Argo, the Dog Who Started It All

"Why don't you walk a dog?"

In early September 2025, I was spending almost all my time in front of a screen. For most of the past decade I'd worked from home, in marketing, communications, social media, security and finance, on my own projects and for other people's. Two years earlier I had moved to Rome for love, without speaking Italian. Between the laptop and the language, my social life had quietly disappeared.

One day my girlfriend said: "You love dogs so much. Why don't you walk one every now and then? You'd get away from the screen, be outside, be happy, and then go back to your work."

She was right. I'd even tried it before, in London, where I walked a dog a handful of times before other things took over. This time I made a profile on one of those pet-sitting apps. I searched my Google Photos for "Kenzi and dogs", and a surprising number of pictures came up. I uploaded them all and wrote about the dogs in my life: the ones I grew up with, the neighbours' dogs, the ones I stop to greet in the street.

Not even two days later, Stefano sent me a message.

A black Labrador by Piazza Navona

Argo's family runs Antiquarius, an antique print and map shop on Corso del Rinascimento, right next to Piazza Navona: old maps, views of Rome, engravings by masters like Piranesi. And, most afternoons, a black Labrador napping upstairs.

Argo was four. Stefano needed someone to take him out every afternoon, Monday to Friday.

The first time I saw him, it felt like a sign. Back home in Belgium, my family had a black Labrador called Sita: sweet, cuddly, always leaning against your legs. Argo looked exactly like her.

He didn't keep me waiting, either. As Stefano wrote later in his Google review:

“As soon as he saw him for the first time, Argo ran to him and went out with him without saying goodbye to me!”

The first walks: 40 kilos of opinion

Walking Sita had always been easy. We had our routine, and we both knew where we were going. With Argo, I was the new one. It was his neighbourhood, his routes and his rules, and I didn't know any of them yet.

Whenever I tried to go somewhere he didn't want to go, Argo didn't just stop. He threw all 40 kilos of himself on the ground, on the opposite side of the leash, and stayed there. "Come on, Argo, andiamo!" Nothing. He'd happily take the treat I offered him and still not move an inch until I agreed to go his way.

On one of those first walks, right by Ponte Umberto I, I wanted to take him down one side of the street. He had other plans. We ended up on the Lungotevere, which is exactly where he wanted to be. To this day, he loves walking by the river.

By the second and third walk, we were starting to understand each other. He tested me less, and I learned when to follow him and when to say, calmly: "No. Up. This way." Respect goes both ways, and so does trust.

The stairs

After a few great first walks, Argo invented a new game. When I walked into the shop, he'd stay upstairs and look down at me. "Argo, vieni! Let's go!" Nothing. Some days a treat did the trick. Other days I'd climb the stairs and gently coax him down. Maybe he was testing me. Maybe he just fancied a nap.

For a couple of months it came and went. Then, from around February, it stopped for good. Now he's waiting by the door, or, if he's napping upstairs, he sprints down the stairs the moment he hears my voice and jumps on me. It's the best feeling: you can tell he loves our time together as much as I do.

Then comes the ritual. A pat on the head, and he throws himself on the floor: flat on his back, legs in the air, belly up, waiting for his rub.

Argo is named after Ulysses' dog in the Odyssey, the one who waited twenty years for his master to come home. Our Argo only has to wait until the afternoon, but the welcome is just as big.

Our route through the centre

In the beginning I took him to Villa Borghese, the park I knew best: twenty minutes to get there, twenty minutes in the park and twenty minutes back. Like any Labrador, Argo jumped into every fountain he could reach, sniffed everything and said hello to other dogs.

Over time, we found a routine closer to home. Today we leave the shop and head up to Piazza delle Cinque Lune, then on towards Ponte Umberto I. We cross the river, turn left towards Castel Sant'Angelo and do our loop of Parco Adriano. On the way back there's one stop that isn't up for discussion: the Bibliobar, where I get a coffee and Argo gets his treat. Then home the same way.

In summer, Castel Sant'Angelo is too hot for a black Labrador. So on the hottest days we stay in the narrow streets of the centre, in the shade, going from one fountain to the next. You can read more about how we walk the centre on our Centro Storico page.

Male or female?

There's one thing to watch out for with Argo: he isn't a fan of other male dogs. That's why we skip the Valle dei cani in Villa Borghese, where lots of dogs run together.

So we keep our eyes open. When we see a dog coming, we ask the owner from a distance: "Male or female?" If it's a male, we cross the street or take another way. If it's a female, she's welcome to come and say hello.

It's a small habit, but it keeps every walk relaxed, for him and for everyone around us.

His favourite place in Rome

Argo doesn't have a favourite treat. He has a favourite shop.

A couple of hundred metres from Antiquarius is All'Antico Vinaio, the famous sandwich shop. Stefano used to walk past it a lot, and Argo got to know the people who work there, who'd slip him a bit of bread or meat. Say "Andiamo all'Antico Vinaio?" and he goes crazy: ears up, on the lookout, pulling you towards the door. He knows the name, and he knows exactly where it is.

Sita's boot

Sita, our family's Labrador back in Belgium, passed away of old age in November 2025.

When I went home in March, my mom handed me Sita's favourite toy, a squeaky boot, and asked me to give it to Argo. So I did. Two black Labradors, both sweet, both crazy about cuddles. Now Argo has her boot, and it feels like a little of her carries on with him.

Twice a day

A few months ago, Stefano and Alessandra asked us to walk Argo twice a day. Now Vanessa, who has been walking with us for a few months, takes him out every weekday morning at 11, and I take him out in the afternoon.

Alessandra, Stefano's partner, and I always have a little chat before and after the walk. I tell her where we went, what Argo and I got up to, or about my girlfriend's latest exciting audition, and more often than not she has a little treat for me: some chocolate, a sweet or a Coke Zero Zero. Sometimes we tease Argo: we pretend to wrestle, or we hug, just to make him jealous. Every single time, he jumps in between us and barks.

Here's how Alessandra put it in her review:

“Meeting Kenzi was a real stroke of luck for me and for Argo, my black Labrador! A beautiful empathy was created immediately: Kenzi is very sweet, attentive and is always full of energy and enthusiasm! You couldn't ask more!”

And Sara, who works at the shop and is practically Argo's aunt:

“Impeccable service, Kenzi is fantastic, our dog adores him and always eagerly awaits his arrival! Friendly, attentive and knowledgeable, highly recommended.”

The dog who started it all

I often wonder what would have happened if my first request had been for a different dog.

If it had been one walk a week, I don't think I'd ever have seen a business in it. But Argo needed a walk every single day. Before long, his walks were paying for the piano lessons I had just started, and I realised this could be much more than a break from the screen.

And then there was Argo himself: the spitting image of our Sita, and as sweet and friendly as they come. Looking back, it all feels like a sign.

So thank you, Argo, for being exactly who you are. And thank you, Stefano and Alessandra, for trusting me with him from day one, for your kindness, and for supporting everything I'm building with The Smiling Dog Co.

Argo turns six this December. He still sprints down those stairs every afternoon.