Saturday, June 29, 2013

Meet Lola by Chi-Ping

Look, Lola’s eyes don’t have a yucky discharge today. They’re clear, not sicky looking. She sniffed me just as I came out the door this morning. Her nose has been grey, dry and cracked, but today it’s black, cold and moist. As mom would say, “Saints be praised.” Don’t ask me, I don’t understand it. Why she would praise a football team when good stuff happens I’ll never know, but she does all the time. Frankly, you humans are a mystifying lot.
I hot foot it down to Geri’s to see what’s happening/ que pasa, but then mom was playing good morning with Lucky, Robert Redford and Lola, while the coffee brewed. Hold on I’m coming to join the game. You can’t play good morning without me. With the game already in progress I raced around the porch with my butt tucked well under me to cut corners. Mom loves it when I do that. I’m the center of attention with mom yelling woo-hoo,woo-woo. The critters in awe of my speed looked on, while my tail curved like a c to the left as I skittered the corner with toe nails grabbing, and then that stupid Robert Redford pounced on me. I flipped that impudent red dog on his back so fast, as I grabbed his throat mom told me to go easy, be a good girl. She just doesn't understand that I must teach him respect now, while I can. This mutt is going to be three times my size or more, easy my well rounded behind.
     Blondie went straight to the street, when the door opened. She lived here as a street dog for so many years sometimes she doesn't remember where she lives. We love the neighbors. They've been good to us. This is the face of trap, neuter and release whether mom likes it or not, this is what we’re going to do.
After a light breakfast I joined Blondie for a trek up the road. People are staying in the house where the old farmer lived. Sometimes they bring a pit bull male, we must check out all activity close to home. The yellow lab we chased off a couple of weeks ago is still hanging out near the vacant house where the little girl Eileen used to live before her mother got cancer. The satos on the peak raised hell last night so we took the long road to visit Blondie’s cousins.
Thirst drove me home. Ours is the only place with a fresh bowl of water waiting all day long. My tongue was hanging way out when we get to the bend in the road above where we live, but not a puddle in sight. Blondie dawdled sniffing some darn thing. Intruder alert, the barking comes from the house; I’m coming slowly, carrying my head low to take some weight off my tired butt. I didn’t see Lola and Lucky crouched, stalking me from the top of the drive until Lucky barked a threat. Being a resident I told them how not funny I found this behavior, but they maintained the crouch, so I stopped to assess the situation, when Blondie came along side me, then Lola and Lucky dropped low and gave us the little tail wags of one who has done wrong and is sorry.  We paused briefly to accept the apology before getting a drink.
Neither Blondie nor I could get over Lola and Lucky giving us a threat display. We decided to spend the day on the porch with mom and dad.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Once a Street Dog by Chi-Ping

No new dogs dropped off here for about a week. Blondie won’t relax her vigilance. She’s down in the street all day, every day prepared to let people know we don’t want any more discarded dogs here. She lies in the street. Mom calls her, but she doesn't even look.
Lola and the puppies, Lucky and Robert Redford have taken over our porch. The silly things play with toys. Every step we take we’re bumping into things that rattle or squeak. Blondie and I don’t like the puppies, but Blondie hates Lola, who is larger. Blondie lived here as a street dog for five years, so she’s ready to do it again, if mom wants to keep all these satos.

Yesterday she refused to come up to the house in the rain. I've never seen Blondie this way before. She isn't too good at sharing I know, but to walk away from a loving home is drastic even for that loca hembra.(female)
Poppy called to her at dinner time. She looked up but didn't budge. The neighbors are so charmed that she stays down by them, they fed her leftovers. Shit, I came running down for that. Mom has asked them not to feed us. She says it encourages us to be in the street. Yes, it does. I don’t know why, but it bothers her. She says they don’t want us. Well, I’m confused; why do they feed us?
Mom played games with the new dogs. She kicked the toys around so they’d chase them, pretty lame. She taught them to sit for treats. I like that game, so I came up to play. I know when she’s laughing something good happens, but Blondie just blew it off. Her behavior is strange because I know how much she loves mom.

After the sun set mom picked up and swept the porch like she does every evening. She walked around the house to get the boys to potty before they go into the bathroom for the night. That’s a good idea; I've been doing my business before I go in. We don’t have problems with each other that way. The whole time Blondie stayed in the street by the neighbor’s house. I went in with the boys, who head to their room. Just when mom went to close the front door, there was Blondie standing there waiting to come in. I know mom’s been upset with Blondie, so I stood on the sofa waiting to see if she would let her in or not. Blondie doesn’t like to be out at night any more than I do. Mom opened the door for her, but said nothing. That’s unusual for mom, she talks a lot. Blondie jumped on the sofa. As for me, I’m off to bed with my mom.

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Enough by Chi-Ping

After a night outside with street dogs I spent the day under your bed. Running the streets from morning to night is my greatest delight, but Mom, don’t leave me out at night. I don’t care what I said. It’s not right for a little girl like me. I want nothing more than to be close to you.

Lucky, Robert Redford, and now big bitch, Lola; look what you’re doing to me. I had it all to myself except of course for Blondie and Sir Smoki Cat, who thinks he’s got it so bad. Mom, everything you feed is going to want to stay; don’t you see?

We’re not ferals, we’re discards thrown down by people who don’t know the meaning of love. “Remember me by the collar you wear, now on your way,” nothing more to say. I remember it well; to be dropped off at your door was a gift from above.  Self centered people without a heart, that’s all I had seen from the start. I didn’t believe in your love. Every day in your gentle way you give me food, water and care.
I don’t want to share you with Lucky, Robert Redford or Lola. We want a home where we’re the center of attention not just one of the crowd.  Who is next? We know; when down the driveway you go with towel in hand our numbers grow. I get so mad.
Last night when you called me, I knew you watched me walk into the street. Did you not understand my protest? Let’s leave this place where they just keep coming. I love you so much; I don’t want to share you. A family of eight for me that’s not great, but here they keep coming. Mom, I want to go where people walk with leashes, the living is easy. It’s not so boring. Can’t you hear the Crescent City calling?
A place where the dogs sleep in and the cats are out, we need to go come on get ready. Puerto Rico won’t change just like all these dogs coming with mange. I want a space on the bed, not watching a sea of faces looking to take my spot. Port of New Orleans is calling; let’s go.
The beauty of Puerto Rico enchants, but cruelty abounds. Waves crashing, ocean sounds don’t compensate for daily doses of cruelty. Island lovers want to go taking their contributions to the economy, while your ad campaign says, “Puerto Rico does it better.” Satos will tell you, “Not,” but would that it were so.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

New Day New Dog by Chi-Ping

Five in the morning with the grey of day barely invading the dark, my eyes opened, my nose caught scent of a new interloper. Blondie and I jumped up barking, let us out! Unlike the big German Sheppard bitch ensconced on our porch since last night when mother fed her, this was coming from the hill above us through the banana trees. We must get out to defend our supplies before this creature arrives and is fed.
Racing from window to window barking woke mom. She padded  down the hall telling us good morning. Robert Redford and Lucky howl in the bathroom, as we pass the door she says she’ll be back for them in a second. She opens the front door. The big bitch tries to get in past Blondie, who snaps her back with authority. No time for you, we’re off to chase a new threat away. I give her a few good snaps of my teeth to let her know what's coming if she’s not gone when we get back. The miserable mutt with blood oozing out of legs ravaged by mange puts her ears back, but doesn't move.
I race down the driveway barking, but Blondie cuts around the house and up the hill; squealing and screaming a white dog not too much smaller than Blondie runs into the thick grass in search of safety. I bounce up the steep face as quickly as my little legs can thrust me forward, ready to deliver a decisive blow, but Blondie walked out of the woods calmly; it’s gone. We sniff around the perimeter of our property checking for stowaways.
The big sable German Sheppard bitch has finished breakfast. Mom sprayed her legs with the stuff she uses on Lucky’s mange and she’s playing on the porch with Lucky and Robert Redford when we get back. Blondie’s hackles are up, but she’s not sure what to do. She knows that once mom starts feeding something we’re supposed to accept it. The door opens, so we head in the house for breakfast.
The big ugly bitch is playing on the porch with our puppies, while mom prepares breakfast for her and poppy. Depression sneaks up on me as I lie on the sofa with my head between my paws wondering how many dogs they can feed. What are we to do about all these dogs?
I got so upset thinking about this that when the cat jumped on the sofa I snapped at him.  All hell broke loose, mom raised her voice to me. She never does that. I forgot her rule, nobody snaps at the cat.

People, when dogs show up with collars, they’re not street dogs, they’re discards. Mom says Puerto Rican people are loving. So who are these people that throw out good dogs? Where do they come from? This is mean; it’s cruel. What people do this?

Saturday, June 8, 2013

People, Love or Hate by Chi-Ping

Everybody goes out to potty; mom feeds the kibble starting with the cat. Smoki meows on about everything until he gets his. The puppies eat a special food on the porch and the grown up dogs eat in the house while mom makes eggs. She and poppy breakfast on the porch with puppies hanging under the chairs waiting like good dogs for something to drop.
When the dishes are collected, I slip in the door for special time with mom as she wipes the dishes and pans of leftovers, and the olive oil she says is good for my coat. Quality spent with mom as I lick up leftovers is my favorite ritual. She sets my bowl down next to the counter, instantly I am zoned out in licktopia, oh it’s so good. She shoos a fly towards the door, but it comes back to the counter for more, and bam! My legs won’t hold me as I skitter across the floor fleeing attack.   My heart is beating a mile a minute, and all she can say is “sorry.” Sorry doesn’t cut it; you need to be pulling some cheese out of the fridge after that. You scared a dog year off my life; what were you thinking?  My tail’s wagging low, maybe a little cheddar will pick it up a bit. Hell, I’m going back outside. Blondie has yellow lab cornered by the garage. He’s bigger than she is, but he’s weak and hungry. This is our turf, so she shags him with authority. My tail cuts through the air like a shark fin as I hurtle down the driveway barking threats. He’s in for it now.
We don’t need a big male dog stepping first in line for food or treats, or anything else. Some days we’ve gone hungry, you don’t forget that. Sharing with Lucky and Robert Redford isn’t too bad so far, but no more.
Hey, Puerto Rican People, stop throwing your dogs out. You’re messing up lives. What’s the matter with you? You bring us into your families and then toss us out “no importa.” Today you love us like there’s no tomorrow, and tomorrow we’re forgotten.  I thought my familia was better than that.

Remember, feed a Sato, starve a rat. It’s an island rule. Most people are good and kind, but the ones that aren’t just don’t get it. They need to know that other humans do NOT approve of abandoning animals. Don’t call for more laws, take action, photograph cruelty and post it on Facebook. Tell these mean, unfeeling humans that you stand by the animals, that good people do care! Gracias, Chi-Ping

Friday, June 7, 2013

Big Easy Fine, but Give Me My Island by Chi-Ping

Hey, Y’all,
I promised to tell you about New Orleans. What a drag! We couldn’t go anywhere without mom hanging on the line. The one time, I got out of the house on poppy, she chased me until I met a lady who offered me solace from my pursuer, and promptly betrayed me turning me over like a sack of potatoes.
City Park scents under those old Live Oak Trees hold history, not just the scent of the day. I could tell you stories, oh my! Birds, I mean big birds by the lagoons, waiting to be chased. I didn’t like mom too much then, she always spoiled fun. Blondie just enjoyed having her with as if it were a special treat or something. In fact they’re pretty similar, neither one of them is too bright, but they surprise you sometimes. She never did let go of us outside.
Did I tell you about the two obnoxious puppies mom brought in from the road? She calls the black little pit Lucky. When he sees her he sits with his little chest sticking out, showing off his white stripe, like he’s some kind of good boy or something. She tells him how good he is; he soaks it up like a pad of butter, the little suck up. I growl at him every chance I get. Who wants a needle tooth monster chewing your hind quarters? Or eating your food? Robert Redford, they’re actually talking about keeping him for real; are they nuts? If we go back to the little apartment in New Orleans near City Park with a golden retriever, we’ll never fit.
Squirrels in the tree, rapidly become no fun at all, if you can’t run around barking. They drove Blondie nuts; she couldn’t get over prey she’d never seen before. That and they sat on the lower limbs taunting her, “chatter-chatter” shaking their tails. We knew what that meant.  I trained my attention on prey I could catch, cats. They were everywhere, if that slow woman would speed up, I’d have been catching some. New Orleans, that’s in Louisiana, the hunters’ paradise. Blondie and I have never seen or smelled critters like these before. One day we were walking on the Delgado Campus, Blondie stuck her nose under a bush and there was a Muscovy, a huge ugly duck laying right there an inch from her nose. I was stunned, what would happen, I stared at Blondie and the Muscovy, who were eye-to-eye. Mom pulled Blondie back before she could do anything, but then Blondie began to jump up and down, screaming, “Did you see that duck?” She went nuts, barking her fool head off. Mom started laughing and stood there while Blondie got it out of her system and we went home. Mom told poppy that Blondie had a brain freeze, which gave her time to get Blondie away from the duck. They had a good laugh about this. That duck didn’t move either; I didn’t hear her saying it had a brain freeze.
Blondie and I rode in the SUV all over Louisiana. We liked riding. And then one day we went on a ride to Florida, which is a long way. The SUV broke down at midnight in a dark overgrown stretch of road in Alabama. I got scared. I had to go something fierce, but in a tone of voice I had not heard from mom before she told me, no, not now!
Mom praised God and science for cell phones. A little while later the tow truck dropped us off at La Quinta. First thing we went for a potty. After a slow walk with lots of sniffing, mom had a plan. She said we had thirty hours to catch our flight in Orlando and we could do it.  

We flew back to Puerto Rico. When I strutted out of the airport a man yelled to my mom, “That’s a boriqua dog!” She smiled, nodded her head. The man called out to the other men, who looked at me, “That dog’s come home.” They cheered for me. My tail flew high; my mouth hung wide open happy face.   

Monday, June 3, 2013

Puppies in the Street by Chi-Ping

Perritos de calle/street puppies, start bringing them into your home and the next thing you know, disease. She doesn't listen. That woman took in a little mangy black pup, and the very next day here she is dragging a red flea infested fur ball up the driveway in a towel. In a towel only means one thing; it’s coming in the house and getting fed.  
The first thing Blondie and I did was try to scare them to death, so they’d leave, but then I think Blondie was trying to kill the big red one because she’s pissed off, spitting through her teeth, snapping at it. When mom told her to knock it off, Blondie low tail wagged over to mom knowing she’s going to be pet. All the lip licking lies; I won’t do it again, sorry. Mom accepted it and gave Blondie a thump. Blondie isn't as dumb as she looks.
On my worse day I was never as skinny as this black puppy with some sort of mange we now call, “Lucky.” All ready he’s wagging his tail, thinking he’s going to buddy up with me; I’m not your buddy, you bony  big headed mangy mutt. Lucky with sick looking with some kind of white spots on his face and he belly drags his tummy on the rough concrete driveway, that boy’s got jock itch all over.
The fur ball has a name, Robert Redford, they coo over him like he’s something special. Mom said he’s handsome with a lovely head and expression. Have you ever heard such drool? Dad said he was a cutie. That’s what he said about me! I’m the cutie; not him! Wait til’ she figures out her handsome Robert Redford has fleas. He’ll be out of here so fast, as fast as you can say, “Road trip.”    
This morning as I ate my breakfast Robert Redford sat looking in the screen door. He kept staring at my food, so I ran to the door growled really fierce as I hit the door with my nose. He jumped so high even mom laughed before she tried to sound firm, while my mouth panted open happy face Robert Redford scurried across the porch with his tail low.   

Blondie and I want to know how to get people to stop dropping off dogs by our house. This isn't a dog problem; it’s a people problem. What’s wrong with you? Do you think it’s okay to push a scarred friend out your car door with good luck, God bless, and keep the collar?