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(By Dione Goyette, December 30,2005) Street dogs, turtles and other lessons I’m sitting here missing a dog I only knew for less than a day. I called her “Orizaba”—because that’s where I found her. I was walking up the street when I saw a small, dark, fluffy shape yelping in distress at the heels of a woman who was standing on her doorstep. Suddenly the woman turned and slammed the door behind her. The wee dog immediately increased the volume on her lament and made a bee-line right to me, almost a block away. She was soaking wet and shivering, muddy—and not even a month old. My “To-Do” list for that day flashed before my eyes (bank, library, El Pato, bread, milk, mail) while I tried to decide what I was going to do with this little helpless beast. What to do? It was perfectly clear, of course, that I couldn’t just leave this poor soul shivering in the streets. So I picked her up and—like so many days here in Mexico—changed my plans. (I find you have to be prepared to do this every day here.) Later that afternoon, after I bathed and fed her, a funny turn of events took place when my car broke down on my way to the SPA and, again, my plans had to change. I would not be delivering Orizaba until the next day. I was really trying to avoid my kids coming home and seeing her, but alas, they arrived and we all fell immediately in love with her. Although we never openly discussed it, my husband Paul and I exchanged looks throughout the evening that said: “Should we keep her?” This story, or one very similar, happens to people here all the time. That’s why there’s an SPA and so many other caring people who look out for the animals of San Miguel. The incredible thing is just that—that it happens all the time and, forgetting the horrible situation these animals are in, my kids do get many opportunities to actively care for those less fortunate. This is one of the most difficult things to teach kids, as their world is pretty self-centered and as we were somewhat sheltered in our middle-class world in Toronto. My kids only heard about people and animals in need. Now, they not only see it, but they get the chance to do something about it. Last year was marked with street dogs found, cared for and dispatched. My kids and I spent seven consecutive afternoons on a vigil in the Jardín waiting for the promised return of a little dog that a ragged Mexican man was trying to sell (he never came back). We housed a small mixta puppy for three days until we finally found a young family who took her from us in the Jardín. And we finally ended up adopting a small mixta from the SPA after countless visits there, where my kids were expressly told, “We’re just here to look and love, not to take—not today!” The important lesson in all of this is that animals need to be cared for just like people. They’re not a recreational activity, a toy or a doll to look after—and they are not temporary. If you’re not prepared to do everything in your power to bring happiness to a sweet beast, then it is your responsibility to find someone who is. It’s not about ownership or power or proving that you’re “grown up enough” to have a pet. It’s not a test of any kind. It’s a life. That’s why we went to such extremes to smuggle our tortuga, Hola Baba, over the US and Canadian borders and back last summer. She was a Christmas present—a welcome addition to our family last year. She even comes when she hears my voice—no joke! And turtles aren’t easy pets to find a temporary home for when you go away. So we craftily made travel and hiding places for her with some old Tupperware, so she made the trek with us back to Canada. It was important for the kids to see that we couldn’t just leave her or set her free in some river or pond. She was our responsibility. My kids are becoming accustomed to transient visits of animals in need, and they’ve learned to understand the importance of giving each animal its best chance. This morning, we rose early to spend time with “Zaba”—or “Socks” or “Jenny,” depending on which of my kids you are talking to. We all held her and fed her, and my kids all said their “good-byes”—knowing I had to take her to the SPA. They trusted that she’d find a loving parent, and that we could visit her until she did. There was no whining or complaining about her departure. They understood—but they were sad. As it turned out, one of the Mums at the schoolbus stop, who seemed drawn to “Orizaba” (and who revealed to us that she had an aging Doberman), offered to take her as her own. She had lots of space, and it seemed that we provided her with the fateful encounter she may have been waiting for. My kids were happy, and Paul and I were thrilled—and relieved. Another happy ending for a one-time-homeless beast of San Miguel. |