"John Jacob Alzenheimer-Smith...That's my name, too...
Whenever we go out, the people always shout,
There goes John Jacob Alzenheimer-Smith....da-da-da-da-da-da-da--- **
Here follows a short rant. Feel free to skip it.
How many of you folks a-readin' this here rant are over 60? Can you recall?
I'll tell you what -- we are a lot more fun to be around than bein' stuck in a crowd of young knowitalls, sez I.
Why? ...'cause we laugh!
We can be in the middle of some involved conversation and forget just what our point was -- and what do we do? We laugh! What do our younger compadres do? They nudge the person next to them (assuming that person is under 60), raise one surreptitious eyebrow with a glance toward one of us, and then they both nod, and roll their eyes.
Oh, and hey! How about when you ask the same question after a reasonable passage of time. Do that often enough and you get more than an exasperated "you already asked me that!"
Finally, it will come to "The Alzheimer's Talk"..... that matter-of-fact, down-to-earth, let's-face-it: "You Have Alzheimer's" talk. Sez I in reply: "I don't even know a guy named Alzheimer... how can I have anything of his? What is it that he's lost, anyway... maybe I've seen it around."
But seriously folks... the oddest part of this "gentle" talk, is the undercurrent of anger. I have (more than once) been informed that (herein unnamed) people are getting angry with my repeated questions. Angry! And of course, what follows is that they become dismissive. In their eyes, I am now irrelevant, confused, and not to be taken seriously. I do not matter.
In my own way of seeing it, I ask a question again -- because the answer I got was boring! ...and I quit listening! I want a better one. Besides, I often like what I am thinking about far better than paying attention to... well, you know.
Hmmm... I can't recall what else I wanted to say on this topic....
Anyway, it sure looks like there´s gonna be a beautiful sunset over the sea tonight. Clear skies. Just might see the Green Flash again.
You know, early this morning, I was sitting alone at a table under a lovely surf-side umbrella -- after a GREAT session of body-surfing, playing in set after set of wild bouncing big waves, ducking under and diving over, in playfully wild careening abandon. No one else was out there. Just me and the sea..... ahhh...
As I was dripping myself to a dryer state... I was watching the crashing waves, utterly absorbed in my own thoughts. Just then! ...a friend -- a man of my age (the kind that laughs and shares) -- STARTLED me with a simple hello! ...but he had no problem understanding my explanation of why I jumped so.
I told him that just then, I was enjoying the flow of a particular crashing wave. Rather than water, it looked like a vast skein of smooth, silken, silver cloth -- shimmering in the morning sun. In particular, what had fascinated me was the apparent wholeness of the cloth... There was the smooth rise of the silvery skein, as if wafted up on the wind, then the billowing out in its fullness... And ah, the shimmering light which it reflected at its full pregnant height and then... ooooh! As the wind beneath the cloth dropped, the left side gracefully fluttered down, simultaneously with the right side -- leaving the center of the long skein still aloft and billowing...
...only to be pulled down suddenly yet ever so gracefully, from both sides -- without a break in the smooth shimmering integrity of the whole.
===================
**The original song (which I learned at Y-Camp in Iowa back in the early '50s) is about John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith. You see, I was originally going to title this essay "Jack Jacob Alzenheimer Schitt" and begin the essay itself with "I know Jack Schitt!!" but it seemed rude and totally unnecessary.... so I snuck it in here.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Monday, May 19, 2014
Out. Of. Sight.
Rather literally -- out of sight -- as in, I cannot see.
Without corrective lenses, I am "legally blind," meaning I see only colorful blurry shapes. I recognize people by the dominant color of their clothes. So.... if I see you in a red shirt in the morning, and you change to a yellow shirt later on, I have no idea who you are -- not until you are right up in my face (and then, well, I forget faces these days, too, but that is another tale for another time).
So here is how I became --Out. Of. Sight-- here in Mexico:
1. Although I distinctly recall setting out a box of 6 contacts for my left eye, and a box of 6 contacts for my right eye -- neither box made it to Mexico.... which is to say, I have ONLY the contacts I was wearing when I arrived in Mexico (already a month in use, due to be replaced immediately, as in first week of May).
2. Oh well, thinks I. I can survive by wearing glasses all the time except in the ocean... which is when I will wear the outdated contacts... The ocean requires vision.
3. However, within days, my glasses and the case they were in disappeared (along with my headlamp, which affects late night pee forays -- thus giving me another kind of out-of-sightness).
4. Seriously >>out of sight<<. All I have left are those outdated contacts. I must carefully monitor when I wear them.
5. Then came The Big Glitch!! I hear them first -- and then see them, even in the dark of night: Cows are VERY big!! So it was a snap for even me to see them. Unfortunately, they were in OUR yard, where there are four mango trees with countless ripening mangos well within cow -- oh no, HORSES TOO -- reach. They can decimate the fruit of entire trees in a short while. Robert took off with a big stick and a loud voice, chasing and corraling them toward where there was a break in the fence (always, it is in the corner of our property that we share with one of our ...more casual, shall we say... neighbors).
8. Robert needs help chasing them down and corraling them toward that corner. I am blind! So hell... In the dark with just that little headlamp, I put in those precious contacts, grab a big stick (there are old tree branches lying around all over our wild backyard)... and start running around, shouting, waving the stick, blocking their escape routes. Mind you, I am wearing just a sarong tied around my neck, with sandals.
9. False security: they seem to have returned to their side of the fence and so I take OUT my contacts and crawl back under our mosquito netting, and nestle onto my Thermarest under a light sheet.
10. Then, DAMN!!! They are back! So I put my contacts back IN, and take off shouting, with my big stick waving. Once back on their side, Robert sends me back to bed while he sets to making sure the fence and gate are truly secure...
11. I take out those precious contacts, lie down on my thermarest and ---- fall sound asleep.
12. Wouldn't you know!!! In the morning, when I went to put my contacts back IN -- the only contacts I have for the next two months, my only line to SIGHT -- I discover that one contact is missing. It is simply NOT in its little compartment of my contacts case. It is gone. It is my right eye-one -- the most blindest, worst fuzziest of my two eyes. I quietly mention its loss to Robert.
13. (Ironic that this part of the story is "13" -- let us jump on to "14")
14. Robert quietly, carefully, slowly, walks over to the edge of our mosquito net tent, looking all around most intently. My contacts are soft'lens water soluble-ish light blue thin things.... Could be ANYwhere, including stuck under a sandal for starters.
15. And yet, he f 'in FINDS it!!!! Folded in half, dried hard like a teensy chip, it was right there in the dirt, outside the opening to our mosquito net tent -- he could see it there, among all the dust bits and little dirt chunks of last night's foray into our jungly backyard.
16. After a 24 hour soak and continual changing of the cleanser solution -- I could wear it again, no pain -- just good vision.
17. Only THEN, did Robert discover that it was HE who had gathered up my glasses case, and headlamp -- and stashed them carefully in HIS ditty bag.
18. Three and a half more weeks of this perilous hold on sight ... two outdated contact lenses, and a pair of glasses.
OUTTASITE, MAN!!!
Without corrective lenses, I am "legally blind," meaning I see only colorful blurry shapes. I recognize people by the dominant color of their clothes. So.... if I see you in a red shirt in the morning, and you change to a yellow shirt later on, I have no idea who you are -- not until you are right up in my face (and then, well, I forget faces these days, too, but that is another tale for another time).
So here is how I became --Out. Of. Sight-- here in Mexico:
1. Although I distinctly recall setting out a box of 6 contacts for my left eye, and a box of 6 contacts for my right eye -- neither box made it to Mexico.... which is to say, I have ONLY the contacts I was wearing when I arrived in Mexico (already a month in use, due to be replaced immediately, as in first week of May).
2. Oh well, thinks I. I can survive by wearing glasses all the time except in the ocean... which is when I will wear the outdated contacts... The ocean requires vision.
3. However, within days, my glasses and the case they were in disappeared (along with my headlamp, which affects late night pee forays -- thus giving me another kind of out-of-sightness).
4. Seriously >>out of sight<<. All I have left are those outdated contacts. I must carefully monitor when I wear them.
5. Then came The Big Glitch!! I hear them first -- and then see them, even in the dark of night: Cows are VERY big!! So it was a snap for even me to see them. Unfortunately, they were in OUR yard, where there are four mango trees with countless ripening mangos well within cow -- oh no, HORSES TOO -- reach. They can decimate the fruit of entire trees in a short while. Robert took off with a big stick and a loud voice, chasing and corraling them toward where there was a break in the fence (always, it is in the corner of our property that we share with one of our ...more casual, shall we say... neighbors).
8. Robert needs help chasing them down and corraling them toward that corner. I am blind! So hell... In the dark with just that little headlamp, I put in those precious contacts, grab a big stick (there are old tree branches lying around all over our wild backyard)... and start running around, shouting, waving the stick, blocking their escape routes. Mind you, I am wearing just a sarong tied around my neck, with sandals.
9. False security: they seem to have returned to their side of the fence and so I take OUT my contacts and crawl back under our mosquito netting, and nestle onto my Thermarest under a light sheet.
10. Then, DAMN!!! They are back! So I put my contacts back IN, and take off shouting, with my big stick waving. Once back on their side, Robert sends me back to bed while he sets to making sure the fence and gate are truly secure...
11. I take out those precious contacts, lie down on my thermarest and ---- fall sound asleep.
12. Wouldn't you know!!! In the morning, when I went to put my contacts back IN -- the only contacts I have for the next two months, my only line to SIGHT -- I discover that one contact is missing. It is simply NOT in its little compartment of my contacts case. It is gone. It is my right eye-one -- the most blindest, worst fuzziest of my two eyes. I quietly mention its loss to Robert.
13. (Ironic that this part of the story is "13" -- let us jump on to "14")
14. Robert quietly, carefully, slowly, walks over to the edge of our mosquito net tent, looking all around most intently. My contacts are soft'lens water soluble-ish light blue thin things.... Could be ANYwhere, including stuck under a sandal for starters.
15. And yet, he f 'in FINDS it!!!! Folded in half, dried hard like a teensy chip, it was right there in the dirt, outside the opening to our mosquito net tent -- he could see it there, among all the dust bits and little dirt chunks of last night's foray into our jungly backyard.
16. After a 24 hour soak and continual changing of the cleanser solution -- I could wear it again, no pain -- just good vision.
17. Only THEN, did Robert discover that it was HE who had gathered up my glasses case, and headlamp -- and stashed them carefully in HIS ditty bag.
18. Three and a half more weeks of this perilous hold on sight ... two outdated contact lenses, and a pair of glasses.
OUTTASITE, MAN!!!
Friday, January 17, 2014
THAT'S TELLING THE CARTEL, and then some!
So, uh...
I was ambling along the empty, peaceful dirt road that runs through the little Mexican village where I live (part-time). It's a quiet road with sweet homes on either side. On this road, often, there are little kids playing right there in the middle of it, in the dirt, living out fantasy adventures with their toy horses and trucks, or kicking/tossing/batting balls back and forth.
So, on this day, as I approached what I refer to as the "center" of the village -- there came a pick-up truck from the other direction -- racing down the short hill, careening around the corner, and coming straight towards me.
This little old lady was very angry.... yes indeed.
I scowled at the truck as it rapidly approached, and made the universal motion (palm-down, with repeated downward motion) signifying, "SLOW DOWN!!!"
I don't actually know if they DID slow down. All I recall now is this: as they drove by me, I saw that the pick-up was filled with men -- in the cab, and in the back -- all staring right into my eyes, as if memorizing my face. All of them (well, maybe not the driver) were holding machine guns. Cartel guys, on patrol.
I guess I told them!
I was ambling along the empty, peaceful dirt road that runs through the little Mexican village where I live (part-time). It's a quiet road with sweet homes on either side. On this road, often, there are little kids playing right there in the middle of it, in the dirt, living out fantasy adventures with their toy horses and trucks, or kicking/tossing/batting balls back and forth.
So, on this day, as I approached what I refer to as the "center" of the village -- there came a pick-up truck from the other direction -- racing down the short hill, careening around the corner, and coming straight towards me.
This little old lady was very angry.... yes indeed.
I scowled at the truck as it rapidly approached, and made the universal motion (palm-down, with repeated downward motion) signifying, "SLOW DOWN!!!"
I don't actually know if they DID slow down. All I recall now is this: as they drove by me, I saw that the pick-up was filled with men -- in the cab, and in the back -- all staring right into my eyes, as if memorizing my face. All of them (well, maybe not the driver) were holding machine guns. Cartel guys, on patrol.
I guess I told them!
Sunday, December 15, 2013
A GUANAJUATO ANECDOTE
This return trip, we took our time -- not just zooming from Colorado mountains to Pacific coast and back. Ah, Patzcuaro again... always pleasing. And this time, we also went to Guanajuato. Besides being a beautiful town built on steep rolling hills -- which we enjoyed driving through:
......we also knew that there was a museum containing mummies. We were expecting to see royal mummies from the Aztecs, in all their finery and posings.
Not so. Yet, we were entranced.... That is to say, the way one would be entranced whilst looking long and thoughtfully at ever so many individual mummies, now housed in glass boxes -- each one caught in whatever pose that their untimely death caused, even tiny babies. They were ordinary Mexicans caught by a cholera epidemic in the 1830s, and stored in dry caves which preserved them. You can google the mummies of Guanajuato for more photos of what we saw, and more information...
But ah.... there is a delightful anecdote w/r Guanajuato: our experience with a professional guide. As we approached the perimeter of the town, several hills/valleys away from the center -- we came upon the kiosk of tourist info, and a friendly fellow approached us, offering to be our guide. He said that the roads were very winding, and the tunnel system (tunnels? what's that about, we wondered) is very complex. It is very easy to get lost and confused. Jojo was rather abruptly rude to him (commenting later that he used to be such a "guide" in the Philippines, scamming tourists with tales of how they'll get lost without a guide etc...) Myself, I was inclined to believe this guy, and since our time was short (late afternoon), why not hire him?
BUT! we didn't hire him, and blundered towards town, descending into and out again from the first set of perplexing winding intersecting tunnels. This town is riddled with the underground tunnel system -- who would ever have suspected that a small picturesque town rolling over various steep hills in Mexico would have a snake's nest of tunnels BELOW the picturesquely colorful buildings and winding streets above?
Anyway, when we emerged into daylight, we came upon a roundabout -- more choices! We were utterly perplexed with no idea what to do next. We pulled to the crowded side of the narrow busy winding road with its many side roads branching out, and out came our simplified tourist maps....
After a polite passage of time as we puzzled over the maps, up to our window walked the very same professional guide -- offering, once again, his services. He had followed along behind us on his motorcycle(!)... knowing full well that we'd get all tangled up in the road system of roundabouts, hills, and tunnels. I gave Robert that Look, and he nodded, and we hired him.
As our guide zoomed ahead of us on his motorcycle, I was delighted to read the back of his black leather jacket: "TURISTA RESCATE" ( Tourist Rescue)
......we also knew that there was a museum containing mummies. We were expecting to see royal mummies from the Aztecs, in all their finery and posings.
Not so. Yet, we were entranced.... That is to say, the way one would be entranced whilst looking long and thoughtfully at ever so many individual mummies, now housed in glass boxes -- each one caught in whatever pose that their untimely death caused, even tiny babies. They were ordinary Mexicans caught by a cholera epidemic in the 1830s, and stored in dry caves which preserved them. You can google the mummies of Guanajuato for more photos of what we saw, and more information...
But ah.... there is a delightful anecdote w/r Guanajuato: our experience with a professional guide. As we approached the perimeter of the town, several hills/valleys away from the center -- we came upon the kiosk of tourist info, and a friendly fellow approached us, offering to be our guide. He said that the roads were very winding, and the tunnel system (tunnels? what's that about, we wondered) is very complex. It is very easy to get lost and confused. Jojo was rather abruptly rude to him (commenting later that he used to be such a "guide" in the Philippines, scamming tourists with tales of how they'll get lost without a guide etc...) Myself, I was inclined to believe this guy, and since our time was short (late afternoon), why not hire him?
BUT! we didn't hire him, and blundered towards town, descending into and out again from the first set of perplexing winding intersecting tunnels. This town is riddled with the underground tunnel system -- who would ever have suspected that a small picturesque town rolling over various steep hills in Mexico would have a snake's nest of tunnels BELOW the picturesquely colorful buildings and winding streets above?
Anyway, when we emerged into daylight, we came upon a roundabout -- more choices! We were utterly perplexed with no idea what to do next. We pulled to the crowded side of the narrow busy winding road with its many side roads branching out, and out came our simplified tourist maps....
After a polite passage of time as we puzzled over the maps, up to our window walked the very same professional guide -- offering, once again, his services. He had followed along behind us on his motorcycle(!)... knowing full well that we'd get all tangled up in the road system of roundabouts, hills, and tunnels. I gave Robert that Look, and he nodded, and we hired him.
As our guide zoomed ahead of us on his motorcycle, I was delighted to read the back of his black leather jacket: "TURISTA RESCATE" ( Tourist Rescue)
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
UPDATE ON THE PUPPIES
Apparently there were 5 puppies .... the four brown ones I watched over and found homes for, and all along, there was a fifth one, mostly white... I am told, now, that our next-door neighbors had him in their care all that time...
Anyway, upon our return to our village home after 4 months away:
The moment we approached our humble digs for the first time since we left (last June), who should come running out to us -- from across the road, where he now lives -- but Coyote, so ecstatic to see us that he bowed his head as he GRINNED, walking sideways, tripping over his own feet and falling, tail a mere blur of joy.... When he reached my outstretched arms, he collapsed on the ground, belly up and there we were: me scratching his entire body while he wriggled ecstatically.
Not long afterwards, there came Manuela --who we learned has been renamed Pantera (Panther). She approached me in exactly the same overwhelmed-with-joy fashion.
Pantera y Coyote --perritos felices, en buen salud. They now come by daily for long visits, of course, but we never feed them. We merely provide water (and cannot resist petting them).
What about Guantes and Pirata?
A few days later, we drove to the next village up the road from ours.... The couple who adopted them both are good, responsible, loving people, but the news is less joyful.
Guantes (Socks) is dead. He was the first of the puppies to appear in our yard -- a starving, stumbling, pathetic puppy... the very sight of whom made me spring from my hammock to give him water, and search for some kind of food that is good for puppies... The Beginning...
Alas, while living with his owners, he got into some chicken bones.... As we were a told as kids when I was growing up -- never let dogs get into chicken bones.... But Guantes DID get into chicken bones. A bone or bones, lodged in the throat of dear Guantes, and he did not survive the trauma. I did not ask for details.
As for Pirata... He is healthy, but I see no light in his eyes. He showed no recognition of me, nor even interest when I offered him a sniff of my fingers... He just plodded solemnly to his little resting place by the front door of the beautiful cottage (surrounded by flowers and veggie garden) -- and plopped down. He did not move after that... I have no idea what.... to think. As a human, I entertain the idea that maybe, though he recognizes me, he is deeply grieving for his beloved brother...
What is happening NOW, is the white brother-dog (name slips my mind but its a good one), and Coyote have taken to sneaking onto our porch (where we sleep while it is still raining at night) and curl up up very nearby, under the table, so very very near to us.... and then hop off of the porch if we glimpse them. They "know" better! (Curiously, this white brother greets me in the same ecstatic manner.. even though I had no interaction whatsoever with him... basically unaware of him before.)
And Manuela? Manuela is permanently injured (folks here do NOT take dogs to veterinarians). She was chasing a little motorized vehicle, got hit, and badly damaged one back leg. She now hops on the other three, holding the injured one in the air....SOMETIMES putting weight on it (and she does not wince when we touch it all over, checking for injury).... so there is vague hope she could heal. She has not been joining her brothers in these clandestine sleepovers on our property. I presume she sleeps at her own digs just across the road.
All three of these guys remain ecstatically happy to see us every day. Again, we do NOT feed them.. They have owners now. We just keep water available to them, that's all... Oh, and we DO pet them. Can't NOT pet them.
Anyway, upon our return to our village home after 4 months away:
The moment we approached our humble digs for the first time since we left (last June), who should come running out to us -- from across the road, where he now lives -- but Coyote, so ecstatic to see us that he bowed his head as he GRINNED, walking sideways, tripping over his own feet and falling, tail a mere blur of joy.... When he reached my outstretched arms, he collapsed on the ground, belly up and there we were: me scratching his entire body while he wriggled ecstatically.
Not long afterwards, there came Manuela --who we learned has been renamed Pantera (Panther). She approached me in exactly the same overwhelmed-with-joy fashion.
Pantera y Coyote --perritos felices, en buen salud. They now come by daily for long visits, of course, but we never feed them. We merely provide water (and cannot resist petting them).
What about Guantes and Pirata?
A few days later, we drove to the next village up the road from ours.... The couple who adopted them both are good, responsible, loving people, but the news is less joyful.
Guantes (Socks) is dead. He was the first of the puppies to appear in our yard -- a starving, stumbling, pathetic puppy... the very sight of whom made me spring from my hammock to give him water, and search for some kind of food that is good for puppies... The Beginning...
Alas, while living with his owners, he got into some chicken bones.... As we were a told as kids when I was growing up -- never let dogs get into chicken bones.... But Guantes DID get into chicken bones. A bone or bones, lodged in the throat of dear Guantes, and he did not survive the trauma. I did not ask for details.
As for Pirata... He is healthy, but I see no light in his eyes. He showed no recognition of me, nor even interest when I offered him a sniff of my fingers... He just plodded solemnly to his little resting place by the front door of the beautiful cottage (surrounded by flowers and veggie garden) -- and plopped down. He did not move after that... I have no idea what.... to think. As a human, I entertain the idea that maybe, though he recognizes me, he is deeply grieving for his beloved brother...
What is happening NOW, is the white brother-dog (name slips my mind but its a good one), and Coyote have taken to sneaking onto our porch (where we sleep while it is still raining at night) and curl up up very nearby, under the table, so very very near to us.... and then hop off of the porch if we glimpse them. They "know" better! (Curiously, this white brother greets me in the same ecstatic manner.. even though I had no interaction whatsoever with him... basically unaware of him before.)
And Manuela? Manuela is permanently injured (folks here do NOT take dogs to veterinarians). She was chasing a little motorized vehicle, got hit, and badly damaged one back leg. She now hops on the other three, holding the injured one in the air....SOMETIMES putting weight on it (and she does not wince when we touch it all over, checking for injury).... so there is vague hope she could heal. She has not been joining her brothers in these clandestine sleepovers on our property. I presume she sleeps at her own digs just across the road.
All three of these guys remain ecstatically happy to see us every day. Again, we do NOT feed them.. They have owners now. We just keep water available to them, that's all... Oh, and we DO pet them. Can't NOT pet them.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
WHAT WOULD THE MENTALIST DO? (WWTMD?)
In the previous post, I left a cliffhanger.... WILL the puppies get beheaded?
The answer is no!
It's a great story -- email me if you want to read it. I had to assume the mindset of the Mentalist during the thick of things! Now, all is well.
Short version: They were all adopted by thoughtful, loving people. Better yet, they were adopted in pairs -- even better yet, the pairs were the way the puppies had sorted themselves out.
SO! Coyote and Manuela are sharing a home together just across the dirt road from our place, and Guantes and Pirata are together as well, in another village not so very far away.
What I share here are a couple of photos (out of many)....
Here is starving, frightened, homeless Guantes -- we could NOT resist those eyes. We began to feed and water him from the first moment he stumbled weakly into our jungly back yard. When he regained some strength, he went off and brought his sister (Manuela), and naturally, shortly after that, Pirata and Coyote showed up. All four were mere skin and bones, like this...
But give 'em a couple months of good food, good water, and good lovin' and you get this, with Guantes (on the right) leading the pack:
The families who adopted them needed dogs to work with them in their fields -- to head off thieves like raccoons, for instance. But also.... they welcomed the dogs as "amigos" they said. They smiled as they said that, while watching their dogs cavort about with each other.
All's well that ends well, and this is a good place to end this story. I'm kickin' back and.... watching the beautiful clouds in the beautiful blue sky. That's what the Mentalist would do, too.
In the previous post, I left a cliffhanger.... WILL the puppies get beheaded?
The answer is no!
It's a great story -- email me if you want to read it. I had to assume the mindset of the Mentalist during the thick of things! Now, all is well.
Short version: They were all adopted by thoughtful, loving people. Better yet, they were adopted in pairs -- even better yet, the pairs were the way the puppies had sorted themselves out.
SO! Coyote and Manuela are sharing a home together just across the dirt road from our place, and Guantes and Pirata are together as well, in another village not so very far away.
What I share here are a couple of photos (out of many)....
Here is starving, frightened, homeless Guantes -- we could NOT resist those eyes. We began to feed and water him from the first moment he stumbled weakly into our jungly back yard. When he regained some strength, he went off and brought his sister (Manuela), and naturally, shortly after that, Pirata and Coyote showed up. All four were mere skin and bones, like this...
But give 'em a couple months of good food, good water, and good lovin' and you get this, with Guantes (on the right) leading the pack:
The families who adopted them needed dogs to work with them in their fields -- to head off thieves like raccoons, for instance. But also.... they welcomed the dogs as "amigos" they said. They smiled as they said that, while watching their dogs cavort about with each other.
All's well that ends well, and this is a good place to end this story. I'm kickin' back and.... watching the beautiful clouds in the beautiful blue sky. That's what the Mentalist would do, too.
Friday, May 24, 2013
DROWN THEM; FIND THEM HOMES; ADOPT THEM; BEHEAD THEM
That about sums up the progression, and the mix of opinions, on what to do about a litter of cute puppies. They were abandoned in the riverbed near our village by some passing city-dweller. A common practice this, for such folks to drive to some remote village like ours here in coastal Mexico, push the puppies or kittens out the door, and drive away. Problem solved..... for them.
For us, it was just the beginning.
I am writing, again, about our life in a little village along the great coast of Mexico -- the only gringos in this sweet, peaceful place.
We were lounging in hammocks in the shade of our home-built ramada one afternoon -- after a day in the surf. Just one little puppy, all bones and weak and exhausted, wandered into our backyard where we were.... He could barely walk, stumbling, falling, and lying down to rest... Neither of us could stand it, of course. I got a plastic container and filled it with water, while Robert unearthed a bag of dogfood bought from a previous year's concern. The puppy sated himself, and collapsed awhile, then came over to lick my hand and.... then took off and returned with his sister! We fed her, too. Then, surprise, the other two brothers joined them. Four adorable sweethearts.
Not surprisingly, they stuck around -- and took up sleeping against the back wall of our casita... Very sensitive, gentle, and intelligent creatures, quickly responsive to our slightest messages. A simple "Sssssssttt!" is all they need for warning. For instance, they know that they are not allowed to come up the stairs onto our porch, nor into the casita. And of course, they are so playful now -- big puppy piles and chases all around our land, then coming to us for petting, and to give us passionate licks before racing off again.
And so began the progression of solutions. Our first solution: we tried to donate them to the no-kill animal-rescue place in Zihuatanejo but the place is full, and also, any animal donations must already be neutered.
Next, the thought of putting them in a bag and tossing them into the ocean was offered (NOT supported by me -- though I do know that this is how my Uncle Herb dealt with the many litters of kittens on his Minnesota farm).
Then... in fact, we are still in this stage... there is the hope of having them adopted out. Some success there. Coyote and Manuela have been accepted by our neighbors just across the dirt road from us (oh, yes, we named them all, which -- of course -- only strengthens our attachment...mine anyway....alas)!! So! Twice a day these two now go over there, and these neighbors feed them. The puppies know just what time of day that is. Their new owners do not --however-- pet them and play with them. Thus, the puppies still spend their days at our place playing with their littermates.... and sleeping in a puppy-pile there by the side of our house. Hopefully, when we return Stateside, they will bond more with their humans.
No such luck, however, with sweet Pirata (for mascara´d eyes like Johnny Depp in "Pirates of the Caribbean"), and gentle Guantes (meaning gloves, for the white four feet; pronounced HWAN-tays).
Robert gently, firmly, nixes the idea of adoption -- which would entail carting them back and forth between US & Mexico just for starters. However, the wife of our closest dearest friends offered a compromise to that! She says that she will come by everyday for the four months we are gone, and feed them.... (but as a fellow human being, I can imagine that this could become quite an unrewarding burden over time). Yet clearly, she and I share the attachment and tenderness for them...
And then there is the Final Solution, echoing the first one mentioned above. It came up again, as we shared breakfast on our porch... Both her practical husband, and my practical husband, offered a more concrete solution. Each of them have made a vicious, fast, hacking gesture while indicating a puppy's neck.
That about sums up the progression, and the mix of opinions, on what to do about a litter of cute puppies. They were abandoned in the riverbed near our village by some passing city-dweller. A common practice this, for such folks to drive to some remote village like ours here in coastal Mexico, push the puppies or kittens out the door, and drive away. Problem solved..... for them.
For us, it was just the beginning.
I am writing, again, about our life in a little village along the great coast of Mexico -- the only gringos in this sweet, peaceful place.
We were lounging in hammocks in the shade of our home-built ramada one afternoon -- after a day in the surf. Just one little puppy, all bones and weak and exhausted, wandered into our backyard where we were.... He could barely walk, stumbling, falling, and lying down to rest... Neither of us could stand it, of course. I got a plastic container and filled it with water, while Robert unearthed a bag of dogfood bought from a previous year's concern. The puppy sated himself, and collapsed awhile, then came over to lick my hand and.... then took off and returned with his sister! We fed her, too. Then, surprise, the other two brothers joined them. Four adorable sweethearts.
Not surprisingly, they stuck around -- and took up sleeping against the back wall of our casita... Very sensitive, gentle, and intelligent creatures, quickly responsive to our slightest messages. A simple "Sssssssttt!" is all they need for warning. For instance, they know that they are not allowed to come up the stairs onto our porch, nor into the casita. And of course, they are so playful now -- big puppy piles and chases all around our land, then coming to us for petting, and to give us passionate licks before racing off again.
And so began the progression of solutions. Our first solution: we tried to donate them to the no-kill animal-rescue place in Zihuatanejo but the place is full, and also, any animal donations must already be neutered.
Next, the thought of putting them in a bag and tossing them into the ocean was offered (NOT supported by me -- though I do know that this is how my Uncle Herb dealt with the many litters of kittens on his Minnesota farm).
Then... in fact, we are still in this stage... there is the hope of having them adopted out. Some success there. Coyote and Manuela have been accepted by our neighbors just across the dirt road from us (oh, yes, we named them all, which -- of course -- only strengthens our attachment...mine anyway....alas)!! So! Twice a day these two now go over there, and these neighbors feed them. The puppies know just what time of day that is. Their new owners do not --however-- pet them and play with them. Thus, the puppies still spend their days at our place playing with their littermates.... and sleeping in a puppy-pile there by the side of our house. Hopefully, when we return Stateside, they will bond more with their humans.
No such luck, however, with sweet Pirata (for mascara´d eyes like Johnny Depp in "Pirates of the Caribbean"), and gentle Guantes (meaning gloves, for the white four feet; pronounced HWAN-tays).
Robert gently, firmly, nixes the idea of adoption -- which would entail carting them back and forth between US & Mexico just for starters. However, the wife of our closest dearest friends offered a compromise to that! She says that she will come by everyday for the four months we are gone, and feed them.... (but as a fellow human being, I can imagine that this could become quite an unrewarding burden over time). Yet clearly, she and I share the attachment and tenderness for them...
And then there is the Final Solution, echoing the first one mentioned above. It came up again, as we shared breakfast on our porch... Both her practical husband, and my practical husband, offered a more concrete solution. Each of them have made a vicious, fast, hacking gesture while indicating a puppy's neck.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
