“I used heroin for ten years. It wasn’t a very good life, as you’d expect. I had my son taken from me. I lost my job at the Fiat factory. I spent all my time trying to find money, find dealers, and stay away from police. I hated myself. I couldn’t face anyone. Then one day my friend’s dog had puppies. I’d never had a dog before, but I always liked animals— so I told him to give me the smallest and ugliest one he had. The one nobody else wanted. And that’s how I got Joe. Joe was the angel of my life. We understood each other. There was no need for words. He followed me around all the time. He slept next to me on the street. The moment I opened my eyes in the morning he would lick my face. He gave me self-esteem. I was a complete loser but at least I could take care of Joe. I could bring him to the park. I could bring him to the vet. I could raise enough money to get his medication. He’s the reason I was finally able to quit heroin. Because if something happened to me, what would happen to him? So I got clean. It was hard but I got clean. Joe lived for another thirteen years. He got a tumor in 2012 and held on a few more months. I barely survived it. I was able to stay off drugs, but I promised myself that I’d never get another dog. It’s just too painful. But two years ago I found Leica beneath a mobile home. She was all skin and bones. She’d been abandoned. I didn’t have a choice. For the first few months I called her Joe. But I had to stop. Because Joe’s gone. And the name doesn’t really matter, anyway. It just matters that I love her.”
(Rome, Italy)
