Hail, Maestro Rockmaninoff, our canine music aficionado!
“What should have been a two-hour ride turned into a six-hour journey, just waiting for a kind person to take us. Eventually, a Parisian family in a Volvo turned up and took pity on us.”
His breed was exotic, his name was Russian, he grew up in the desert, and was saved by displaced expatriates. He was a tiny Japanese Spitz* I met in the desert. At least, that’s what I wanted to remember him by. It sounds more whimsical.
The Day We Met
The reality was, a Good Samaritan had rescued him from one of the abandoned villas in the swanky part of the city and had brought him into the advertising department of our news bureau to have his picture taken for the ad that was supposed to find him a new owner. Then, he would be given to the local RSPCA** for safekeeping until...
I didn’t want to wait for the inevitable. “I’ll adopt him!” I blurted out to the photographer, who graciously gave me the snapshot... and the puppy.
The Samaritan, after learning that I had adopted him—and grateful for being saved from paying the advertising fee—told me fleetingly, “By the way, he isn’t potty-trained.” Then darted out the door.
The Editor, the Landlord, and the Super
“How bad could it be?” I thought, and brought my new charge into the editorial department. No sooner had I set the pup onto the floor than he went about his business. My British editor wasn’t pleased. One “harrumph” was all I needed to rush him out of the office. (The puppy, not the editor.)
So I took him to my apartment. Only then did I realize I lived in a building where I hadn’t seen any animals since I moved there. There was no rule about pets in the lease, so I thought my companion would be welcome. But the moment the super and the landlord saw him, they quickly added a no-pet clause to the rental agreement.
Good thing it was the afternoon before the weekend. I was due for my visit to the family. I'll give the puppy to them. They’re dog lovers. Surely, they’ll keep him and I could visit him during weekends.
The Hitchhike
My parents and brother lived across the desert, in the capital city. I had just started my dream job with the biggest newspaper in the country. It was too early to buy a car. So I had to take public transport to visit them.
I wasn’t prepared for the major setback that followed. This was an aspect of life many expats in the host country took for granted. The locals are not fond of dogs... and I’m putting this lightly. There are special terms they reserve for dogs that are unmentionable when translated into English. (Please understand that not all of them feel the same way. I do not want to propagate a stereotype.)
I was reminded of this when I couldn’t find a public utility vehicle that wanted to take me and the puppy. In our region at that time, if we didn’t own or rent personal vehicles, we were limited to taking either vans or inter-state taxis. There was no way to conceal him because I didn’t have a proper carrier; just an open box and a light blanket.
So what should have been a two-hour desert ride turned into a six-hour journey, just waiting for a kind person to take us. Eventually, a Parisian family in a Volvo turned up and took pity on us. Thanks to the French and the Swedes, I was able to bring my puppy home to my family of transplants.
The Moniker
We named the pup Rockmaninoff (D Rock, for short) after the composer, Sergei Rachmaninoff because he liked both classical music and rock & roll. A strange combination, especially after we discovered he disliked rap, my brother’s preference at that time.
The Latrine
My family lived in a pet-friendly building (only because the owner—who was local, by the way—had a dog himself). What my parents didn’t appreciate was Rockmaninoff’s lack of potty training.
There was a huge unused quadrangle of sand at the side of my parents’ building. We were told it was being prepped to be transformed into a parking lot for the nearby shopping malls, but the deal fell through. That was the perfect bathroom for Rockmaninoff. But every time we brought him to it ‘to make,’ he just played in the sand. Then when he reached the apartment, that’s when he let go.
So we lined up the entire entrance hallway—which was thankfully separated from the rest of the flat with sliding glass doors—with newspaper. Rockmaninoff never got the message. Still, my family tolerated him and they lived peacefully with each other for a couple of years.
The Exodus
Then one day, I came home and found Rockmaninoff gone. I found out to my dismay that my dad had lost his patience with him and gave him to a colleague.
Apparently, apart from the toilet matter, Rockmaninoff had increasingly become a nuisance by doing other naughty stuff. My family didn’t tell me about the additional transgressions because they were happy to have me visit them more frequently since he joined them.
The last straw was when he chewed up dad’s prized Bose speakers. We were living in pre-Spotify times. We listened to CDs then and specialty speakers weren’t made of titanium, but expensive wood and canvas.
The Border Fiasco
“Well, can I at least visit him in his new home?” I begged. Sadly, dad’s colleague had been transferred to a neighboring country that was unfriendly to journalists. He did invite me to visit the dog whenever I wanted. I obliged.
Back then, I had my profession stamped on my passport, so when my friends and I attempted to cross the border, they let my friends in, but not me. Being good sports, my friends declined their welcome and we went home without seeing Rockmaninoff.
After we returned to our home base, my American photojournalist friend and colleague, after learning of our border fiasco, said that we could have asked dad’s colleague to issue us an official letter of invitation and have it stamped by their government authority. I didn't want to go through all that bureaucracy, so I just let it go.
The Date Grove
My only consolation was that the colleague had assured my dad that they had found playmates for Rockmaninoff and he was truly happy there. They regularly played music in the date grove, where the animals lived, so Rockmaninoff got his music fix. They used a portable CD player set high up on an unreachable shelf, so there was no chance for him to dismantle additional audio equipment.
The last I heard of him was that he had grown to be an adult dog and one of his friends became his wife. Soon after, lots of little Rockmaninoffs started running around the date grove. Their dad may have been naughty, but we loved him all the same.
Looking back, we realized that Rockmaninoff was saved by the international community: the Swedes, the French, the Filipinos (dad's colleague), and the Syrians (the photographer)... all led by a genuine Samaritan, a Palestinian. Incidentally, did you know that there are only 800-plus ethno-religious Samaritans left in the world? They are not just characters from the Bible but real people. Read about them in these two articles from Al Jazeera and the BBC.
D Rock may be gone now, but we will always remember him as the world’s first classical and rock music-loving canine.
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Expat Scribe, the writer of this article, is also the author of the psychological techno-thriller, “The Invisible Cyber Bully: What it’s like to be watched 24/7.”
The novel tackles the surreptitious bullying and illegal surveillance, DNA-extraction, psychological torture of, and experimentation on ordinary citizens by law enforcers, scientific laboratories, various “hidden” associations, and global authorities. Some chapters discuss the garden-variety bully from schools and neighborhoods. The book also features a primer on how to fight cyber bullying.
Footnotes:
* Did you know that the Japanese Spitz is actually German? According to the American Kennel Club (AKC), the complete history of the Japanese Spitz is unavailable because the records were destroyed in World War II. However, the breed is said to be a descendant of the white German Spitz brought to Japan through the Sino-Siberian route around 1920.
AKC states that the first Japanese Spitz exhibit was held in 1921 as part of a dog show in Tokyo. In 1925, two white spitzes from Canada entered the US. Between 1920 and 1930, more white spitzes followed, including the Klein Wolfsspitz (Keeshond) from Australia and Canada. They crossbred with their predecessors in the US, resulting in the Japanese Spitz breed standard we know today, which the Japan Kennel Club established in 1948.
Ironically, despite the fact that most of the major kennel clubs recognize the breed, the AKC does not, because it looks like the Samoyed, American Eskimo Dog, and the white Pomeranian.
Photo Credits:
Ina Hoekstra
Cristina Anne Costello
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