A Dog's Life

Most dogs in America do not have a “dog’s life”. If they came down to Mexico, they would go running back home with tails wagging. Dogs’ in Mexico mostly have to fend for themselves, and rarely get to have owners that tend lavishly to them. 

Amy and I see dogs wandering around, flea bitten and bedraggled, with wounds from fights or collisions. Our village has many. Many people live in little more than tin shacks. Unfortunately veterinary care is out of the question and the mongrels have multiple litters. 

The poor creatures tug at Amy’s heartstrings more than mine. “At least they are not being eaten like the dogs in China,” I told her. Then I added, “It might be better to be eaten.” 

We have property that is mostly fenced, but dogs’ have come in. I chase them out and have patched some entry points. One dog is acceptable—“Benito," who we learned belongs to a neighbor. He comes several times a day for treats, and has taken to barking at intruders. I have to say, I really like him, and Amy adores him. I joke and call him “Freddy the Freeloader," and Amy calls him “Loki”.

The thing about Benito is we cannot touch him. He will snarl and snap. As a companion he is good if I simply acknowledge him. He occasionally licks my hand and a couple times jumped up to hug me. But touching him is not allowed. Same with Amy, who is his major benefactor. No touching, though he will lick her hand. 

Little hungry mongrel

We have noticed animals sometimes are slapped or kicked, so maybe if that has happened, the dog will be defensive. The other day we went for our second covid vaccination. A young dog came to us and stayed by for a couple hours. It was raining lightly. A group of ladies was behind us and one swatted the dog with her umbrella, and kicked it once. It stayed with us until the end. We felt like taking it home but maybe it belonged to someone.

Recently one of the neighbors’ dogs came on the heels of Benito to our back door. He was thin, just little more than a puppy and looked at us so hopefully. Amy gave him some dog food. (She buys dog food now at the grocery store.) He ate it quickly and looked around for more. I warned her, “If you start, soon packs of dogs will arrive at our door.”

We have heard of a dog sanctuary in Oaxaca, started by Americans who doubtless felt sympathy and had the time and resources to make the humanitarian gesture.

We have Loki; or Benito, or Freddy the Freeloader . . . whatever his name.

Chamo Bamo

Chamo, on our hike, the day before he became ill.

Chamo Bamo, Monster Man, Sharp Sales Dog; I have many nicknames for our six month old poodle.  He came into our house and has not skipped a beat until a week ago. Then, the doggy day-care center called mid-afternoon to say something appeared terribly wrong with Chamo. He had thrown up ten times. I went to get him and he looked awful—barely able to walk and almost lifeless. Heidi Of The Mountains met me at the vet. We surmised that he had eaten something dead in the woods while we were hiking the day before, since he had disappeared for fifteen minutes and would not come when called, and when he did arrive, he had dirt all over his nose and mouth. Now, he needed an IV to pour fluids into him, and medication to keep him from vomiting more. After the IV, he perked up, but slowly began sinking again the next day, until near midnight, Heidi was so scared at his condition that we decided to take him to the veterinary emergency room. We arrived about 1 AM, and I was surprised to find the place busy with emergencies. Eventually, a vet saw our dog, and we were advised that he needed tests, and that the bill would be over $1000.00.
To make a long story short, Chamo was referred to an internal specialist in Albuquerque, 1 hour away. Heidi took him there and after ultrasound tests and observation at the hospital, we were told that he had a large cyst on his prostrate, and a birth defect, since his urethra was not normal. The bills are very high so far, and now we are looking at more expenses.
Both of us are attached to our “little man.” At the dog obedience school, the instructor said Chamo could lead the class if he wanted. He is the smartest animal I have ever owned, and very affectionate. Every morning, he jumps on the bed when I wake up, puts one paw on my chest and licks my face all over, and nibbles my ear. He has a way of biting my face so that it feels good—quick little love bites.
We have had him home now for several days, and he seems back to his old self, but we are stressed thinking we might lose him. And to think that we might have to limit his help for financial reasons is awful.
I find that my worries are familiar, and bring back memories of my long journey through the “valley of death’ with Naomi, my oldest daughter who died when she was nineteen.