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When you’re down hearted, feeling low, at the end of your rope this is where you want to be, you CAN trust me on this one, I know.
Hammocks hanging from the Palm trees and sea grapes that frame my view of the Caribbean Sea, with surf sounds ranging from soothing to almost scary at times is a scene that makes anything better.
Friendly dogs,Lili and Paco, the cutest pair of brown doxi and heaven only knows, follow grounds keeper Willy as he primps and tidies, they chase under the hammocks and around the palms like the happiest k9 kids ever despite both having injured rears.
Pelicans looking like jets in formation patrol the shallow water, then soar to plummet height to dive into breakfast, now, this is morning's entertainment.
Honestly the little lizards doing pushups and inflating their throats is a good opening act for my first cup of coffee. If the well tanned young men are bobbing in the surf waiting for the right wave at the same time, my life is complete.
Last night we celebrated my hubby’s birthday at Musafa’s (Carr. #3 Maunabo) karaoke night party with people singing their hearts out was a ton of fun, especially when this thin man with very erect posture in khaki pants, a blue sleeveless tee shirt and a white hard hat strode into the room; with a flair he took off the hard hat, grabbed the micro phone, belted out a song, put his hard hat and with posture just as erect as ever strode back out the way he came in. Bravo birthday night success.
The dogs stand at enough of a distance for them to figure out, if you like dogs and if you are good for food or a tummy rub, which Lili is very fond of tummy rubs, flopping over at any sign that you will rub the tummy for even a second.
Any trash attracts rodents, so the staff toss any food stuffs to the dogs as they clean the rooms, this wise practice seems common on the island. The more contexts that I see the island dogs in, the more it seems that they have a unique ecological niche.
A large dose of the beauty of nature, friendly places and if I’m still hanging by a rope; I’ll deal with it on Monday.
May dogs be with you!
Ever wonder what the end of your rope really looks like? What is the limit, if it doesn’t kill you?
Who wants to hear the endless chatter of what lead to the point? After my first cruelty raid or day of the dead, diseased and dying dogs, when I upchucked the medicine prescribed to prevent me from getting Leptospirosa, I kinda knew I was there.
To tell you the truth after my old friend, Stormy, the smartest Sato ever, died in the street, hit by a car; I wasn’t too sure I wanted to be here seeing him on my veranda or hearing his distinctive barks.
Because of Stormy, I fell in love with mutts, after a life time in pure bred dogs. I fell in love with the island and the people; this place has unique flavor.
As we wait for the closing on our property in Illinois, my mind is becoming focused on what I can do to help the island dogs of Puerto Rico. The raid was a pivot point in my thinking.
While all this manure is happening, my husband, Kirt, is having a big birthday, well, next year is the decade changer, those are always big birthdays, but this one deserves a trip to our favorite seaside resort in Patillas, where we’ve spent a few occasions, like my birthday a few years ago.
Yes, that’s what we need a perfect day in paradise to celebrate my honey’s big day and to give me a little rope back; I need some rope.
The internet netted a economy special of $88 per night with full breakfast in our favorite spot, no TV no air conditioner, but no matter, the scenery is spectacular, so who cares. Since we haven’t closed on the property we’re careful with money, so with the perfect economy special on the screen, I called the resort. No, that wasn’t a current price even if it was still on their web site, $108 per night is the price.
The room is still available, we coming in the morning, please, see what you can do about getting us the price advertised, I am not too proud to say we live on a budget. This will be our fifth time, we do love this place, but for $108- no TV, no radio and as it later turned out, no shampoo, no coffee maker, no cups of any kind.
We wanted to return to where we have good memories and to nourish our souls in the beauty of nature, so we did the new deal.
The lovely Frances checked us in with an introductory speech, before we walked to the room we were greeted by the two resident satos, the doxie hound mixes with perfect manners know how to smooze the guests, they knew I’d be good for leftover pizza later, they liked me!
If the sun or the soothing surf sounds don’t completely unwind you, the breeze finishes the job off every time. This was going to be the perfect day we needed to get some of that rope back.
And then I opened the bomb in my email, the news read the buyers were terminating the contract; it gave no reason that I could tell as my head exploded. We’ve been under contract with these people for six weeks, the day before my husband’s sixty-ninth birthday; where the hell is that rope?
Sorry this is personal, guys, but when ya gotta bitch, ya gotta bitch. Tomorrow’s another day. May dogs be with us!
Since the raid on the man impersonating a veterinarian, my spirit hasn’t quite been able to return. Sitting on the veranda looking at the lake has brought some peace, but I am still very much not my normal self.
Without warning or provocation, I feel blue and want to cry; not being an easy crier, this passes. Not really hearing my husband speaking is new, this isn’t the I heard you, but prefer to stay with my own thoughts thing that I may or may not do; this is I didn’t hear jack of what the man said, now that is scaring me, when he looks into my face for an answer and I haven’t got a clue. My identity is Ms. Focused and on top of it; this woman is a stranger.
The other people at the raid, how are they doing? Are the vile scenes playing in a corner of their heads? How do they recharge without being consumed by the ugly side of life?
Spoiling those in my life is what I do, I am a spoiler, so when my happily spoiled husband of many years, says, “I want my wife back” I know what he means. It’s not as if I don’t want to please him, it’s more like I’m just not in attendance.
Is this normal after seeing the horrible things police, animal control and other see? It’s not about being a weak person; my true grit will match most, so that is not the issue.
Being in touch with our feelings keeps us whole and healthy, so I am looking for a way back to whole and healthy before I do this again and I will go on a raid again for love of my fellow creatures as will the other souls in our team.
There must be a debriefing or stress management counseling that we at F.O.I.C.C.A. can offer our officers, if anyone feels it would be of value or do we all just get over it on our own?
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
Blondie is off teaching Chi-ping and Goofy what she learned when she was new to the hill and Stormy would take her hunting. They come home charged up and all wet from underbrush in time for a breakfast of ¾ cup kibble with a splash of milk, which for the size of these dogs is not a whole lot of food, so their diet is subsidized at neighbors or elsewhere.
The dysplastic or injured Bay with deformed spayed feet acquired by living in confinement on concrete had waited for them at the bottom of the driveway.
Bay with his excellent manners and temperament is the dog most in need of a loving home because the loss of his safe confinement still causes his cheeks to huff and puff as he looks around even when no person or dog is near.
My sense of Bay is completely under socialized and exercised, with his soft sad eyes the apathy still there, except when he rushes down the hill barking all the way to protect against the loud motorcycle.
Training games should be good for us all tonight, since the only dog with a clue about what we are doing when we play sit games is the little dog in the center of the pack standing on her hind legs but sits with some coaxing.
Blondie acts as if she were thinking; sit, sit, where have I heard that before? I love to watch her think; it is difficult for her when her brow scrunches over her eyes, which are not really focused on me in spite we’re looking at each other, you can see. When she finally gives the sit, we are both so proud of her, some confidence with sit should come soon.
Mouths open Bay and Goofy stand without a clue that anything is expected of them; that will change soon enough, but for now is endearing watching the “What, you want me to do something!” look on both boys’ faces.
Goofy is the right name for this lanky teenage dog with sweet medium brown eyes and so much to learn who puts his nose into the middle of everything.
I’ll let you know how the games turn out. Tricia
