He may be from rural Kentucky, but he lives a big-city life. In the eight years I’ve known him, he’s owned four airplanes—a turboprop, two jets, and now a piston twin. He uses general aviation to commute from his home in Tampa, Florida, to his summer cottage in New Hampshire. He handles all this with a weary sense of ennui seasoned with aplomb. He does, however, have his idiosyncrasies. For instance, he hates dogs. His name is Rocco and, well, he is a dog.
I first learned of Rocco from a video posted on a website called “Lucky Lab Rescue.” He looked like the lab mix he was reported to be. Tellingly, he had no “bio.” Usually dogs up for adoption have been fostered and their traits have been cataloged. “Needs lots of space to run” and “not good with children” are a couple of red flags. Rocco had none. He was cute, if a little “mouthy,” on the 20-second video, so my wife, Cathy, and I arranged to have him join a caravan of dogs being shipped from the Midwest to the good folks of New England. Apparently, there is a well-worn path for dogs abandoned at kill shelters to adoption facilities in the Northeast.
