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.

R.I.P. My Great Friend Chi-Ping

Chi-Ping, twelve pound Boriqua dog with attitude, author of many canine tales on my blog is gone.

About six years ago the little terrier girl refused to leave the spot where the big SUV dumped her off. She fought the big street dog determined to chase her away, took the bites and held her ground.

She wasn’t a pushover for just any human wanting to be her friend. Trust with her needed to be earned. Chi made an exception for Kirt, my husband; she melted into his lap the first time they meet.

With head and tail held high Chiwi strut through airports aware of those admiring her, my shining star. She slept in the bend of my knees or the small of my back, giving me comfort on many lonely nights.

I don’t in fact know that’s she’s dead, so there is no real closure. Two weeks ago she disappeared; that’s all I know. I miss her and thank God for her little light in my life. 

 

Cowboy the Pit Puppy Finds a Home

Puppy Update

The red and white puppy found his way to my door all the way from Counselor’s Ridge, which is about a mile or so away. He stood at the bottom of my driveway with a couple of people who were gathering coconuts. I came out because my dogs were barking at the people.

The boney boy stood in the road with ears and tail down, so as to not attract attention. He watched the Sato Hill Crewe come down the driveway in full protection mode, as the man stood on the roof of my neighbor’s garage and his wife gathered the coconuts dropping in my driveway.  The dogs’ focused on the people; until the puppy recognized me. His eyes widened, head came up, ears went forward, and his tail burst into a full speed wag.

Lucky, Robert Redford, Blondie, and Chi-Ping turned as one from the people they had focused on, to the little guy doing the happy dance. They went into stalk position, which scared me, since they were already halfway down the drive. 

The woman in my driveway saw the dogs’ predatory posture, freaked out yelling, “Hay dios mio,” and ran around her car, while her husband tried waving the long rod he used on the coconuts at the dogs.

“NO,” I boomed at the man. “TRANQUILA, tranquila,” I soothed the woman.

“No,” I said again in my serious dog voice; the dogs actually looked at me, big sigh of relief. “GOOD GUYS!! COMEON, LET’S GO TO THE HOUSE!!”

Lucky and Robert Redford flew up the hill; what good babies! Blondie and Chi weren’t convinced to leave the people or the little competitor with the wagging tail, but minus the boys’ support the girls regrouped halfway up the driveway.

Boys in the house, Blondie and Chi, my old friends, came along.  I haven’t had them in the house much lately, so the hounds were happy, allowing me to find the puppy, who had headed up the hill in fright.

This is a pit bull puppy; he only retreated to the other side of my neighbor’s garage, where he greeted me with joy. About a week ago, the only time we met, I fed him on the way to feed the litter in the lane. A good ten dogs I’ve seen for quite some time have disappeared from that lane, which gives me more surprise to see him.

Down the lane where the big cows graze my little Cowboy came. 

Where Have the Puppies Gone

Monday morning fed the dogs, made a nice breakfast for myself, and then took off in a gentle rain to feed the puppies on the way to the gym.

No puppies, how odd, I called and no reply. Could someone have rescued the adorable rascals? I hoped with the dog food and scrambled eggs still on the front seat. Plenty of other dogs would enjoy this meal, so I watch for the Counselor Ridge Crewe, but only see a red spaniel I haven’t noticed before. She’s very scared, but runs up to the bowl as soon as I leave.

At the gym I wonder if the other person feeding the pups managed to collect them. A safe home, regular meals, what could be better? I didn’t spend much time with the puppies; maybe the other person sat on the ground with them stroking their ears. Perhaps they just moved to a dry location.

On the way home that afternoon I drove down the lane. The puppies weren’t there, but someone had left a pan of kibble; apparently, the other person feeding the pups hadn’t gotten them.  At four o’clock I saw none of the dogs that usually lounge in the road; how odd, but not unheard of. I went home to get ready for a training session I was giving that evening for volunteers assisting in a beginner dog training class to be held in Manatee.

Sadly I didn’t have time to drive the lane on the way out, but about quarter to ten, when very few are out in the country, I drove slowly up the lane, stopping in all the familiar haunts. Not a single dog could I find; I went home pondering that.   

Sato Hill's Border Collie Missing

On the two and a half year anniversary of my husband Kirt’s death, I’ve lost my beautiful Border Collie, Dominic, Dominic Perignon. And I thought 2016 would bring healing.

I’m lonely, so I’ve writtten to single men on a friend finder line. All I can say is if I’d buried my husband, I’d be crawling in next to him before I deal with any more slicksters telling me how beautiful I am and our love is written in the stars.

Dominic got dumped at the bottom of my drive early last spring. He hid in the weeds, when I came to get him with a towel. I always wrap new babies and give them a bath welcome to Sato Hill. Black coat, flashy white paws, and perfectly folded ears; he had me before his feet hit the ground. I cooed sweetly to my heart throb; instantly he Velcro’ed himself to my leg, my scared little boy.

In the eight months Dominic lived here, puppy to young adult he matured into a crewe member, even Blondie went hunting with him. Dominic was full of himself in all of the ways young boys push and test boundaries. He thought he was the smartest in the room, which annoyed Chi-Ping, and me upon occasion.

From clingy to challenging I gave him what he needed to mature into a great dog, a companion. My darling boy, who chose to sleep outside was wanting in at night again; patience paid off.

Whoever took him, I pray they give him a good home. This hurts because I don’t believe that many dogs on this island get good homes. Tied in between house and garage is not a good life.

At least I gave Dominic eights months of a wonderful life. I enjoyed getting to know him. LOVE. 

Hola, Tolola, the Abandoned German Shepard Mother

One morning a few weeks back I glanced out the window to see a pick up truck stop at the bottom of my driveway. For a country road this one can get rather busy, so I thought nothing about it, until a few minutes later when I went outside to water plants; there stood a magnificent German Shepard bitch with large upright ears and noble expression. “Lola,” I gasped, seeing the gorgeous girl, who died two months after my husband.

She wagged her tail. I could feel my face light up; I ran to the top of the driveway, where she wagged her tail in the way that says, “Good to see you.”

Stroking her long nose, I cried, while I thought of my lost husband and dog. We had enjoyed our lives here for a short time. The new Lola raced down my drive in the long strides of her breed.

The Sato Hill Gang barked warning from in the house; thank God.  I called, “Lola.” She sniffed around in the road where she had been dumped with a frantic look on her face; her tits flopped to and fro with every step, the sagging tits puppies recently suckled.

The new Lola ran up the road; I waited in the driveway talking to her, hoping she would connect with me. Before long her ground covering trot carried her around my yard; here and there she stopped to sniff. The food I offered her, she gobbled before tiptoeing across the porch to the water bowl.

Since the dogs were settled in the house and I was on my way out, I hoped she’d be there when I returned; she wasn’t.

Days passed; each time down the road my eyes scoured the countryside for her. My route varied to increase chance of sighting her. This fine animal deserved a good life with a family; they are bred to passionately love somebody. I needed to find her.

In the afternoon I take the road home that goes over the hill, so I can see the lake; it’s always treat. As I rounded a curve near the horse pasture, a man leaned against a fence post watching a dog; it was new Lola.   

“Hola, como esta? Es su perro?”

“Bien, gracias.”

He shrugged his shoulders in answer to the question, is that your dog. We talked for a while; it turned out that he owned the house with my favorite view of the lake. We both admired a fine German Shepard and he would think about keeping her.

In a desperate attempt to assure her of a good home, I promised to have her spayed, if he would just give her a home.

Two days later, I drove past hoping to see her proudly protecting his yard. No one was home. Further up the road she chased a rooster, while a young boy threw rocks at her, and a woman yelled.

Oh, crap that will never do. I got out of the car.

“Por favor, no.” I said to the boy, who stopped immediately. The woman yelled some more in rapid fire Spanish. The rooster raced past us screaming for its life with Lola in hot pursuit and ready for breakfast. The woman screeched so loudly I wanted to get in the car and go; I opened the door and called, “Lola, come on pretty girl. I’ve got food for you on the porch. The other dogs are in, so you can enjoy the yard all to yourself, good girl.”

Hot damn, she sauntered to the door and hopped in like she knew what she was doing; that went well.

What in the hell am I going to do? Supporting five dogs costs plenty with food and monthly anti-pest topical treatments; not to mention vet bills when they get sick. Ugh, I can’t afford another dog. My property has no fence, so wildlife comes and goes. 

Where else can I take her, but home? I texted a couple of rescuer friends, who wanted a photo; that’s just great because the camera on my phone is dead, grrr.  

Lola number two ate on my porch. I hoped she’d feel more comfortable the second time. Her tits were shrinking nicely, she lost weight, but still fine. I had plans for the day; would she stay?

How could I get so freaking torn about something I should not do? The dog had better sense than I; she left when she finished the food.  

Did she migrate over the hill as before? The man with the vacation house overlooking the lake had been good to her, so maybe; I drove the hill road day and night.

Lola one died of a disease I exposed her to, when I brought her to a friend’s; I blamed myself. She loved me intensely, at a time I had lost most of the love in my life, then I ran out of money, she ran out of help; that sucked.

This Shepard has the black saddle, whereas, Lola one was a light sable. Tolola’s face is the color of a fawn with intelligent brown eyes.  One of my favorite things about German Shepards is you feel so smart because they know what you want with such little effort on your part; not all breeds train so effortlessly. I appreciate the attributes of this marvelous breed.

All I can say is that I pray I find her alive and doing well.     

        

Street Dogs in the Night

At one in the morning, without warning, all hell broke loose; the neighbor’s dogs barking sounded scared. The Sato Hill Gang awoke from a snooze on the porch, galloped down the drive to investigate. The two terriers from up the hill joined the uproar with their fiercest, we’ll rip your ankle off bark and growl combos.

Before I could get out of bed, dogs were circling my house.  The yip of one in pain sounded close; it was here, by my house. Was someone kicking a dog? Puerto Rico is a poor island, so once in a while men walk the roads at night in search of opportunity.

The pained yips came from my carport. Good heavens, my car, I looked around for a weapon; not seeing one in my currently stressed out state, I prayed turning the lights on would frighten away any mal-traitor.   

Barking continued in all out panic at my neighbor’s, but only Blondie barked on my porch. My boys weren’t barking. Lucky and Robert Redford, two year old adult males defend the house bravely, so I calmed somewhat and opened the front door.

Dominic, the baby border collie jumped on my leg wanting re-assurance or, better yet, to go in the house. Robert Redford sat near the open door; Lucky followed him into a sit. I opened the door; they quickly filed in.

Blondie barks from the carport sounded halfhearted, but clearly, she had something cornered under my car. I knew it had to be a female dog, a bitch. If it were a rat, I’d have to pry all the dogs away.

Not wanting my face too near whatever hid, I walked to the bottom of the ramp. From there I could see the outline of a fat, short coated, brown dog with little prick ears crouched by a front tire.

Blondie stood between the car and the kitchen door, her now occasional barks were followed by a whine, which told me she was losing motivation. Goody, I called Blondie in the house. She’s not a girl to give up her power; she looked long over her shoulder toward the car before heading through the open door.

Alone under the stars, I waited for chubby brown dog to stir. The light by the kitchen door allowed me to see her every move; the sweet face followed me, but she wouldn’t come out.

Lit by the Milky Way, my valley is a tropical paradise, so I walked around the yard, stared at the lake before peering in at the huddled creature under my car. Would she be here by morning?

The dogs already in their sleeping spots, only lifted heads, when I came in to go to bed. The neighbor’s dogs continued to bar another half hour.   

    

Pet Sitting Again

Pet sitting for the first time since 1999, when I sold my business. The route and details remain the same, except I’m not leaving cute little notes about what my charges are doing during my visit.

The friend whose dogs I’m pet sitting is into container gardening, which just happens to be labor intensive, so I play with the dogs between areas to be watered.

The big black female has a skin condition of some sort, perhaps Demodectic Mange, since her little Chihuahua buddy has no sign of the problem. She wags her tail so hard it bends her body in half, but I find it uncomfortable to pet her in case it’s something I could bring home to my dogs. We have enough problems.

Small yellow boy stands for as much petting as I’m willing proffer, after which, he’s quite content to go piss on my tires.

I find a piece of plastic about the size of a hair comb, that I start scratching the big girl with, so tries to press closer to me. Shortly we get it straightened out that she must stand away from me to get the scratching with the plastic. Her eyes roll back in her head. She is an itchy girl.

The house is locked. I have no access to the bathroom, or her router to re-enter the required security code, so it’s time to add some food to the fresh water in their hut and say goodbye for today. 

Blondie, Beaten, But Unbowed

The swelling in Blondie’s face is going down. She’s drinking water and eating very little. Yesterday she had milk and raw eggs, which she lapped up like a champ.

Today her face hurt badly enough that she didn’t want scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese. She loves cheddar!

I’m guessing the guy who beat her is the new guy living up the hill. Despite all the discomfort Blondie barked and followed this man up the hill. I could hear in her barking that she was pissed off. Knowing her I think the only person she could sustain this much anger for is the man, who beat her. When continued barking outside his house, I knew she was pissed.

People, who beat dogs in the street create what they fear. They create enemies, where the dogs mostly bark, a somebody’s coming bark, they will bark that an enemy approaches.

In this neighborhood most early morning exercisers walk with sticks. One elderly couple, who walk in the morning, carries nothing. The dogs bark, the somebody’s coming bark, and then, as they get close the dogs whine and wag their tails because these people talk to them as they go by.

When will people learn, it’s not respect you get, when you wave a stick. Raise a stick to make an enemy. Bullies never get that.   

Death to the Beach Dogs

Discarded dogs find a steady source of food and move in, if the locals allow. Hunting, scavenging, and begging for handouts keep street dogs alive. In some areas I’ve seen the same dogs for a couple of years.

For example, when I go to the beach where my friend rescued her dog, Hattie, I expect to see some of Hatti’s relatives. Dogs come and go from this little family group, otherwise it was a stable unit.

The dogs scour the beach for scraps of food carelessly tossed aside; and death to any rat foolish enough to step out by moonlight.  It’s not much of a living, but these dogs have been managing for the two years I've been visiting.

The scruffy cadre cautiously shadow my dogs, when they romp on the beach. These dogs have always looked clean, by that I mean, no mange or tick infestations. To my dogs’ chagrin, dog food is shared with the locals.

Lucky made friends with two of the males, who approach him in a familiar way.

Today I walked the beach; there wasn't a single dog anywhere. The sweet, shy little creatures, who followed us at respectful distance or came close with bowed head and low wagging tail, were gone.

Where have all dogs gone? There’s always one or two lurking about. They’re part of the Eco system; sometimes it seems a few too many, but they’re seldom all together.

Summer’s coming, the beach has been cleansed of dogs before the people arrive. In case it’s unclear, cleansed means to collect and kill.

Is this who we've become? It’s our beach and we’re not sharing it.

This was a family of dogs, a nice family; that they were picked up and killed makes me sad. Should a being’s only sin, for which the sentence is death, be that it’s inconvenient?

Discarded

Little lad in black and white, never far from my sight

You bounced in front of near garage

One week ago today, to my delight

Some asshole threw you out, like garbage

You bounced into my arms, like you belong there

Welcome to my life, little lad in black and white

I think, I’ll call you Dominic, Dominic Perignon

Profile of a Cuban Animal Advocate

The face of a dog lover registers concern for the street dog with his syphilitic prick waving in the air while he rolls, scratching his back, her eyes narrow, and her breath comes out in a sigh. He is on her mental list of animals needing help, but the list is long.

Moments later this dog lover questions two teenagers about neutering the pitbulls they each have on leashes. The boys are resistant, but the grandmother speaks to them so kindly that they lower their heads before her.

A word of encouragement or instruction to all they see with animals is the hallmark of the dedicated animal advocate.

Maylin Carretero, the most spiritual woman, who was my host and guide to some of the animals of Cuba, leads with her heart for all things animal.

Off to ANIPLANT we would go taking public transportation all the way. ANIPLANT is the Association for the Protection of Plants and Animals, in Cuba this is it for animal advocacy.

ANIPLANT President Nora Garcia and Vice President Maylin Careterro work hard for the animals of Cuba. I visited the busy clinic at ANIPLANT headquarters, during which a young couple brought in a sweet yellow dog they had found in a bag, legs tied and mouth bound.

After a long day at ANIPLANT Headquarters on the walk home from the bus stop. Maylin said to me when she saw the manager of the local store, “I have been trying for weeks to talk to him about treating the dogs that live by the store for mange. I need his help and there he is!”

Around eleven o’clock one night someone dumped a four week old puppy in her yard. You can imagine the ruckus that set off with her dogs. Let me tell you that woman is fast. As I got to the door she shined the light under bush to find the crying puppy, while verbally keeping her dogs out of the way, most impressive.

While still clutching the puppy to her breast, the true heart of a dog lover goes searching for a box to line with bedding for the tiny life.

If more Cuban American animal lovers knew about the good work these volunteers do, I’m certain they would see more support.  

Malecon Pup Saved from Rocks at ANIPLANT, Headquarters in Havana, Cuba

The lovers walked the streets of Havana with the spaniel until they came to 128 Calle Principe, home of ANIPLANT.

“Hello, we have this little dog in need of rescue,” they called out.

“You can’t just bring your dog here to drop it off. We have no facilities for keeping your dog. You must take it home,” replied the unhappy woman, who came to the door. Her heart winced as she looked at the lovely dog the people were trying to dispose of; how could they do that?

The young woman explained, “This is not our dog. Not an hour ago we found her in a bag on the rocks at the shore with her feet and mouth bound. We untied her. She is a sweet, sweet girl; we couldn’t just leave her on the Malecon with all the traffic of Havana speeding past. My mother told us to bring her to ANIPLANT, where animal advocates would keep her safe.

“You found her tied up in a bag,” the woman at the door gasped.

“Yes, when the tide came in, she would have drowned. We couldn’t just leave her to such a fate,” the young man with big brown eyes looked pleadingly at the woman in the doorway, who opened the door and took the little yellow dog in her arms.

“Who could do that to a beautiful baby like this? Dios mio,” she cried out.

The waiting room of ANIPLANT was filled with people who had brought their dogs to be seen by the veterinarian. Many were there with dogs to be neutered. There was no room for the couple with the little cruelty survivor, so they waited on the curb, while the animal loving advocates came out to see the beautiful dog and the young heroes, who saved her life. Tears filled the eyes of the women, who came out to see the sweet faced dog, as she wagged her tail for all.

Nora Garcia, President of ANIPLANT, looped a long piece of mesh through the dog’s collar to use as a leash. “This is not a shelter; we have no place to keep her. Can you keep her?’ She looked at the young man, who appeared to be quite taken with the dog.

“No, I live in the home of my mother-in-law to be. She has dogs and cats already.” His eyes moist, as he peered at the helpless creature, who kissed his face.

The veterinarian stepped into the lobby, “Who is next?” He called out to no one in particular. The advocates were snapped back into the action of the day, hustling the next patient into the surgical suite, and making return appointments for others. 

“What’s to be done about you, little one?” Maylin Carretero murmured as she set down a pan of water for the dog, who was probably not quite a year old judging by her teeth.  

Dogs Dumped in the Night

Terrified yips and screams reply to angry barks and snaps, as local dogs defend their spots from interlopers, dogs dumped by owners in occupied territory. At little after three in the morning the Sato Hill Gang joins the fray as the hapless discards are pushed up the hill towards the biggest, toughest pack in the valley.

Blondie, a bull of a bitch is now backed by Robert Redford, the large golden a deep bark and solid bite. Lucky, the elegant pit works himself into a frenzy in a hunt or a fight. Chi-Ping in typical terrier style stirs up trouble. The Sato Hill Gang are a pack; they live together and hunt together.

Two houses south of ours, the pursuing defenders pushing the lost dog north are stopped. Blondie’s sharp barks, followed by painful bites elicit cries, while the boys back the locals down the hill. The din in the night retreats, but doesn’t stop for the poor dogs some unthinking human tossed out on a country road.

The attacks continue as dogs defend their spots, when the trespassers become trapped between two groups of powerful dogs they can be killed in the night or so weaken they die within days. If fortunate, the newbies may be accepted somewhere along the road.

This is one of the harsh realities for abandoned pets in Puerto Rico. Over the years with different dogs I’ve heard the same sounds and occasionally seen the aftermath.

This is nature’s way of dealing with man’s stupidity.

Nightmare = Tropics, Fleas and Ticks

Fleas, ticks + tropics = Nightmare

On the island of Puerto Rico I’ve noticed that some of the low coastal areas are more heavily infected than the rural area where I live. Sad to say I never saw a tick on the dogs here before we came back from a visit to the coast.

Stormy, Blondie and the various other street dogs, which have been thru here, from time to time had fungal infections for which we bathed and powdered, but never saw a tick.

The first time I brought the dogs to the coast, they came back loaded. In my whole professional career in Illinois I never saw so many ticks on a dog; and I’m freaky phobic about insects.

Bathing them with a flea and tick shampoo killed some and weaken the rest of the ticks so I could pluck without hurting the dogs as much. Their shin crawled as I pulled one after another. Mine crawled too cause I can’t stand those buggers.

Let me not forget that I applied Frontline shortly after the bath. Ticks seemed to be everywhere, still on the dogs, in the house and on the porch.

My dogs are my only companions. I take them as many places as I can; they also come in my house.

I cleaned the house inside and out with a flea and tick insecticide from Pet Smart and the Frontline kicked in, so I didn’t see ticks for about a month at which time we re-apply.

Recently we took a road trip to the coast. Robert Redford, my biggest came home with ears full of ticks. Blondie and Chi-Ping had some and Lucky has none. Frontline was applied to all dogs two weeks before their trip.

Bathing the dogs with flea shampoo, re-applying Frontline, and chemical disinfection of premises will restore balance here, but why didn’t the Frontline work? Were some ticks resistant to the chemicals contained?

Should I be rotating what I use, so ticks don’t develop immunity?

 A completely different chemical family would be best to rotate with, so what’s best?  

Any contra indications that these products be used in conjunction with the other?

What would be the best rotation schedule, and why?

Back Home on Sato Hill

We just returned from a road trip to Auntie Adri’s in Carolina. Once home the gang banged down the hill to check out the status of the neighborhood.

Given how late in the day, I planned to let them fast through the night and feed breakfast. Kibble stays in the gut up to fourteen hours, so a fast is good for them.

Blondie and Chi settled on the sofa, Robert Redford and Lucky in the chairs. Seemed like the right plan, until Lucky trotted through the house with the measuring cup in his mouth, the cup I use to scoop his dog food. He came into the back bedroom, dropped the cup in my lap and returned to the kitchen to sit by the bag of dog food, where the others joined him.

The dogs had spoken. Nonverbal communication reigned. Over dinner Robert Redford commented how smart a human I was to be able to relate the scoop with it being time to eat.  Chi mentioned how difficult human training is in general.

Dog and Cat Difference

Difference between my dogs and Smoki, my cat is:

The dogs stare at my food with a pitiful look that says,

“Please, share your food.”

The cat stares into my eyes with an outraged look saying,

“That’s my food; why are you keeping it from me?!”

P.S. For scientific types, the take away is the dogs stare at the food, the cat stares in my eye.

Anthropomorphizing is just too much fun.

A Little Dog's Journey Home by Chi-Ping

When I came to Sato Hill; or actually, the day I was unceremoniously dumped, I cried, curled in a corner waiting for my people to return for me.

Lost, mourning, I worried what they would do without me. Would they be scared in the night without me to alert them to danger? Would they miss the scent of my presence the way I missed theirs?

I gave myself credit for being a spectacular intruder alarm. From my tiny room I could hear a leaf fall. Strange sounds deserve an all out panic bark! Suppose something bad happens! My barks alerted them to danger!

From my very first night on the street the neighbors where I landed received the benefit of my alarm services. They rewarded me with leftovers.

Mourning my world lost, without a clue to go home, I brooded, but the neighborhood Satos/street dogs stuck their noses up my butt. Until you die, you’re just part of someone else’s show. I had to stand up to these Satos to show them I wouldn’t be cast as their victim or whipping girl. They nosed me around some, but then they liked me.

I thought about my family, my life in the room, how happy I’d be when they came in to see me. Outdoors is a big scary place; my mind felt turned inside out.

The two neighbor ladies fed me well, when Blondie and Stormy, who died, weren’t around, but never gave me water. Stormy showed me where to go for water and how to hunt mice to supplement sometimes meager leftovers. I came to the road a fat little animal. Stormy taught me about life in the neighborhood, but I stayed close to where I got dropped believing they loved me and would come back for me.

One day just when my tail was beginning to wag again, the woman up the hill threw a towel over me. I did my best to bite her, but the towel got in my way. The next thing I knew a man held me on his lap. In a warm, kind voice he said, “Good Girl, you’re going for a car ride.”

I wanted to tell about the fiasco my last car ride was, but instead I nestled down onto his big hands, staring at the woman who grabbed me.

After that everything blurred. Blondie said that they fixed me. Huh? Back on the street I prowled my neighborhood with Blondie; until one night Blondie and I were taken away from the island.

My introduction to a pet carrier, followed by a weigh in at the airport and I flew to New Orleans chewing my way through the fabric until she shoved something for motion sickness down my throat.

From then on we walked city streets tied to the woman. People, who knew there were so many, people with dogs tied like we were. Blondie barked and barked, but none told her why people were tied to us. Great packs of children played baseball or football across the street from where we lived. We could smell strange creatures living in sewers and squirrels chattered, mocking us from above.

I didn't like being tied or behind a fence, so one day I snuck past dad, the man with the loving voice.  The woman, who grabbed me in the towel, called me; was she kidding?

Wandering where I pleased, I allowed her to follow a couple of feet behind me, like she could ever catch me, hah!

A lovely lady I hadn't seen before called me by my new name, “Good Girl!”

I ran to her, she scooped me into her arms. I felt safe again. She handed me over to mom, who put me on the leash to walk home.

A few months later we were back in the airport on our way home. People admired how well I walked on leash with my head held high and my erect tail slicing the air.

Men outside the Aguadilla Airport doors greeted me, “Boriqua dog, that’s a Boriqua dog. Welcome home Boriqua dog.”

An hour later we were back home on Sato Hill.

Changing Patterns

     The dogs have settled into a comfortable pattern of early morning runs up the hill to investigate everything that set foot on the road during the night. Dogs dumped seek food and water after they calm down and start to get really hungry. They go for miles until they find a source of food and water. These days of no rain make it more difficult for the dogs than lack of food. There’s a break in the water main uphill from us, so I think more strays are making their way to our road.

     The dogs have been spending their nights in the house. They bark when dogs go down the road, but I’ve gotten tired of worrying about the fights they get into overnight, when dogs seem to travel around more.

     I’ve been practicing recalls with the boys. Robert Redford shows his golden personality by hauling butt up the hill as fast as he can. Lucky sometimes gets involved in barking and bouncing, so he doesn’t hear the first time. When he hears or sees Red running up, he comes running.

     Blondie gets so serious about protecting her turf that she’s the last to come. Chi-Ping often sees barking activity in the street as an opportunity to come in the house. She’s heading home when I come out to call. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started shit to get to come in.

     Over the years of watching dogs here things seem to have changed in that there once was a steady group of dogs living in the neighborhood. I saw the same dogs for a few years, and now, the dogs change frequently.

     I feed dogs I see on the road unless they look well fed. That happens dogs running the road are sometimes, not too often, well nourished. Some dogs I’ve seen in the same area for months or years. I have very few old friends anymore. I don’t know what that means.  

    

Dog Fighting

The verity of your hilarity is lost when dogs fight in pits

Euthanize animals chewed to bits

By what method can we see with clarity

Our relationship with others’ pain and suffering is sick

When every Sunday we worship Michael Vick

Pro quarter back sublime

Who murdered dogs in their prime

Their only crime failure to exterminate an opponent

Is this the way we roll now

Dog and cock fighters take a bow

Your mothers must be so proud 

Neanderthal, civilized man

Who knows what side of the line each will stand

The dissolution of our race

Shown in the boy’s face

As he smiled with glee

At what happened to the puppy

The bait dog lay writhing, dying