Another Pup Abandoned in the Road

Headed home on a quiet country road, enjoying the verdant beauty of the island, and running directly towards my car was a little yellow puppy, all alone. The pup ran as fast as a baby can; I slammed the brakes, opened the door, and the next thing I knew without getting out of my car, I suddenly had a puppy in my lap. 

I don’t want another dog, but the baby fell asleep on my leg before I turned on to my road. My dogs don’t want any more dogs here. Who wants this small thing? I stroked its head; it moaned and grunted.

Robert Redford, Blondie, and Lucky greeted me at the bottom of my driveway and raced the car up. Whining they waited for me to open the door. The pup perched on my forearm; I allowed them a sniff before bringing the critter inside where we wondered what’s next.

Abandoned Puppies

A couple of people are feeding these cuties on PR 453. The look better this week than they did last.

I believe in trap, neuter, and return, but these are babies. Perhaps a local rescuer will get them. 

Animal Control Puerto Rico

According to Bill 2950 the tourism industry is losing fifteen million a year because of the dog problem. The tourism industry must support vigorously endeavor to reduce the dog population by curtailing reproduction. To entertain a bill about animals in the middle of a financial crisis indicates that the time has come for change; animals will no longer be collected and killed.

This is so wonderful. Bravo to those who envisioned this bill!

How much money will be budgeted to support the enactment of the bill?

How much would it cost to sterilize all the dogs on the island?

According to the bill, if I read it correctly, there are 300,000 dogs on the island.

If sterilization or spay/neuter, if you prefer, will cost according to the bill $35- $50, let’s take the high end $50.

300,000 X $50 = $15,000,000

One year’s loss for tourism would neuter all; isn’t that interesting?!

How the World Lived With Dogs

Picture life on a Caribbean island two hundred years ago with no cars, no Iguanas, but dogs walked with the farmers to market or to the fields in search of yame (yams).

Dogs and cats roamed the woods around the house at night hunting rats or mice. People slept soundly at night certain the dogs would sound the alarm if anything stirred. They fed leftovers to the dogs without a sense of ownership. The dog that went to the market with the farmer might follow his neighbor to the river to fish.

The community dog concept is a large part of everyone’s heritage, if you go back far enough. North America is different because massive European migration interrupted the normal flow of life. Each settler brought a dog, which they valued for protection from predators.

In small human hamlets dogs wandered through the community, almost as freely as man. The humble life of the hamlet dog is part of our history.

Within the last two hundred years rabies finished the US tolerance for free ranging dogs. Americans can’t tolerate wolves in Yellowstone; dogs roaming in forest preserves, waiting to prey on children strikes fear.  It’s a national phobia.

Other parts of the world continue with the community dog concept or local variations.

Is the question how to bring the animal population into compliance?  

Is there a way to respect cultural heritage and do what’s best for health and safety without killing dogs?

Retirement Gone to the Dogs in Puerto Rico

Retire to the tropics, say so long winter weather; that’s how I planned it. Live on a salad bowl island and travel from there; that was the plan. And if it weren’t for the dog situation, I’d enjoy my retirement in Puerto Rico so much more.

For the first time in my adult life I planned to be dog less. I love dogs, but my life’s plan was to travel. The fates in the form of the Great Recession screwed with that pretty hard, but if I budget I can have a few fine travel experiences. It’s amazing what I’m willing to live without in order to travel.

From the very beginning retirement planning included waiting for a time when our dogs passed from old age. In the mean time we visited our house in Puerto Rico getting accustomed to life on the island.

Dogs began to show up at our door. Cute dogs of differing breeds and sizes wanted a little food, some water. There is no place to take the dog where it will be cared for and not killed, so what does a dog lover do?

Damn, right you feed! You water, you treat, medicate and sterilize; it’s the right thing to do. Dogs came and went before I started counting how much money I’d invested in the flow of animals.

Whoa, I’m on a fixed income, not the retirement I’d planned; there is no room in my budget for a steady stream of dogs. I’ve paid for enough sterilizations and vaccinations that I’m starting to get pissed.  Oddly, it’s more because I get the dogs neutered, healthy, and trained; and then, they disappear. All these missing dogs and no bodies; it doesn’t add up.

So let’s get this straight, according to the law 154 if I feed it, it’s mine. But assholes can drop a dog out of a car window at the bottom of my driveway for me to provide the animal’s rights.

The sheer numbers of dogs that come through here make it impossible for me to ever hope to sterilize, vaccinate, or more than feed.

I can return to the states so I’m not forced to see the dogs in need. But how does that help the dogs?

Feeding Starving Dogs and Abandoned Puppies

On a country road so narrow two cars must slow almost to a stop to pass the three puppies hide among the bushes where they were dumped days ago.

Sunday morning my dogs, the Sato Hill Crewe, and I have scrambled eggs, mine with toast, theirs’ with kibble. Shortly after I head up the road to feed the pups I named Curly, Moselle, and Larita.

It’s Sunday morning on back country roads, so I’m not dressed to meet people. I’m just feeding the puppies and going home, so I don’t bother to put a bra on; these pups are less than a mile from my home. Can you sense the mistake? 

Where the country lane intersects with my road, I see a wild eyed spaniel in the field with dairy cattle. I stop the car and call the spaniel and she comes running to me. I pour a bit of food on the ground, but just before she arrives a jeep whips into the intersection between us. She bolts in panic. She’s gone, no point fooling here any longer, so I head up the lane.

About a hundred feet into the lane I see a very pregnant black pit bull bitch; she’s been here a while, the poor thing. Someone feeds her in a cast iron pot, but there’s no food, so I oblige the sweet girl, while a car with three men stop to watch. They say nothing; I’m uncomfortable, so I hop in my car and head around the bend where two men are loading a pickup that’s partially blocking the lane.

A red pit bull pup about five months old is with the men. As one of the men waves me past the truck, I ask him if the puppy is his; he says, “No.”   This dog can use a meal and some water, so against my better judgment, I got out of the car to feed the starving, wormy looking youngster. The men were polite; don’t get me wrong, but hate it when a man stares at your tits when he’s talking to you. This fella had so much to say and didn’t bother to disguise where he was looking, which made me feel self conscious. I became annoyed enough that finally I just thought the hell with it, fed the pup and wondered if the three babes would still be in the woods.

The shy little buggers came within inches of me, so that’s progress.

Someone fed them in an aluminum pan; they have people who care. It makes me feel good to know that, even on a lonely country road, helpless critters have a community of advocates doing what they can for them. That helps to offset the heartlessness others suffer from, but it’s no answer; is it?

  

Abandoned Puppies in Puerto Rico

New born always feel so magical to me; they are hope for the future, fresh life with no past only what’s ahead. Somehow deep in my soul I wish them well; I want them to thrive.

So when I see puppies abandoned on the side of the road, I can’t help but feel how bankrupt a society is that would toss them out without a care. In truth this is a bankrupt little island.

If it weren’t for the wonderful animal advocates feeding and rescuing, I would believe this place to be morally bankrupt as well, but in the three days I’ve been feeding the three little rascals left in the bend of a country road I noticed evidence that someone else is feeding them.

Three scared babies have hope to live thanks to someone who cares. When its so easy to feel overwhelmed by badness, it gives hope to see evidence that loving spirits care if the least among us have a chance to live because life is magic.    

Spaying Street Bitches

Rounding up stray bitches for sterilization is more difficult than I thought it would be.

Far out of my comfort zone is talking in Spanish to strangers. I can see it in their faces; they don't trust me, when they finally understand me.

One family, I offered to take the six puppies to a shelter my friend runs, the woman's granddaughter told her in Spanish, right in front of me, "The gringa is going to make money off las perritas." The puppies vanished, I don't know how or where. A year later the pregnant shaggy terrier mom disappeared from the yard, only a handsome young son remains; and that’s my neighbor.

Since I’ve lived here, any dog moving in gets vaccinations and neutering on me. Little puppies wandering in the street break my heart. I don’t make money; I donate time, energy and money to improve life for dogs. Our relationship with dogs began in the caves, they’ve served us since then; don’t we owe them?

Free roaming carnivores maintain a balance in rodent population, if the dogs hunt is another topic.  Too many dogs is the problem; I think of it as finding an ecological balance and believe that the barbaric practice of collecting and killing them should be replaced with trap, neuter and return. 

   

Returning a post operative dog to a vacant area doesn’t set well, so going with people at least somewhat interested in it appeals, comes with other perils.

 I'm going further away from home talking to people. I need to enlist help from local people. Catching dogs the night before spay day, even dogs I feed when I see them, is hit or miss, so where I see dogs hanging around, I know that a person cares enough to feed at least occasionally. These are the people I need to support to end the huge reproduction cycle.

Understanding the street dog problem in Puerto Rico has taken a long time. Finding a boots on the ground part of the solution I can believe in; halleluiah, I’m blessed.

Each week I’ll be bringing up to three females/hembras to the vet to be spayed. In my valley, over the years I’ve learned where dogs are fed; the dogs hang on the outside of the fence. I believe these are the people I need to say hello to, but people get weird looks on their faces when I speak; you have no idea.

Well, wish me luck!        

Traveling Veterinarians of Puerto Rico

Forty Veterinarians neutering 40 dogs three days a week for a year equals 249,600; that’ll put a dent in the critter population growth, so how do we get to that goal?  

Being clueless in Puerto Rico, I talked to my friend and local La Que Sabe, Alma Febus, whose direct, no shit approach to things I adore.

Alma said, “Before you think about getting forty vets, find out what’s happening with the two vets on the island, who have the travelling clinics. Are they busy with neutering, vaccinating; learn what’s going on with them.”

Did you know that Alma Febus was a member of the NYPD? She has that logical cop’s mind.

I’m the new kid on the block, what do the island activists want to know about the traveling Veterinarians of Puerto Rico?

QUESTIONS:

Where or how far will you travel?

How long in advance do we need to schedule a neuter/veterinary care day?

Contact information:

How is the day billed?

Cost per spay or castration, table of available treatments and charges. Pre advertised prices reduce misunderstandings and lost revenue.

For the benefit of the veterinarian providing this valuable service collaboration between rescues will provide the amount a vet needs in order to make a living.

Do the vets provide pre and post care handouts with the service list and prices?

The best location for a clinic day is? What should we look for?

What funding is available to subsidize a clinic day?

Prices need to be low enough that poor families will make a non essential purchase because it’s the right thing to do.

Who on your staff works with non profits to set up a clinic day?

I had the pleasure of seeing Dr. Cruz’s team in action in Pinones; two thumbs up for a fine team. Dr. Rivera has the other traveling set up, I haven’t met him yet.

 Wouldn’t you like to know more about them?  What should we ask?

The information will be shared, so we can keep these guys working, and then others will want to join them. Alma, you’re brilliant.

It’s easy to comment on the blog; I fixed the settings. What do we want to know?

 I’ll think of the good questions after, like I did when I interviewed Iris Quinones, President of OICA.

Puppy Behavior Eight Week Maturation Point

Darla entered her first fear period today, her normally up, wagging tail in a position seldom, if ever seen on her before, neutral. My little girl must be about right weeks old for this stage of development. About three weeks ago I found her in a bucket along the side of the road.

Today she no longer bounds straight up to me, but approaches obliquely, making an arc in her travel to approach me from the side. Her wide eyed puppy innocence is gone. As she nibbled out the bowl, I walked by and she circled with a piece of kibble in her mouth, which is reminiscent of Chi-Ping’s behavior with me, when she first came. She also exhibits watchfulness of the surroundings that I’ve just seen her do in the last couple of days. Our group has remained stable, nothing outward has happened to influence her behavior.

Witnessing puppies enter this maturation phase before was probably more chaotic with people and dogs, me being busy, and most of all other puppies. What surprises me the most is the suddenness of the shift; yesterday she was the quintessential idiot puppy, today she’s caution girl.

Protect her from big scares during this time was my first thought. Today is Three Kings Day in Puerto Rico, which means parandas or parades and here it came right down our road, loud, pulsating, horns blaring, whistles blowing loud, loud. I went to the door in time to see Darla running to the back side of the house to get away. I called her to the door which meant she had to come back towards her fear. To my surprise she scurried into her safe house, where she calmed and stood at the door. Gone are her puppy forward ears, unless focused, she’s pretty much carried them to the side. This is a change for her.

Like you, I love watching dog behavior. I’d love to hear your stories and comments on this maturation point.  

A Dream for Puerto Rican Island Dogs

Picture low cost veterinarians servicing the needs of pets across the island in trailers, purchase subsidized by participation in an island wide sterilization plan with only forty participants being accepted.

40 vets sterilizing 120 dogs a week will have neutered 249,600 animals in a year. People on the island who buy dog food for their dogs will pay for example $20 for neutering, which should cover the costs, plus vaccinations and the three way test for an equally reasonable fee.  

With a majority of pets being neutered, attention can be turned to the truly feral, while worrying less about more being thrown out.

Island Vet Tech students volunteering for neuter events will have opportunity to shine before prospective employers, animal control officers or rescuers will have opportunity to coordinate local events of lasting value while strengthening the bond of animal caring people.

A segment of the market in today’s veterinary care geared towards the economically challenged part of the market place will find aid from the plethora of animal activists on the island. Veterinary trailers seem like a low cost way to open up an untapped segment of the market. Perhaps the department of tourism would offer low or no interest loans to dedicated vet who would neuter a documented number of dogs a year, my heavens, the details can be negotiated, just get a plan in place, we can get behind. They’re a lot of us here; we’ll all do our part.

Every rescuer I know is overrun with dogs, the lucky ones ship to the states, where every year an unbelievable number are euthanized annually.   

Mass murder of mutts for which, I believe, the government does pay, isn’t the answer. Spay is the way to control dog population, please. This could be a career opportunity for vets who will service this community. Surely there’s a leader in the government, who will champion the cause with a reasonable plan.

Tourist internet sites teem with comments of visitors shocked by starving dogs, a sad, disturbing sight. The Department of Tourism might support a plan to improve Puerto Rico’s image abroad.

40 vets, neuter 40 dogs, 3 days a week (or 120 a week) = 249,600 neutered a year.  

   

Puppy Found in Bucket Update

Darla, aka puppy in the bucket, my happy little girl still can’t manage that single step. The white of her eye is now visible, the eye color no longer blue. After a whimper she, all on her own, runs around to the carport ramp, running fast as she can, wagging her tail all the way.

Darla found in 5 gallon bucket 2 weeks ago

Lucky, all of seven months, plays big brother, allowing her to snuggle up to his belly at night. Love energy emits, when he nuzzles her neck; a tiny growl, a playful nip Darla gives from her upturned head.

Named for my late friend, Darlene, Cajun queen from New Orleans and Saints fan extraordinaire, Darla at about seven weeks of age is thriving at the moment. I say at the moment because skin issues need to be addressed, worming and vaccination; neutering can wait. In two weeks her size more than doubled; she starting to be socially conscious. What do I mean by a quizzical remark like that about a dog?

Darla looks to see what the other dogs are doing when I’m giving them treats. Jumping around, barking, behaving like a baby brat didn’t get rewarded; sitting gets the treat. Darla just gave her first sit for a treat; I’d say that’s rather smart; wouldn’t you? 

I understand pack behavior as it presents in wolves, but the behavior of free ranging dogs here reminds me more of coyotes where I lived in Illinois. These dogs here hang together, buddy up because they live with me. If I were out of the picture, I believe Blondie and Chi would stay together, but Robert Redford and Lucky would go separate ways after hanging together long enough to mature.

Darla just took her first towards being a good human companion, a tail wagging big step. From the other dogs she’s learning to look for signs of provocation. She no longer bounds into another dog’s meal. She will carefully advance to snatch a nugget on the floor. The older dogs growl and snap just as fast, so my smart tiny girl learned stealth, which only works to a point. Dear Darla learned to stay close to mom, jump at her feet, she’ll make certain dear Darla has enough to eat. The others back off, they know the rule to stay away from the cat’s food and when mom’s around, Darla’s too.

Lately, it seems the norm that puppies are found with skin conditions. I’m going to take the time to learn more about the mites or mold or whatever the dogs get. When we treated Lucky and Lola for mange my head was elsewhere, I don’t remember much about that time. I don’t think this is mange. This looks like something Lucky had after the mange. It seems like it wasn’t difficult to treat or I might remember it better.

Think about puppies discarded like Darla.

Think about this. 40 veterinary teams with trailers neutering 40 dogs three days a week for a year would have neutered 249,600 dogs.

Can a veterinarian make a down payment on a trailer, work of the balance due by neutering a documented 120 dogs a week for a year for a nominal fee to cover expenses?    Is there a way to work that out?

40 teams, 40 trailers almost a quarter of a million dogs neutered in a year. Isn’t this doable?     

Puppy In a Bucket

Welcome to week six of your life, Darla. You still look to suckle and cuddle like a younger puppy with your still blue eyes. You’ve grown almost two inches in a week’s time. Your black and tan coat shines, except for the skin condition. Lucky had the same thing, little bald circles. I don’t remember what we did for it, but he has a shiny black coat today.  

Sorry, I won’t be getting you to the vet anytime soon; being broke until the end of the month when I can buy groceries again.

The bowed rear legs you came with, now move efficiently straight. I love a pretty trot. Those first few nights you howled and screamed and cried; how mournful.  You learned to comfort yourself, to calm down, but confinement panics you. Crate training will have to come later. Frustrated, too short to get up a single step, you screamed bloody murder. The first time I thought one of the boys hurt you, but no, you wanted back on the carport, so we walked to the ramp, you scampered back on the carport. We did that three times that morning. The fourth time I stayed on the carport, you looked at me, when I took a step towards the ramp you ran around all by yourself. I’d say that makes you very smart.

You bounce at Smoki, inviting him to play. He hisses at you to tell you old cats don’t play, but clearly you don’t get it. He’s trained many a dog in his day, I’ve no doubt you’ll learn to see things his way.

My little Darla, I’m so sorry I can’t do more for you, curious girl, sniffing my rooms, learning every inch. I’ll give you another bath; see what I can do about your skin condition. Your coat has a little luster. The kidney and liver veggie blends are nourishing you well. We’ll have to wait until next month for more; I burned out the blender motor on the kidney or maybe it was the carrot.

If you see and apparition on the porch or in the house for I believe dogs are especially tuned in to spirits, if it’s my Kirt, you’ll know him as a loving spirit; wag your tail really hard for me. He knows I miss him and I love him; you don’t have to tell him a thing, but he’ll love your little tail flying.

Darla, you grow into the best puppy you know how to be; with God’s help we’ll find you a good forever home.  

My Home Is Not a Dog Shelter, This is Not a Rescue

This is beginning to feel like Canine Grand Central Station, puppies, Labrador, German Sheppard, English Bull Terrier, Golden Retriever, plus assorted mixed breed or sato dogs have visited my house this year. I live on a tiny road in the middle of the country.

If people are dropping off dogs near my home because they’ve heard that I take in dogs, they’re making a big mistake because I don’t. I have no fence, no gate. The dogs that live with me were street dogs here.

Blondie will shag the bitches on down the road, as she did to the Bull terrier bitch just a couple of days ago. A handsome tri color, looked like an Australian Kelpie Dog makes this house part of his rounds, but moves along when he sees me. It is no kindness to dump a dog near my home.

It’s impossible to rescue all the strays on this island. Massive sterilization campaigns and education, perhaps coupled with license required for breeding and or selling puppies, might make a difference.  

The Day After My First Cruelty Case Raid

Tired and drained, so lethargic,  why staying in bed wasn’t an option, I don’t know; it was just time to get up.
“Hey, you’re up, good morning,” the big smile on my husband’s face slowed to an abrupt halt, replaced by concern as his eyes took in the sorry sight before him.



Being devastatingly ill for a long time leaves you feeling way deep inside yourself, like there’s a space between you and the outside; you have to come back to the world, your resources are gobbled up internally. Why did I feel that empty, so vacant? 


Only yesterday I felt good,up at three am to participate in a bust of a man accused of impersonating a veterinarian and mistreatment of animals. Since I am a certified animal control officer and cruelty inspector, ACO/CI of Puerto Rico, badge #10, my friend, Alma Febus, ACO/ACI, lead investigator on the case; invited me to be there for my first actual experience, my first bust. 


As we headed down the hill in the rain to the police station with dog food, leashes and treats, my husband and I talked about times gone by, about driving to dog shows in the wee hours of the morning, my thoughts were to stay focused on the dogs I would be helping, to watch and learn; how bad could it be?

Before dawn we were part of a procession lead by police cars with lights flashing heading up a hill, which being a novelty, I enjoyed the drama. Maybe I should have had a clue about how dramatic the day would become, but no, to my mind it was just another day at the office doing something with dogs.


Being called to go into the premises along with the police to get dogs shouldn’t have felt so shocking, since in the parking lot conference I was assigned to the dog handler crew to protect the police from guard dogs on the property, as well as containing any loose animals, but oh, boy did it.


Emaciated and scared pit bulls, Wiemeraners, a German Sheppard, a couple of rotts, plus a variety of larger mixed breed dogs stood or walked around barking, not knowing what to do, as we began rounding up these pathetic creatures in the glaring light of the TV cameras.


The concrete front of the property, where you had to be careful not to step in shit gave way to the dirt rear made a feces swill by the morning rain; reminded me that earlier I laughed to myself thinking that the bust should be called on account of rain, as I tried in vain to avoid getting my shoes and feet wet, while we trekked to sheds outback, taking care not to step on a spine or jaw bone strewn in the path. Dead dogs, dying dogs, diseased dogs were in every nook or cranny of an almost acre property, the living numbering about sixty dogs to be photographed, cataloged and veterinarian checked before being shipped to a better place.


Most of the emaciated creatures were easy to seduce with sweet words and tones; others with saucer big eyes stood their ground barking. Each time I passed those, I’d toss a treat to the big barker, so when it came time to take them in we were on a first name basis or as close to it as some frightened spirits got. This was no time to stop or think, must keep moving, no time for reflection, help needed, now.


The bust was of a guy impersonating a vet, so I pictured an office, a few crates; this was like John Wayne Gacy on acreage, only difference is almost sixty were alive and suffering, needing to be triaged from the muck.


With the dogs from sheds at the back of the pasture tethered along a concrete walk, we wanted a break, but the morning sun began heating things up, we shifted gears to getting the dogs in the shade on the carport.


Crates were assembled; we found and carried crates from all over the place, so the dogs wouldn’t overheat. Two dogs were in crates in the yard between the house and the pasture, when we picked up the wire crate of a Wiemeraner pup, perhaps seven months old, toasting in the sun, it’s legs dangled through the bottom, so we each carried an end of the crate with the pup on leash taking two steps before collapsing. Oh, how cold that grey baby was when I scooped him under my arm to carry to the carport, where he was diagnosed with Leptospirosa.


Hot, thirsty, hungry, tired as I can be; I’m told this dog has Lepto. I need to decontaminate immediately, so I go home thinking, why did no one leave a note on the kennel that this dog has a communicable disease. He had the blue collar they were using to indicate that he had been examined.


What am I going to do to prevent the dogs at our house from contact with my clothes, oh heavens I wouldn’t want to be responsible for them getting sick, so I rushed in the door to hop in the shower.


After a quick lunch, I returned. Dr. Luis Moran, MD gave me a single dose prophylactic prescription while telling to watch out for coughing, nausea, vomiting, jaundice and other symptoms. The concerned doctor tells me to have the doctor call him, if I need to go to the emergency room. Oh, what fun!


The dogs were well consolidated in the shade, so I made myself useful making the dogs as comfortable as possible, a cup of water, a handful of kibble,you must be careful not to give too much too fast to a starving dog; each time I made my rounds faces would look more hopeful, tails began to wag; being the dog lover I am, their hope comforted me. How naive!


A truck and a van were ready to be loaded, most if not all of the dogs leaving on the truck were to be euthanized to be put down because they had the bad luck to be at this guy’s place. My stomach lurched, as I took my place in line to load the scared little beagle mommy, who when I patted the top step looked me in the eye and jumped trustingly aboard.


The best I could hope for was to make their last, a bit better; that’s not much. That’s the thought which began to overwhelm me, when we had a lull in the work, the dogs were settled, everyone was waiting for the next set of instructions.


I made my escape with the radio turned up, no thinking on the ride home. Vile, ugly pictures and smells assaulted my senses, my soul cried, but I couldn’t, not yet. What would I tell my husband, who had opted to stay home in the afternoon? He worried about contaminating the dogs, what will he feel when I tell him of the MD’s concern for my health, which may mean I could contaminate him; just a few of the things I didn’t want to think about.


After a discussion which ended in, you have the prescription, be smart enough to use it. We picked up the med, which needed to be taken with a meal, on the way to have dinner someplace with a good view of the ocean. A good view goes a long way to healing the soul; it reminds us of the majesty of what God has created. By dinner’s end my nerves began to settle.


Too heavy a hand with canned garlic makes me sick. Stress has caused the same symptom upon occasion, so when I lost my meal and the pills on the way home, I could think of better reasons, than leptspirosa, really, I did. Who needs the head trip?


I have reasons to feel beat to shit today, better spirit will return; life is too good for it not.


Good people did a difficult job; whatever happened to these animals is better than the fate in store for them without intervention. I am so totally in awe of this group of people, who came together for the animals in a big way.


Everyone has their own story of the day, of the case. I hope to share theirs.


Tricia Carr

They'll Eat , If They Are Hungry Enough

Those shifty eyed street dogs had me hoodwinked. The spoiled satos won’t touch this kibble and I thought it was crappy.



Let me tell you, the dogs at the beach were hungry enough, they ate it right down and wanted more, too.

I squeaked while opening the trunk with that, three new moms, tits flying in the breeze bounded across the parking lot stopping a few feet from my car. With tails wagging and mouths open in eager anticipation, they eyed me cautiously always at the ready to flee.


The more daring two took kibble from just three feet behind the car, my shy lady Wagged and wiggled until I brought it maybe fifteen feet behind the car before she felt safe enough to eat.


A meal for the girls, a couple of photos, the car is in drive and sitting all three in a row just outside the door with sweet smiling faces were moms ready to go home to feed the kids today.


And I thought I bought bad dog food, the satos in my neighborhood are going to hear about this. There are starving dogs on the beaches and you leave kibble in the dish for ants, hah.


Chi-ping said to tell you that we have a better class of street dogs in her neighborhood; she’s the little bitch with her tail straight in the air.


My dogs be with you and love in your heart.


Tricia

Survival, Difference between Discard Dog & Sato/Street Dog

It’s Good Friday and I’m rip roaring upset; not about Good Friday, it’s always good to remember that we are loved.



My ham is in the oven because of the discarded dogs showing up in this community. These dogs will not survive in nature.

The little lap dogs, any of the toy group would be doomed without a soft heart. If you think bigger is better you’d be wrong. A seventy-five pound dog is a lot of animal when dining on leftovers, basura/garbage or predation.

That lovely lab bitch will lose her body fat; she’s too large to survive. Even if she learns to hunt, she won’t make it without a human resource. Being an unsprayed female; that’s not terribly likely. Her picture is damned bleak. She needs to be rescued.


Personally I am a fan of the Puerto Rican island dogs, the satos. A sato is a street dog that can live of the land/street. The dog must be smart enough to not get hit in the street; that’s a biggie.


A sato knows how to get along with the other dogs. It’s a competition for resources. There are times when it’s beneficial to pack up. A rat hunt is one of those times. This is survival school for new satos. Owl loves the hunt. It makes his tail go straight.


A sato is a small medium to large medium dog on average. Toby the Airedale  an old timer on the street barely keeps that big frame goiing. 


A controlled number of street dogs actually benefit an area. They control the rodent population. Young men sometimes walk the roads at night. All dogs bark at them, but you can hear the satos escort them to the end of their home turf.


I’ve lived in the country long enough to know the value of predators. Coyotes and fox are fine, but Puerto Rico has satos and gatos. This is good for the island, discarded or throw away dogs are not. They aren’t going to make it.


The sad thing is that the shallow ass self centered thing throwing them out the window doesn’t care. Ok, I’d better quit here; God bless.


And Happy Easter, Tricia

Is this the Picture of a Street Dog?

Don’t you think she’s lovely to be roaming the roads on Caribbean island? I saw the sweet look in her eyes; grabbed my camera, got this shot and she was gone.


Guessing that she was slinking away, afraid of us or something else with the low head and tail carriage, could be. Does this make sense or do you see something different?


It would seem that at least one leg is hurting; right?


Question: Is it the right rear or the left front? Or heaven forbid; could it be both?


By what looks like a layer of subcutaneous fat, she can’t have been on the road too long.


There are breeders of Labradors on the island. Pictures I’ve seen show me a nice quality of stock. Perhaps there is a lab rescue here. Let me find out; I’ll get back to you.


In the mean time let’s play which is the hurt leg!


By the way Chi-ping is doing well. She’ll get back with you later.


Tricia

Pure Bred Labrador in The Street

Hey, dog show people, students of movement; tell me what is wrong with this picture.


This lovely pure bred bitch was outside the Boy Scout Camp on the other side of Lake Guajataca. After this shot she was gone.


Interested in what you have to tell me about her based on this picture. It’s the only one I have of her.


Thanks, Tricia ` 

Discarded Puppies at Beach in Isabela, Puerto Rico




Not a Pitbull, I am house elf; Doby is my dad.

 



May I say, I am sad                                                                                            
 that you don't see the resemblance!                                                                              

  

Princess Leia here thinks my father was Yoda.                                                                   





She just starts rubbing on me talking about one with the force;                                                                                
 I'm not sure what she means, but why try to fight  it.