San Rocco

One of the things I miss most about my brother Peter is his laugh.

He would call me just about every day, and I loved getting him laughing with a joke or funny story. When it came to laughter, Peter did not hold back.

I was thinking recently of one of my favorite Rodney Dangerfield jokes — one I know would’ve had him roaring.

“My doctor told me I was crazy,” Rodney lamented. “I told him I wanted a second opinion. He says, ‘You’re ugly, too!’”

We also traded war stories about our father, who could get mighty ornery with very little provocation.

Today is Father’s Day, and tomorrow is Peter’s birthday, so it feels like a one‑two to the heart. Peter loved his daughter Kristin so much, and I know he was incredibly proud of her.

He also loved animals, particularly dogs, and I recall how he once started crying when he told me about a movie where someone’s canine died.

And Peter wanted absolutely nothing to do with A Dog’s Purpose, a 2017 film where a dog dies and is reincarnated several times over the course of the movie.

“I love dogs,” he declared. “Why would I watch a movie where a dog dies over and over?”

We were raised Catholic, and I just learned today that St. Rocco (or St. Roch) is the patron saint of dogs and dog owners.

The story goes that Rocco, who was born to a wealthy family in 1340 in Montpellier, France, became ill while caring for plague victims and retreated to the forest to die.

However, a stray hunting dog belonging to a local nobleman found him, brought him bread, and licked his wounds — which ultimately nursed Rocco back to health.

Dog's Best Friend

I was walking to the laundromat on Wednesday when I passed a van advertising a mobile pet‑grooming service called Rapawzell.

The company comes right to your door and provides dog and cat grooming, day care, and boarding.

Years ago, Peter had tried to start his own mobile pet‑grooming business. He had taken classes, purchased a used van, and tried to make a go of it. But it didn’t work out.

At the time, I didn’t think it was a good idea, but I kept my mouth shut because I wanted to support him. Now I feel so badly that he didn’t succeed.

I can just imagine how happy he would’ve been working with dogs and having his own successful business.

Like me, Peter struggled with depression, and I know this would’ve given him an emotional boost that no drug or therapy could’ve matched.

He also worked briefly at a kennel in New Jersey, but it was awfully stressful. Now that we live in this wired age, dog owners are able to watch the kennel — and its employees, including my brother — in real time.

It sounds a lot like Big Brother to me, and some of the customers would get all twisted if they thought their precious little pet wasn’t getting enough attention. Peter was well rid of that place.

He wanted to stay active in his retirement. Since he had worked on Wall Street for many years, I suggested that he do some kind of freelance consulting. But Peter was adamant. He did not want to go back to the financial world.

The last job he had was delivering cars for a dealership in New Jersey. He would call me while he was on the road, and we’d talk for close to an hour. It’s been over a year since he left this world, and I still feel that terrible gap in my day.

In addition to my dad, I wish my brother a Happy Father’s Day. Happy Birthday, Peter and, St. Rocco, please watch over him until we meet again.

And if there’s any justice in this life, Peter is somewhere taking good care of the dogs he loved so much.