AS a baby. Look at that little faaaace.
This is Rocco covered in beautiful mermaid glitter after he got into the crafting cabinet.
And this is Rocco with his sister, Stella:
Now all I need is to convince Peter we could handle a dog AND chickens…