Dogs in Italy: Adopting strays at Pompeii

As they have for centuries, stray dogs roam the ruins of Pompeii. What’s different today is that someone is trying to find homes for them.

The (C)Ave Canem Project is dedicated to taking care of the dogs and adopting out as many as possible. Who knows where all these strays come from – maybe they mate, maybe people dump dogs there, maybe dogs just find their way there because it’s a city-sized park without cars where lots of people roam around. The dogs all look different, and while there aren’t any especially small or large ones, they do not look related.

Pompeii, which was buried under volcanic ash in 79 AD, boasts the famous floor mosaic of the cave canem sign. Cave canem is Latin for “beware of the dog.” This sign is in my bathroom, and not just because my dog drinks out of toilet. It’s there because it matches the black and white tile décor.

I think “ave” means “hail” as in the salutation “hail to the chief,” not what spits out in inclement weather. Think of the song “Ave Maria.” I suspect that (C)Ave Canem boils down to “Hail to the dogs of Pompeii” because cave canem is associated with Pompeii.

Then again, in Italy I made enough linguistic mistakes – some of them more than a tad embarrassing – that it’s sort of possible it means something else.

Whatever the name means, the Project was developed by cooperating national organizations in Italy.  They provide any necessary veterinary care, and vaccinate and alter them before adoption. As stated in their brochure,

“These are the main actions of (C)Ave Canem in order to create the conditions for a positive relationship between dogs and people….According to Pompeii ancient tradition, (C)Ave Canem works for educating visitors to respect animals while waiting for their adoption.”

A main reason for this Project is the safety of the 10,000 tourists who visit Pompeii almost every day. Healthy, appropriately-fed strays are less likely to bite tourists than starving, ill, frightened dogs. But nonetheless it’s a true love of dogs that created this effort.

Strays were running loose all over the ruins. They played, they slept, they barked. Some begged for tasty tourist food (I “accidentally” dropped some of my picnic lunch; my sisters both said “I saw that!”) and some just wanted to be petted. Some had identification tags for the project, but not all of them.

Forget Spot and Blackie. The dogs are given Latin names based on the archaeological areas of Pompeii and home owners. Europa, Diomede, and Vesonius need homes, whereas Quartia, Mamia, and Iuppiter have been adopted.

One of the dogs looked sick. I saw him soon after we arrived, and I checked on this German shepherd when we were leaving and he hadn’t moved. There was no representative from the project, no one to talk to about him, not even a donation box (the lack of which is unimaginable in the United States). Our Internet connection at the villa was down, and there were no Internet cafes where we were staying, so I couldn’t even email them about him.

If I could have adopted one, I would have wanted this black boy, seen here being petted by my niece Meg. I thought about it, of course, but common sense rapidly came over me and my wallet, and there are plenty of dogs in the Midwest that need homes. We were renting a villa, I had no equipment, and I didn’t know if a dog could be flown back on my airline during the holidays. Besides which, you had to make an appointment, meet with the group, and go through several steps – and that’s an excellent way to avoid impulse adoptions of well-intended tourists and Italians. Their website says that “The dogs will be provided with a tag, a microchip and European Passport in order to simplify their adoption” so I don’t know if they can be adopted to anyone living outside Europe.

Many of the dogs have been adopted, and are now stretched out in their new homes instead of the ruined city filled with tourists nattering in multiple languages. The universal language of love for dogs is clearly spoken here, and the yet-to-be-adopted dogs are cared for.

In Italian, adopted is adottato, which sounds wonderfully close to adored; to a dog, being adopted is being adored.

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