If it weren’t the sort of cold, drizzly evening at the time of year when melting snow turns the entire world into a sea of mud that clings to dog paws and sometimes splashes up their legs and onto their bellies, and if he weren’t a 110-pound cane corso, a breed that is capable of killing not only wild boar but also tame humans (at least according to urban legend), and if he weren’t a prize show dog whose single drop of sperm is probably worth more than my entire monthly salary, Paradiso Błekitna Przystan—known to his loved ones as Ivo—and I would be off together having an adventure, maybe splashing in the surf at Montrose Beach or lazing on the deck of a fishing boat or frolicking in the snow in Cumberland Park. But instead, as darkness falls, here we are in the living room of his house in Franklin Park, which doubles as Fide Core Kennel. I am sitting on the couch drinking coffee, about which he is intensely curious. He is pacing the floor, showing off his toys and swallowing animal crackers, judiciously awarded when he sits like a good boy. The Avengers is on the TV, and Ivo’s human parents, Marcin Proszek and Agata Buczak, Fide Core’s owners, are trying to put into words what makes him so perfect.
And of course there are his eyes, large, brown, and limpid, with a slight bit of goo at the corners, the windows to his canine soul. At first he was suspicious of me, like a good guard dog should be, but when Buczak told him I’m OK, he gazed up at me like an enormous, innocent, trusting puppy. His eyes asked, “How can you not love a charming, magnificent creature such as myself?” (Then he plunged his nose into my crotch where, if I were a dog, I would have a gland that produces a distinctive smell so he could track me forever.)
Although Buczak and Proszek counsel potential owners that they should always meet a puppy before adopting it, the first time they saw Ivo in the flesh was when they picked him up at O’Hare. But they had visited Błekitna Przystan and knew and trusted the owner, Natalia Wysocka, who had given them the pick of the litter and sent dozens of photos to help them make their decision. Of the three males, Ivo had the best-shaped head and body. His personality turned out to be a pleasant surprise.
Ivo was devastated. Buczak thinks he probably cried the whole time they were gone. “He doesn’t look like a sensitive guy,” she says, “but he is.” When Buczak, Proszek, and the three dogs returned from the show, Ivo refused to greet them. He gave Buczak the silent treatment for two days, harsh punishment from a dog who is normally such a mama’s boy, following her from room to room and resting his head in her lap when she’s working on the computer.
“Ivo, do not go for the eyes!” Buczak begs. Ivo snaps at one of the bear’s black eyes anyway. It’s not the gentlemanly behavior I’ve been told to expect from him, but then again, even if you’re a champion show dog, it’s probably excruciating to listen to your mom talk about your girl problems and your weight.
Even though they sell their corso puppies for upwards of $1,000, Buczak and Proszek don’t make much money off Fide Core. Or, rather, what they do make, they reinvest in food and vet bills and show entry fees. They believe that anyone who claims to be making money off dogs can’t possibly be an honest and careful breeder; they’re selling too many puppies. Genua and Oli each produced a litter last summer, but in the future, Buczak and Proszek intend to have only one per year, with carefully chosen matches. (Because corsos are so new to the AKC and its standards, they haven’t been damaged by overbreeding, like the boxer or the German shepherd. Because of their size, corsos are prone to hip dysplasia; Ivo has certificates affirming that his hips are “good” and elbows are “normal.”)
