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.   

    

Different Life Styles With Dogs

Hi Terry,

The Blue Cross in India running S/N & vax programs; is this the same as Blue Cross/ Blue Shield? I want to get more info on any possible funding source.

Anne,

I love your description of the dogs co-existing rather than belonging to humans. The energy dynamic is different. When I first arrived in Puerto Rico, the independence of dogs living outside the gates amazed me. I had never seen dogs self-determine their lives before.

I have noticed that the dogs in the more agrarian areas are healthier than the beach dogs of more densely populated parts of PR. To me, lean, injured and mangy seems to correlate with overpopulation.

Beach dogs with lepto from eating rats, I’ve seen, but not where I live in the country. My colony goes ratting most mornings. They prefer fresh meat to kibble. A rat’s last defense is to urinate in the dog’s mouth before the dog delivers the death bite. Some inexperienced hunters release the rat early, when they shake their heads to expel the urine.

What you said about the koori people having little consideration for their dogs reminded me of the groups of young men 18-20 year olds strolling the roads in Cuba with a number of male dogs.  The dogs were completely ignored by the boys, but the dogs were hanging with them. It intrigued me enough that I followed them for some distance. When the boys would stop to visit with other people, the dogs would go sniff something or lie under a tree. Why did the dogs stay with the boys, when they paid no attention to them, no re-inforcement that I could see; I hope to return to solve this mystery.

Colonizing dogs already at a site means that the dogs are neutered, vaccinated, vet checked, and monitored during daily care visits. There is no way to confine this many dogs.

If I picture life on PR a hundred years ago, I envision the dog situation to be similar; don’t you

What Dog Traits Benefit the Group

Hi,

The Puerto Rican island dogs forage alone, and sometimes in packs. The sound of dogs rushing through the brush with rats leaping for their lives in front of mostly mixed breed, Satos, some with serious grimaces, others clearly enjoying the chase with play face, quickens the pulse.

A hound mix, I called Owl, shared my porch for a time. He hunted lizards the way I shop for chocolate. (Yeah, yeah!) To quote an old Cab Calloway song, everybody eats when they come to my house. Kibble is served twice daily. Owl still shopped lizards with enough zeal that the other satos tried little lizards; a couple tossed their heads and spit it out, but others picked up the habit.

I watched a yearling German Shepard bitch teach six month old pups, Lucy and Robert Redford, to roll coconuts down my driveway, so the coconuts would crack open when they hit the side of my neighbor’s garage; but Blondie taught them to hunt rats, the supreme delicacy.  

In general, dogs’ behavior varies with the availability of resources. Hungry dogs are volatile around food, but well fed colonies can be social as dogs in doggie day care, which I ran for a dozen years.  

After years of reading your thoughts in the dark; why am I posting?

My experiences are written in my blog, as they happened. I’m writing this to encourage you with the multiple degrees to come, visit my island before the dog catchers round up the alphas, the docile, the elders.

Could you picture a holiday hanging on the beach watching a colony of free ranging dogs rummage in the brush?

You may be interested in advising me as I develop the protocols for maintaining dog colonies.

Dog problem: 100,000 to 300,000 free roaming dogs on island size of Connecticut.

Current solution:

Round up to euthanize every free running dog you see until a numerical limit of what the municipality will pay is hit.

Rescuers pic up every dog they can fit in their bac yard. Some are adopted or shipped to the states.

Colony keepers Program:

 If trap, neuter, and return programs are to develop public support, a follow up control, support system should be in place.

As part of the protocols, I want to identify the dogs that are more valuable to the colony, so they will escape culls.

If people come to observe these fascinating animals, the government of this broke ass little island will co-operate in handling the dogs in a more humane way.

Watching a bunch of males (dogs) poking around on a walk is my idea of fun. My travel goals include other places to watch dogs. Moscow to ride the trains with the dogs tops my bucket list; I’m guessing I’m not alone.

Can you envision behaviorists visiting colony keepers to enjoy dogs behaving old school except for the hunger and rampant reproduction. Picture January on a tropical island, hmm; that’s how I got here. Is this a crazy goal?

The protocol should identify traits of benefit to the colony. Any suggestions? Questions? I hope I’ve explained it adequately. Thanks!

Oh, and Terry I’ve read a number of studies you’ve supplied links for; thanks!

    

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?

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.  

    

Street Dog Shows Empathy

In the years I've been observing feral dog behavior in Puerto Rico, I've seen a mother terrorize her six month old daughter with painful bites to teach her to stay away from food even when mom wasn't near. This starving mother behaved ruthlessly.

Piles of kibble well spaced allowed the pup to eat after I demonstrated to her that I could keep mom at bay, which I did by spritzing mom’s paws with vinegar and water. This puppy was close to death from starvation when I first met her, so telling you mom, Blondie, was ruthless, no joke.

Regular feeding of the three resident street dogs gradually decreased Blondie’s food guarding to a less lethal level with occasional spritzing required.

Other strays were soundly routed by resident three with the puppy learning to attack viciously. Two meals a day at the Carr casa attracted street dogs from the area, before long eyes peered out of the tall grass at the edge of my yard with as many as six dogs at a time. The home team worked hard to chase the interlopers away.

One white and lemon starving yearling bitch refused to go no matter how hard they bit her. She would retreat, but not leave. Other dogs were chased off, but returned. The three were a formidable team, but food twice a day! Personally, I've always wondered how some dogs I’d seen over a mile away ended up on my door. Who snitched?

I don’t know what the “right” thing to do was, but I started putting piles of kibble close to each pair of eyes in the grass. The three retreated to protecting the yard. Every time they would chase a dog on one side a dog would dart in from the other to snatch a mouthful of food. The three would have murder in their eyes and force in their bites, packing calories of energy for a fight.

My husband said I was pulling them in to the house, but starving in front of me is not going to happen, most left after a meal or two, with added energy to pursue usual methods of feeding. Home team convinced them. My first encounter with dogs coming out of the grass in volume felt surrealistic like my favorite thing gone wild.

The white and lemon girl now named Snow White hidden in the grass approached the pile of kibble slowly, one stutter step at a time, her head so low it touched the grass. Her tucked tail and lowly haunches spoke to how sorry she was to be there. She gazed at the ground under her waiting to be attacked. So many times Blondie did just that; until I spritzed in her vicinity. For whatever reason, Snow White never ran in to grab a mouthful the way the other dogs did. She humbly, slowly walked up, if she got bit she didn't move, she took it, collapsing on the spot ever closer to the kibble. Most times she would be forced to retreat to the tall grass.

Snow White repeated this behavior until Blondie tolerated her lying down five or six feet away from the kibble. And then one day from the down she rose to a sit with low head and eyes on the ground she sat! Blondie rushed to establish dominance by towering over her in an upright posture, standing on her toes, but didn't just beat the snot out of her as per usual. Snow White looked prepared to drop, but held her sit. Blondie looked like she didn't know what to do, as the two maintained their positions. Snow White was the perfect pacifist. Blondie tired of it and walked over to a pile of kibble. Blondie never seemed to notice that as she walked away, Snow’s haunches rose from the ground. She was two steps closer before Blondie looked at her again. To my surprise Blondie only resumed eating. She had not walked to the closest pile of kibble, but allowed two piles of kibble in between them. Before long Snow crept to the nearest pile, before she could open her mouth. Blondie stood over her growling. Snow froze, Blondie gradually calmed down.

Blondie stepped to the right, obliquely away from Snow White. Blondie lowered her head in the direction of the kibble and Snow began to eat, slowly, cautiously with the tip of her tail swishing low.

Blondie in that moment decided to allow Snow White to eat, no coercion from me. I only intervened to prevent dogs from being wounded.

Was this empathy? Altruism, giving up her kibble? Did she finally think she had enough to share?  

A Puppy's Hood in Puerto Rico

Finding her place in the pack as it mobilizes, eight week old Darla avoids Chi-Ping who snapped at her earlier for giving play bows. Chi takes her crabby old lady role seriously enough to discourage pups from over stepping a Chi boundary.  Darla brings up the rear, giving Lucky a lick on the corner of the mouth as she walks past, towards Robert Redford to give him a corner mouth lick, and then she gets along Lucky’s right side to take her position. The crew tiptoes to the edge of the plateau to look over the side at our neighbor trimming his tree with a machete.

Blondie, the only dog not upset over this turn of events, stands nearby. The man trims his tree paying no notice to the dogs sizing him up only twenty feet away. Robert Redford decides it’s not worthy of his attention, returning to the porch. Lucky watches longer, but comes to the same conclusion. After they leave, Darla peeks over the edge to see what the fuss was about. The man returns her gaze, so pell-mell she catches the boys. Chi vanished a second after she saw it was the neighbor.

In the late afternoon the dogs hunt mostly lizards in the tall grass. With keen forward ears they zero in on prey. This time of day most rats are in their dens. I hope they’re not after the neighbor’s chickens. They got another one yesterday. Darla bounds straight up the side of the hill to come sliding down. Soon she’ll run the ridges like the boys.

A disturbance on the road commands attention, so one by one they leap the single step, running across the carport to investigate. Darla didn’t make it first try so she backed up a foot for a running start and on to join the guard dogs.

Learning canine behavior, the rules of the road for her world is important. A dog not knowing how to get along with other dogs is as dysfunctional a person not knowing how to get along with other people. Gees, maybe, that’s not a good choice, but you understand that having a good foundation in your own culture helps you understand the rules of somebody else’s road.  

Lucky teases Darla with a toy, shaking it in her face and then running around the house with her in hot pursuit, if a tad late. Everything is going well in her puppy life now; I hate to think of finding the forever home she needs. I can’t keep her, Robert Redford and Lucky need homes. This isn't good for them long term.

I pray for wonderful people to adopt these amazing animals. 

Learned Something

People never cease to confound, a man with a walking stick stood at my neighbor’s gate. The dogs charged down our driveway barking, cautiously they barked from our side of the road, when Robert Redford with head submissively low and humble tail wagging crossed the road. The man seemed to ignore him, so he sniffed his leg gently. The man whacked him in the nose so fast.

Blondie doesn’t like men messing with her friends, so she waited for an opening. He kept an eye on her while gabbing away, and when he turned to go she went in for a nip. He thankfully was quick, but she circled him barking all the way up the hill, when he left, with Lucky bouncing and barking without a clue of what it was all about.

Chi-Ping barked in the house, a blessing because the fast little bitch will circle around for a nip when a man is facing off with Blondie. She can be a handful of trouble. I should really find these boys a home before jerks like this ruin my lovely guys’ attitudes. 

All this man had to do was say, “Hey, Boy,” Robert Redford would have wagged his tail some more and walked away. He just wanted to say, “Hi.” The man didn’t need to crack him so hard. The sad part is that if he had talked to “Red,” Blondie would have stood down, ending the alert.

Sweet red boy ran right home to mama. I told him what a good boy he was to come to his mom, some petting for reward. I may be lazy about training lately, but I’m not one to miss an opportunity. “What a good dog,” as Barbara Woodhouse used to say.

Just when I thought it’s time to go in, teenagers , who not more than a week ago, stopped their car at the bottom of my drive long enough to yell, “Mother fucker,” to the boy, who lives across the street from me, are standing at his gate, calling his name. The three dogs on the porch with me growl as one. From inside Chi growls like she’s crazy out of her mind to get out. Our readers know what a drama queen she is. The boys must have made up; they went in the house to the relief of all.

We all learned something this weekend before Christmas. Robert Redford learned that coming to mom is good. Blondie learned how intimidate this man. Blondie scares this guy; it’s so much fun, Lucky learned; let’s bark and bounce. I learned what Baby Hueys my boys are. The man learned that he’s a heartless, stupid idiot, if he understands English. The asshole part I do think he got. My neighbor boy doesn't speak any English, but his friends swear at him in English; doesn't that strike you as funny?

My Life Now by Chi-Ping

Who knew island life could be so hectic? Being the neighborhood guardians, Blondie and I cruise the street and woods searching for danger. Interlopers come from all directions. Teaching Lucky and Robert Redford to protect the porch while Blondie and I defend the bed is a task for which I did not ask. As much as I do like being mom’s companion on treks to the post office or store, keeping an eye on that woman tires a pup out.

THIF, Blondie and I did not let mom out of our sights. Going to the beach on Friday is the highlight of our busy schedule. All morning mom sat in front of her computer. Smoki, the cat, is right, she spends way too much time with that thing; it’s not normal. When she finally finished, closed it and put it in the bag; hmm, that means she’s taking the computer someplace rather than back to the bedroom as usual. Oh, well, who cares; it’s TGIF.

We pant impatiently outside the door, while mom hustles around inside. Blondie’s usually steady calm is nowhere to be found. This bitch can’t sit still; now, Robert Redford and Lucky want to know what she’s so panting and slobbering about. “Grrrr, none of your business,” only stimulated the adolescent boys, who wait to see what’s going on.

Mom only takes two dogs to the beach at a time. She says, if she takes more, we won’t listen to her. Like I listen to anyone, hah, she’s not the boss of me. Perhaps, I should hang back on that until after I’m selected to go to the beach. Damn, these two pups want to go and they’re both so much bigger now, they stand over me. I’m lost in the pack. I hate packs; I’m not a wolf. I have to nip some feet to get these critters to move.

Just the other side of the door, Smoki meows to be let out. Yes, let him out, so I can come in to be with you, please! My tails wags so fast as I watch mom walk briskly into the kitchen. Let the cat out; I’ll be your only companion, Mom!

Before long mom backed the SUV on to the carport, spread a nice thick quilt across the back and left the hatchback open. Blondie and I quickly jumped in. Mom put a suitcase in the back and Smoki’s litter box on the front floorboard. Sensing one of mom’s traps, I jumped out. I know how she is; she lets me think I’m in; I’m going, then grabs me and puts me in the house before she leaves. I’m wise to her games.  

After mom loaded more things, she closed the hatchback with Blondie in the back. She called me, but I held back. I can tell by the sound of her voice if her coaxing is true or she wants to sucker me to put me in the house, so I wait to hear what she has to say, but instead she turned to Lucky and put the lead over his head. “Good boy, come on get in the car.” Oh, my word, she’s taking him with Blondie! I scrambled in on her seat and was in the back before she could lift the scared Lucky in. I’m here first, I get to go, my tail wagged with my mouth hanging wide open; I get to go!

Mom closed the door leaving Lucky to find a spot out of our way. The door opened; there she was with Robert Redford in her arms all limp and scared. He hates cars like Lucky does. Wow, we’re all going to the beach; how cool is that?

Finally mom, hopped in the driver’s seat; we’re ready to go to the beach. Smoki? Why is the cat coming with and he usually travels in his crate; where’s it? Wondering, worrying gives way to tail wagging happiness; we’re going to my favorite place, the beach, the beach!

Mom! We should have turned back there at the light!  The beach, you missed the beach; where are we going? I put my paw on the window indicating where she should go, but she kept on driving, when she turned on to the autopista/tollway I knew we were going to the shelter, Amigos de Los Animales in San Juan by the airport, by the beach.

The air conditioning cooled my ardor for the beach; soon we all napped until each toll booth where I felt required to assist Blondie in barking at the people who took mom’s money. The boys barely raised their heads. 

Barking dogs greeted us, Auntie Adri welcomed us with happy, squeaky words we love to hear and good petting. Jadie, Goodie, and Cinderella barked wildly from in the house. My friends I’m visiting my friends for the weekend; what a lucky dog I am!

Street Dogs Hit the Beach by Chi-Ping

Blondie burst out of the car like she would rip up all comers. Tom, Dick and Harry were wondering who was with me because it’s always me and Lucky with mom at the beach on Friday, which is now officially my favorite day of the week.

Blondie struck each one of those skinny Saldinaros beach boys with her chest knocking them over one, two, three, while they were still shaking I moved in barking fiercely. Blondie pinned one, I chased two into the bushes; I’m the best, my tail is so high I can’t stand myself. I knew Blondie and I would rule.

Mom said this was why she never took us to the dog parks in New Orleans. Bullies, us, I don’t think so. We just have to have our respect; it’s the first rule of the street. We’re supposed to behave like pets and be all sweetie- sweetie. The Saldinaros would shag our hinnies out of there. They’d like to go to our homes and be pets, so we let them know who’s in charge of the beach when we’re here.

Running and barking at the shore; what more can you want? Blondie likes to swim; who knew? Watching her made me confident enough to go in the water almost to my back. It was so exciting being in the ocean. Even better than chasing the birds, no I think chasing birds is better.

You’d be surprised how quickly you get tired running at the beach. Soon we were sprawled out on the sand near mom and Marcie, who were sitting in chairs next to each other talking, while this ten or twelve week old pup romances Marcie. He knows that she’s the one who took Hatty home from here and he thinks she’ll take him too. He sits there staring at her wagging his tail. What a little suck up; I can’t stand it.

Before we left mom gave the beach dogs some of our food and water. We tried to jump out of the car to get it, but mom stopped us. She said we were too fat and needed to go on a diet anyway. Oh, that woman can be cruel.

We slept all the way home. Mom’s right about one thing. A tired dog is a happy dog.

A Dog's Best Evening by Chi-Ping

Hi Folks,

What would make a little dog say, “T.G.I.F.?” Give up?

It was so fun! Friday evening we went to the beach again, Lucky and me. The boy did not want to get in the car; can’t say as I blame him. It took me a long time to get over the fear of being dumped. I’ll tell you, it was a shocker to suddenly be all alone in a strange land. Anyway, I digress, we were at the beach next to Home Depot in Hatillo.

I met Tom, Dick and Harry, and then along came Jane. She said she wished she was a wolf bitch; they only get bred by the alfa male, she has to put up with Tom, Dick, and Harry. Harry made friends with me and Lucky first. He said they were the Saldinera Beach Boys Pack He was rather scruffy for my tastes, but because he was four inches taller at the shoulders than Lucky, the little pi(t)bull squatted like a bitch and gave that stupid grin of his. I walked way down the beach all by myself with mom standing on the shore crying. She talks to dad all the time.

Tom lay on the ridge of sand at the edge of the parking lot with his head between his paws watching. Dick kept busy pissing on bushes like everything was his territory. This nervous little prick had nothing on me. I lift my tail high; sniff this Sato. Just then, along came Jane saggy breasts half filled with milk swinging in the wind, damn, I’ll bet that hurts. She had this don’t make me mess with you look on her face, as she looked for something to eat. I put my tail down for her out of respect for a hard working mommy.

Lucky and I went down the shore, we raced and played tag, mom walked along picking things up. I wished she’d run with us. We found a flock of Sand Pipers along a rocky shelf. They scattered wildly as we flew around the rocks. Harry even joined us for a romp.

As the sun dropped from sight mom dusted the sand off us  before we loaded in the car to go home. We ‘re going to do this every Friday. Lucky dogs. 

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.

What Does Tail Carriage Say?

The tale of three tails tells so much about who they are.


Blondie carries her tail in typical bitch fashion for a Puerto Rican street dog. The curl in the tail is most common to the females. She shows off her female parts confidently.


Owl (white dog dark head) has the most variable tail. It goes from typical poker straight male tail to look at this broken tail, can you see how it just hangs! He’s young and smart; confidence is coming. In the aroused state he carries it high. He knows when to lower it. For a taller dog to get Stormy to accept his presence, it’s an uphill battle. Owl manages to get along with both males few incidents.


Bluto grew up in his yard. He doesn’t have confidence. His tail curve got bitchier when his people moved. He is naïve, doesn’t know how to play with the other dogs. He rough houses with Blondie a bit. If she’s playing with Owl, he stands next to them barking; he’s doing that in the picture above.


He has small testicles held tight to the body. Maybe, one of you vets can tell me about testicular tissue mass contributing to gender characteristics; i.e. the bitch like tail carriage.

Stormy still bullies him. Blondie beat the snot out of him yesterday. She turned away from her dish; he got in it. She turned her head, saw him and it was on! He bit her hard; oh, was that wrong. All he did was cry after that mistake.


Once Bluto realizes his strength, if he overcomes his fears, things will change. It seems to me that as Bluto gains experience in the street, his confidence increases. When Blondie and Stormy are off, he gets cocky protecting the veranda. Just this morning during a protection event; he straightened the tail by a full fifty per cent, most impressive macho. He had a sheltered life, waah, he is a poor baby. At least that’s what I think so far. The more I watch, the more seems to come together.


Stormy has the most interesting tail of all, the broken rat tail. Not to be graphic, but it hangs like a limp dick. It tells the other males that he has no power at all.


Groups of males hang out; cocky boys have their tails raised like banners of social status.


The young Stormy’s tail was carried straight out, an extension of his spine; not straight up. The tail was lowered in two events in this dog’s life. Both were dog fights.


The first fight he came home with wounds on head, ears, neck and bad back leg. He hardly picked up his head as I cleaned him up. When he healed up, his tail carriage was low.


Stormy loves for me to work on his back. I’ve worked on hundreds of dog tails back in Illinois, so I am surprised when he doesn’t want me to do the work that will change his tail back. Conscious choice to keep his tail low??


The second incident was an event some dogs ganged up on him. It was breeding season; he lost his head. He lay under a car for days without moving according to a neighbor. We saw him about a month later; he looked like he tangled with a lawn mower. That was two years ago. His tail has dangled ever since.


Oddly, if Stormy is very happy; he can wag his tail.


The genius of Stormy’s low tail is that the cocky boys don’t alert to him to see him as a challenge. They put up with crap from him that they wouldn’t from a male with an erect tail.

When Stormy stays in the dog’s peripheral vision without the tail mark, he can bark his butt off. The other dog gets annoyed, but doesn’t react. Stormy is able to take advantage of this sweet spot for him because his tail doesn’t give him away.  


So with this tail raising and lowering going on that keeps the peace; what does that tell us about dog socialization, dog language and dog park??


Don’t be shy; tell me what you think. Mean while wag yer tail. Tricia

Puerto Rican Satos Share Space

Three intact free ranging males and one spayed female sharing the same space can be interesting.

Stormy the resident male for almost six years wants no other male here; on that this dog is perfectly clear.


The injured Owl had no intention of leaving no matter how many beatings he had to endure from Stormy. Blondie began to like Owl, but would join in Stormy’s attacks. Every neighbor yelled, “Hey!” when Stormy attacked him, so he backed off. It wasn’t any more difficult than that to my surprise. Every once in a while Stormy can’t resist taking food from Owl; otherwise they get along.

Since Bluto moved up here, Stormy has focused on Bluto removal. Stormy’s tactics are genius. He constantly nags staying just out of reach. Any nippy games Bluto may want to play with Blondie or Owl end up with Bluto getting his butt chewed by Storm. He just makes his adversary’s life hell until they leave. Bluto just doesn’t want to be alone; we stop Stormy.


Stormy’s determination undermines the other dog’s confidence, once that stopped Bluto moved to bully Stormy. A couple of lacerations later, they both understand there is no fighting on my porch. These two got into it good; it was a blood all over brawl. Owl sat in the corner and watched. Blondie took Storm’s side. He still ended up with a badly bleeding ear. No wonder why he’s starting to look like Mickey Bourke.


Stormy, Blondie and Bluto can be raising hell, barking and spitting through teeth. Owl will wind his way through the mess, sticking his tongue out about an inch as he goes past each one. They completely ignore him. He must know the password.
 Owl gets himself into trouble when he forgets to lower his tail. He riled up, runs down the drive with his tail straight in the air. When it’s all over and his tail is still straight the other boys will remind him to lower his mast or else. Being submissive immediately gets him out of it, so far.

Night Moves

Tonight is alive with the racket of the hunt. Frenetic barking gives way to yips and howls. Except for the barking, it could have been coyotes in Illinois.



Listening to the night sounds slowly reveals the picture. At first I thought all frenzied barking was about a dog fight. Some sounds didn’t quite fit a fight. It wasn’t until I realized that mornings when the dogs came back full of burrs were the same they didn’t care so much for their kibble. Tummies checked full. You do the math.


The nights, when some poor dog looking for a spot, gets his butt kicked all down the road sound different than hunting nights.


Hungry satos hunt to survive. It’s probably some of the best protein they get. Stormy and Blondie hunt regularly; they aren’t in the hunting party I hear tonight. Well fed satos hunt for sport.


Owl has learned from Blondie. He’s at that age where he gets so excited to hunt. They will kill any rat that comes in my yard. Those mangled carcasses left in the doorway by an admiring sato.


The experienced street dogs teach the new kidz the tricks of the trade. Bluto, the three year old home boy may not know how to hunt. It will be interesting to see if an older dog learns.


Speaking of Bluto; the family member has come two nights in a row to feed him. I’d say something about renewed faith, but I’d be full of it, so good night. Tricia

More Satos on The Hill Discussion

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 19, 2010 More Satos on The Hill Discussion

Melissa said...


Your description of the saber tail is so vivid. I've seen this "walk" before... many times. I am amazed at how Stormy defers and avoids conflict. I imagine not every male he meets has the same reaction. In the domestic dog life I see every day that stiff, straight tailed male walk is most often countered by the same body language. I would love to see how this is worked out without constraints (NO I don't want to see a dog fight but would rather like to see the lack of fight). I imagine much of this body language prevents fighting rather than encourages it.


Fights do occur especially in breeding season or when interlopers are looking for a spot to live. The older and wiser a street dog gets, the better the use of body language.


The neighborhood dogs learn how to work out their differences. They don’t want to be injured. Even Lance knows when to put that saber down.


Blondie is definitely forceful. I have often wondered if these dogs/bitches that seem to always need to be physical have some underlying lack of confidence. Fear? Weakness? Pain?


In our dogs, I would have to agree about underlying lack of confidence. Blondie is the big bitch on the hill, she is very confident. She thinks all the resources are hers. Except when I’m there, the dogs only know scarcity of resources. Sharing is a new concept for her.


Not sure if there is anything there but it seems that Snow white is so confident even when her body language is complete deferment. She is not looking afraid. She is not doubting the responses she will get with what she is saying. I can't see in the pictures if Snow is actually injured by these "maulings" but I imagine it is not serious and likely never breaks the skin. Otherwise I wouldn't expect her confidence when in close proximity to Blondie. Just some thoughts.


Snow has no broken skin. Dogs can deliver very painful bites with the back molars without breaking skin. Judging by the screams I hear, this is what I think is happening.


Blondie has chased her off many times, but the dogs are fed here. Even if she hasn’t gotten any yet, Snow knows we feed dogs.


In the picture for this post Blondie has Snow pinned, but isn’t biting. Snow doesn’t fight back. Gandhi would be proud.

Dogs In The Grass

After almost an hour of laying in the grass or when Stormy toddled off; Bluto is back on my porch tasting kibble left in the dish.

Blondie and Storm have taught Bonita to stay away from the food bowl until they no longer have an interest, since she was a baby. She still obeys that rule.
Bonita sees Bluto eating the kibble that seems to change the rules. As soon as he vacates the bowl, she is chowing down with abandon. Bonita usually chews quietly so she doesn’t raise her mother’s ire.
The relaxed way the girls are lounging around soaking up the sun, indicates a lack of interest in the macho war.

The white female from last week’s hunting party is hiding in the grass. Last week she was just out of season, only the virgin boys were still interested in her then, so the boys are not fighting about sex. I didn’t know she was here until she came out of the grass.

The hunting group was raucous. We could hear them coming, they scared game in their path. The island dogs can be as stealthy as a coyote. A couple of steps into the brush and I would not know them were there.
Bluto must not have liked my kibble; he’s home now. Stormy is snoozing contentedly on his porch. Snow White is in the forest probably with Sleepy, Dopey and Doc incubating inside her.
I can’t afford to spay every bitch that wanders into the neighborhood. There has to be another way.

Underground Turf Wars, A Dog Fight

Turf wars fought nightly have left our residents wounded and bleeding. Blondie's right front pastern is swollen with a deep puncture. She let me clean it with peroxide yesterday. As I stood straddle of her with my head inches above hers, my thoughts were with people I've seen at shows who have their necks and faces bit for less.
Blondie tolerated the scrubbing of her war wound, but I sensed she was ready to enforce her limit should I cross it. She's putting very little weight on it, needs cleaning again today.

Stormy's right ear is all chewed up. The hair on his neck is matted with blood. He’s at the bottom of our driveway and our neighbor's dog, Bluto is up here strutting around like the boll weevil, who found a home.


Closed gates and complete fencing are not the rule here, so the line gets blurred as to neighbor's dog verses street dog. Bluto has always stayed in his yard or right in front of his house; he's a home boy. Why would he leave home to hang with a couple of spayed bitches and be pissing all over my house? His actions tell me he is saying, "Mine, mine, and mine!"


During the night I saw Bluto curled up in a ball sleeping on our porch. He has a small healing tear in his sheath, which leaves his wanker exposed a bit. I need to talk to my neighbor to find out why his dog left home. This should be good.


Meanwhile, here comes Stormy up the hill. His slow, deliberate steps tell me how much he objects to Bluto's trespass. Stormy's path to the larger dog is not direct; he stops to cover Bluto's scent markings.


Bluto stands at the top of my car port ramp, growling a low controlled grumble. Stormy circles his way ever closer; it's like Popeye's little doot-ta-doot; it's coming.


Stormy's strides look well rehearsed like stylized samurai. When he arrives, it is by Bluto’s right side facing the same direction. Their butts are four inches apart, so close. Their heads are forty-five degrees apart, Stormy is barking, “Ruff, ruff, ruff.” He doesn’t look at Bluto, who is growling. Bluto’s eyes are on the exit into the tall grass, where he heads in that stiff legged way of walking; that says, “Watch-it stiff legs here!” And he’s gone into the grass.