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There will NOT be a blog tomorrow (and possibly for a few days). We will be off the grid in a rural area seeing what it’s like without running water, electricity (no WiFi), and cell service. I’ll catch you up when I’m back online.
“Dogs have a way of finding the people who need them, and filling an emptiness we didn’t even know we had.” Thom Jones
A lovely view from our breakfast table this morning before the 20 kilometer hike.
It’s important to find a good long-distance hiking partner…who makes the sandwiches. 🥪
I must admit, hiking with Massimo has made me very lazy. He always does the laundry and makes the sandwiches every damn day. I’ll be inviting him on all my hikes from here on out.
Alfredo
We adopted a dog today.
On accident.
About two kilometers into our hike, we were accosted by a pack of guard dogs. They were just doing their job – protecting a flock of sheep.
Our guidebook has several references to “beware of the dogs.” We had a similar experience in Italy while walking the Via Francigena, so we’ve learned what to do to disarm them.
Stop.
Stand perfectly still.
Lower our hands in front of us.
Let them smell us.
Then, apparently, we become friends.
I LOVE dogs, and they love me…but I don’t exist when Massimo is around. It’s another one of his superpowers – dog whisperer.
The pack of pooches came barreling around a bend when they either heard or smelled us. They immediately ran to Massimo and started loving on him.
I was just an afterthought.
The shepherd came running around the corner to see what all the ruckus was about. His dogs had abandoned him and were barking like mad.
He was speaking Romanian and started rubbing his stomach in a circle.
Code for: Don’t feed the dogs.
We don’t even have enough snacks for ourselves, let alone for this adorable pack of furry friends.
We started walking again, and the dogs followed.
All but two followed the shepherd.
The other two followed us.
One of them eventually gave up and went back to his owner after about 500 meters.
The other, a cute brown-and-white pup, kept following us.
After another two kilometers, Massimo had a chat with him about returning to his Papa.
The dog just looked up at him as if to say:
“No. I like you more. You are my new Papa.”
We were now a trio.
We still didn’t feed him or pet him, but we did create a fantastic storyline for him and his life, both before and after us.
First, he needed a name.
After discussing many options, ranging from Mozart to Ted, we settled on Alfredo.
Alfie for short.
When I suggested this name, Massimo told me a story about how his own name was almost Alfredo.
Can you imagine Massimo as an Alfredo? Just the thought makes me cackle.
His paternal grandfather was named Alfredo. Massimo’s dad, Giuseppe, was traditional and wanted to name his son after his father.
Massimo’s mother, Gina, wasn’t having it.
The women typically win this battle. I mean, she IS the one doing all the work to bring him into the world.
I told Massimo that Alfredo is a pasta sauce in the United States. We have a dish called Fettuccine Alfredo.
“What? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” he said.
Now I was curious, so I had to look up the origin of Alfredo sauce. Apparently, the original Roman dish is essentially pasta with butter and Parmigiano-Reggiano, while the American version became known as Fettuccine Alfredo.
Massimo has heard of pasta burro e parmigiano, so I suppose Americans aren’t quite as weird as Italians think we are when we order Fettuccine Alfredo.
You can read more about the creator and ingredients, here.
Alfie was sweet, smart, and proved himself to be very loyal.
At one point during our walk, he ran ahead, stopped, and looked into the thick trees. He must have heard or smelled something in the forest and wanted to protect us.
He had several scars on his face and an open cut on one of his front legs – battle wounds from fending off wild animals trying to steal one of his sheep.
Thinking he wouldn’t follow us for too long, when we stopped to check the map, I snapped a “hiker family photo” of the three of us for the memory book.
He smiled right on cue.
The perfect gentleman.
I wanted to put a bow tie on him immediately.
“Oh, Alfie, you are such a good doggy.”
“Woof!” 🐾
Alfie was a great dog…and a little mischievous, but great.
We walked near a small ditch full of muddy water. Alfie jumped in like a teenager to have a drink and came out covered in mud…and possibly a little drunk.
Thank goodness I captured our professional portrait together before he put on his filthy tuxedo pants.
The more we walked with Alfie, the more creative we got with his imaginary life.
Maybe he was the Cinderella of the pack. Mistreated by his master and stepbrothers, looking to escape to a new life…and we were his Prince Charming. We rescued him from a life of misery.
Or maybe he was just a naughty teenager running away from home to discover a few life lessons on his own terms.
Stay away from drugs and loose females, Alfie. They are nothing but trouble.
No matter what his story was, we enjoyed his company and were happy to have him walk with us…even if it was only for a little while.
Except “a little while” turned into many kilometers.
We were starting to worry that he really was running away from home to start a new life. Possibly with us.
At one point, a man driving a truck stopped to talk with us and let us know that “Apollo” was too far from his owner.
Apollo?
Alfie was not an Apollo.
Alfie was an explorer. A misunderstood teenager on the run. A simple but scrappy dog about to start a new life for himself.
Alfie was not a Greek god.
Although, if he played a human in a movie, he would have made a fantastic Apollo Creed in Rocky.
Actually, based on the battle scars on his face and paws, I think he might have won the fight.
No, no. This dog was an Alfie, not an Apollo.
The man asked us, in English, if we had fed him.
Apparently, Alfie has an issue with gluttony. I feel ya, buddy. That’s my deadly sin too.
“Absolutely not,” Massimo told the man.
We explained that we had tried to send him back several times, but he kept turning back up.
The man asked us to keep walking and said he would keep “Apollo” – Alfie, Sir – with him for a while to let us get further away…and break the bond we had formed.
We thanked him and carried on.
About 15 minutes later, the man drove by again and told us we should be fine from there. But if Apollo – no, Alfie – showed up again, we should be tough with him and make him go home.
Then he drove away.
Not even one minute later, who do we see behind us?
Alfie.
Massimo tried his gruffest, angriest dad voice to send him away, but the routine was always the same.
Alfredo would pretend to go back. Then, a few meters down the road, he’d turn around and show up again.
Alfie was also a trickster.
Or maybe he didn’t speak Italian.
I don’t know.
Nonetheless, I liked that about him. He’s a dog with an independent spirit and grit.
We were both ready for a break after two hours of walking, but we were reluctant to stop and have Alfie join us again. We didn’t want to get him in trouble and we certainly didn’t want to cause problems with the locals.
We walked another half hour and didn’t see him, so we finally stopped to rest our legs and eat our sandwiches.
Honestly, I was a little sad. I missed Alfie.
But it wasn’t realistic for him to continue our journey with us. He has a life here in Romania…and probably good friends who would miss him.
And getting him into the United States would be considerably more complicated than putting him in my backpack and calling him a carry-on.
We looked back at the road.
That’s when we saw him coming over a small hill.
Massimo scolded him again and told him to go home.
He hung his head like a child in trouble, pouted like a teenager about to be grounded, and turned around to walk back over the same little hill he had just come from.
After a half hour of rest, we started walking again.
Fifteen minutes later, here came Alfie.
That little stinker had waited for us to get going again and then tried to join us.
It made me love him even more.
We played this game many more times along the trail until, at one point, after being scolded, Alfie took off running through the trees and down the mountain.
We thought maybe he lived nearby and was actually going home for good.
But as we followed the trail, we realized it switchbacked down the mountain to a parking lot full of cars, people, and dogs, next to some ancient ruins.
As we approached, I said to Massimo:
“I bet Alfie is here waiting for us.”
And he was.
Alfie wasn’t stupid or confused – he took a shortcut!
Alfie had street smarts…and street cred.
He was a solid B+ student with a charming, charismatic personality. He was adaptable, adventurous, and a risk-taker.
He is either going to be President of Romania or the leader of a small wolf pack when he grows up. He’s got skills.
When I saw him in the parking lot, I wanted to hug him, stroke his mangy coat, and give him kisses all over his scarred little face.
But I didn’t.
And I regret it.
I also regretted scolding him to go home.
We could have spent that entire section of the hike enjoying Alfredo’s company instead of rejecting him like he was doing something wrong.
Unfortunately, I was too worried about what the man in the truck had told us:
“He is too far from his owner.”
I worried that his owner would punish him for running away, even temporarily.
But Alfie knew exactly what he was doing the entire time.
He had no plans to move to America with me. (Dammit!)
He just wanted to enjoy a little walk, swim in some mud, and have a couple of strangers tell him what a perfect dog he was.
And maybe that’s the lesson.
Don’t let people, even well intentioned, tell you shit about what to do with your life. Enjoy the moment, pet all the dogs and tell them they are pretty/handsome, have some mischievous fun, and ALWAYS listen to the dog – they really do know best.
Alfie didn’t follow us for the remainder of the hike. Instead, he stayed with his pals in the parking lot, probably scoring snacks from the tourists and enjoying the good life near his home. 🐾♥️
And then, in a funny little turn of events, after dinner, Massimo and I were walking back to our accommodation from the restaurant when a little dog started following us.
We named him Ted.
Apparently, we are now running a dog adoption agency for hikers.
Much love & gratitude. Namaste 🙏
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