“Bless the beasts and the children." ~ Glendon
Swartout (1970)
Katie’s family had recently moved
to the countryside, a change the teenager (13) had not yet warmed up to. She secretly vowed to hold her parents in
‘contempt’ for as long as it took. Ice
cream wouldn’t expunge her misery, but it was a start.
As they walked, she passed a young man sitting on the ground
sharing a cone with his puppy. “Cute dog,” Katie said warmly.
“Free dog,” its owner replied. David, her Dad asked what he’d meant by that. The man explained that he was moving to Vermont
and didn’t think urban life would be good for the pup. Katie saw her opening and pounced. “What’s his name?” she asked.
“He’s a 5-month-old Doberman/Chocolate Lab mix named St.
Rocco,” the man offered. “Make someone a
nice pet.”
“That’s an odd name,” Katie said hoping for an
explanation. “Yep,” was the only
response she got. The rest was ‘history’
as Katie introduced the adorable pup to the rest of the family.
But St. Rocco was no saint, proving impossible to wear out. He took it personally that the mailman would ‘encroach’
on his home, so he systematically shredded every piece that came through the
mail slot.
Puppies eat when bored. Rocco ate 3 dress shoes, a pair of pants and a
whole plate of brownies. But he was
smart too; quickly learning the benefits of life beneath a toddler’s high
chair.
They soon discovered that there was something truly unique
about Rocco. He followed them to church
every Sunday, running the whole way behind their old Ford Explorer. When he reached the church, Rocco took up a
position on the porch, greeting the congregation.
Throughout the service he waited patiently for the children
who were liberal with hugs and treats. Always
the gentleman, parishioners never worried about torn pantyhose or muddy paw
prints on their Sunday best. And when
the congregation dispersed, Rocco followed the family home.
Still puzzled by the dog’s name, Katie googled it. She learned that St. Rocco (c.1350-c.1378) was
the Patron Saint for DOGS. Moved by the
suffering of those dying from the Black Death that ravaged Europe in the 14th
century, Rocco volunteered as a nurse at one of the city’s hospitals.
When he himself contracted the disease, Rocco dragged
himself into a cave where he could die alone. He’d just made himself a bed of leaves when a
dog approached him with a large bread loaf in its mouth. Every day the dog faithfully returned with a
fresh loaf until Rocco miraculously recovered and resumed his volunteer
work. It’s believed that he cured
hundreds of plague victims by making the sign of the cross on their feverish
foreheads.
It’s a ‘God thing!”
Saint Rocco, while following the footsteps of
Christ, you found the poor and plague stricken, curing many. Thank You! By your example, may our hearts become tender
and loving toward the suffering and rejected of this world. Amen
