Abandoned Puppies in Puerto Rico

New born always feel so magical to me; they are hope for the future, fresh life with no past only what’s ahead. Somehow deep in my soul I wish them well; I want them to thrive.

So when I see puppies abandoned on the side of the road, I can’t help but feel how bankrupt a society is that would toss them out without a care. In truth this is a bankrupt little island.

If it weren’t for the wonderful animal advocates feeding and rescuing, I would believe this place to be morally bankrupt as well, but in the three days I’ve been feeding the three little rascals left in the bend of a country road I noticed evidence that someone else is feeding them.

Three scared babies have hope to live thanks to someone who cares. When its so easy to feel overwhelmed by badness, it gives hope to see evidence that loving spirits care if the least among us have a chance to live because life is magic.    

Blondie, Beaten, But Unbowed

The swelling in Blondie’s face is going down. She’s drinking water and eating very little. Yesterday she had milk and raw eggs, which she lapped up like a champ.

Today her face hurt badly enough that she didn’t want scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese. She loves cheddar!

I’m guessing the guy who beat her is the new guy living up the hill. Despite all the discomfort Blondie barked and followed this man up the hill. I could hear in her barking that she was pissed off. Knowing her I think the only person she could sustain this much anger for is the man, who beat her. When continued barking outside his house, I knew she was pissed.

People, who beat dogs in the street create what they fear. They create enemies, where the dogs mostly bark, a somebody’s coming bark, they will bark that an enemy approaches.

In this neighborhood most early morning exercisers walk with sticks. One elderly couple, who walk in the morning, carries nothing. The dogs bark, the somebody’s coming bark, and then, as they get close the dogs whine and wag their tails because these people talk to them as they go by.

When will people learn, it’s not respect you get, when you wave a stick. Raise a stick to make an enemy. Bullies never get that.   

Who Beats a Dog Like This?

In the middle of the night somebody beat the shit out of Blondie. The other dogs slept in their beds in the house. I didn’t hear a thing. Dogs bark during the night. I don’t recall the dogs in the house alerting, but that only proves I sleep soundly.

The two inch cut under her eye was minimally swollen, when I first saw it around quarter to four Saturday morning, as I prepared to leave for a meeting of animal advocates in Ponce. The tear on her rear leg didn’t look terrible; a day of sleeping in the house would do it some good.

When I returned home her check looked like a big softball. Her eye seemed pulled to the side with the swelling. She didn’t get up, when I came home.

Shaking, could not hold the camera still.

You can only imagine how shocked and vulnerable I feel. Some cruel sadist crawling the hillside hurt her. Night walkers, men roaming the roads at night looking for opportunity carry a variety of walking stick weapons to use against the dogs, or whatever.

The force of the blow to her face had to be massive to create this much injury. This wasn’t a warning strike; clearly, whoever hit her wanted to hurt her.

In Puerto Rico Law/Ley 154 correlates cruelty to animals with violence towards women and children.  Statistics honor this belief, so this isn’t a comfort.

Ok, here’s the QUESTION:

If someone is attacking or beating a dog on my property, legally, how far can I go in protecting or defending that dog?

Is it the same as if I found somebody beating another human being? Or is it less?

  

Dog Rescue on the Malecon in Havana, Cuba

Bound and placed in a bag, squirming frantically to free herself, she lay exhausted on the shore of the Malecon in Havana with the sun beating down, hours before the tide would come in.

Two young lovers strolled hand in hand, discussing their class work and dreams for the future. They paused for a kiss, and then they saw a bag on the rocks. It moved! No, it was just a bag of garbage someone had carelessly tossed out; it couldn't be moving, but there it moved again.

With the daring of youth the young man leaped the concrete rail and negotiated the rocks towards the bag, which moved spasmodically as he approached. He ripped the bag open to discover a small yellow spaniel. Her legs and muzzle were tied. He carried the bundle to the railing where he and his sweetheart freed the dog, who wagged her tail in gratitude.

“Who could do such a thing to such a sweet little animal?” The lovers looked at each other in wonder, as they sat petting her.

“What are we going to do with her?”

Since they lived with her mother, who already had three dogs and two cats, they knew they shouldn't ask to keep the dog, but once you save a being from death you can’t just abandon her, so they called.

“Mom, we found the prettiest little dog. She was tied up in a bag and thrown on the rocks. We were walking along the Malecon and saw the bag move. You won’t believe how sweet she is; can she stay with us until we find a home for her? No, mom, I understand. It’s just that we saved her life and don’t know what to do with her. Mom, what should we do?”

Association National for the Protection of Animals and Plants is on Calle Principe number 128. 
Take her there; these are the people who help animals in Cuba. You can trust them to do the best for your little rescue. 

Overview of Puerto Rico's Dog Situation

On my first trip to Puerto Rico I saw a dog in the street and said to my friend, Gloria, “Quick let’s go pick up that dog and take it to Animal Control.”

Gloria laughed, which I thought strange from a fellow dog lover.

“This isn't like Illinois,” is all she said and so the subject was forgotten. She showed off her island home. We fell in love. Soon we were living in our new island home, watching a Border Collie chase cars at the bottom of our driveway.

Whereas the states have coyote, raccoon, and fox, the island has free ranging dogs and cats, most obviously the dogs.

Picture twice a year the chaos of gang banging bitches on the street corner and elsewhere; followed by dazed starving pups wandering in the road – not nature’s finest moment.

Unlike truly feral creatures like fox, raccoon, and coyote, dogs just want to hang on the porch, bark alarm and be fed. Most belonged to someone as a puppy.

Since 2005 I’ve seen many dogs including Chi-Ping be dumped by their people. This sadly is the single largest source of dogs wandering our streets. Strange observation is that I've never seen a neutered animal dumped by an owner.

Discarded pets with little chance of survival wandering the beaches and roads in search of a meal, water, and a safe place to sleep, compete with seasoned street dogs. Life in paradise is harsh, but nature being prolific their numbers increase to the point that for health and safety; something must be done.

Historically, and not just here, some guy mixes up a poison cocktail, ameliorating the dog population problem for the moment. This practice outlawed by law 154 seems to have decreased.

I would love to know the number of dogs collected and euthanized each year. If anyone reading this knows, please, tell.

The way this was explained to me is that each pueblo has a dog collection fund. At I believe the amount is $50 per dog, the dog collection outfit contracted with the municipality collects and euthanizes dogs until it hits the limit at which time work ceases, until the next funding cycle. This I believe is the government’s answer for Animal Control in Puerto Rico.

Puerto Rico has a large population of animal lovers and advocates. Adrienne Galler Lastra, the president of Amigos de Los Animales de Puerto Rico, mentored me through my earliest days learning about the dog problems here.

 I am in awe of the rescuers, so many loving people, who take in an unbelievable number of stray dogs. They spend their lives caring for hundreds of dogs in their homes and making them available for adoption; it becomes their life.

The Satos, Puerto Rican Island Dogs have guardian angels, who make regular rounds feeding feral dogs.

No overview of the dog situation in Puerto Rico would be complete without acknowledging Animal Cruelty Investigators like Alma Febus or Iris Quinoines, President of OICA, the Organization of Animal Cruelty Investigators.

Spay/Neuter Clinics sponsored by various organizations like Amigos de Los Animales and PAWS are popping up all over the island.

I’m encouraged to see the love and level of involvement coming from the people. This island has a big heart.

Yesterday on my drive to San Juan the roads were littered with moms and puppies searching for food.

No Dog Wants to Die This Way by Chi-Ping

The white bull terrier showed sense, leaving while Blondie and I were locked in the house, but not before she stood rock steady and Robert Redford sampled her goods. He mounted her, she’s not even in heat. You should have seen her promise him what’s to come, wagging her tail and snorting in his face.

That’s the way it is on Sato Hill, dogs coming and going. People put out leftovers some times and then other times dogs get dowsed with water and told to move along. Humans are a confounding lot. If you wait long enough they’ll do something to hurt a defenseless dog, even mom.

She took us to get fixed, which I now know meant to fix us so we can’t make puppies. That’s no easy procedure; let me tell you. You won’t believe what mom did to me and Blondie just yesterday. It was horrible.

With Snoopy pissing all over the porch and Hattie running around the yard playing tag with Lucky, and needle teeth puppy, Darla trying to suckle everything breathing or not, Blondie and I were glad to hop in the car to ride down to the gas station to guide more visitors up to the house. Since dad died we rarely get visitors, unless it’s some of mom’s friends, who we call auntie because they’re good to us and we like them, so we’re anxious to meet the people mom’s been so excited about coming. Blondie barked down the road to dogs and people alike, she blabbed everything.

A woman who looked like Jessica Rabbit with black hair, smiled as we pulled into the gas station. Before long we led them back to our house, where mom hopped out of the car to direct them where to park, since Jaime’s truck got stuck on the side of the house making mud tracks for Robert Redford to roll in, getting himself banned from the house.

The car door closed in my face. Mom hugged the Jessica Rabbit lady and a man wearing a uniform like hers, which said ACO/ACI, Animal Control Officer/Animal Cruelty Investigator. Everybody’s arms were waiving, talking,  smiles all around; they turned to look at the lake. Blondie and I waited with our tails wagging. They walked around the yard looking at the mountains in the distance. Mom pointed to Utuado, a famous mountain town. We want to get out and visit, too. The windows were closed. Mom showed the people into the house.

The people in uniforms come out looking relieved. I’d like to get out and relieve myself; now, they’re taking pictures. It’s a bright, sunny day the lake is spectacular. They sit down on the porch talking and eating. Blondie is so hot she hid under the steering wheel thinking it was cooler there. These people were not paying any attention to us in here; I had it, I barked. My tongue hung out, with my paw on the glass I gave mom a pathetic look.

“Oh my God, Dios mio,” the women screamed. They came running. Mom opened the door, pulled Blondie out. She ran for water. Mom grabbed me and carried me to the carport where she offered me water to drink and put cold water on our tummies.

Everybody came around, the people asking us if we’re okay and the other dogs sniffed us and gave a quick lick on the lip to console. Mom kept hugging me, petting Blondie and telling us how sorry she was. That was scary. It was hot in there, we could have died; mom needs to be sorry.

Later that evening, after everyone went home mom pulled out chicken and cheese; we had a feast. Mom kept telling us how sorry she was and feeding us. When it came time to go to bed, Blondie sighed with contentment her head on mom’s ankle, while I felt her love curled up in a ball at her side, under her arm.

So people; what’s the moral to the story? Yes, so many good ones, but I’ll go with PAY ATTENTION TO THE DOG. Love, Chi  

Ligature Marks Found on New Dog

Skinny, mangy with big feet, Lola, the soon to come in heat German Sheppard won us over the first time she cocked her head, when I spoke to her, following instructions sealed the deal. In the evening I walk around the house with the puppies, Lucky and Robert Redford, to get them to potty before going in the bath room for the night. On these excursions I’d admire Lola’s clean trot, but her feet were so big they looked like paddlewheels. Blood oozed from her legs at the pastern/ankle joint in front and hock/foot in the rear. Her feet looked swollen. I attributed it to the mange. She must have been confined to a very small area; she poops and pees right where she stands. Her nails would make Freddy Krueger jealous. A three inch wide collar wore into her neck creating a smelly ulcer.

Three weeks into treatment her hair is coming back. Puppy bucking during a happiness spasm makes her look like a basketball player after winning a big game. She’s old school German Shep in conformation, coloring and temperament, steady, easy to train. So far I’ve seen little of possible head trips from her former life, which amazes me given what I’m about to tell you.

This morning, while I made breakfast, Kirt, my husband sat in his wheel chair staring at Lola. “What do you see?” I asked as I handed him coffee. “This dog has had her feet bound,” was his startling reply.

The new hair growth pronounced the marks across her feet where rope or wire held her tightly enough to leave deep indentations more than three weeks later. I can’t even speculate how long she could have been tied. Under what circumstances do you hog tie a dog? Who does something like this? Does a person feel so sorry for themselves that they spare no empathy for another being? I’m sick to my stomach that this marvelous animal would have been handled like that, and then thrown out. I’m glad they tossed her out rather than continue this torturous treatment.

Kirt and I sat on the porch examining the ligature marks. We don’t do poor baby. We’re rather matter of fact about things, so it surprised me to see that the other dogs were aware of our change in attitude or perception about Lola. Chi-Ping did a double take looking from me to Lola and back to me. Lola, who was lying down got a surprised look on her face, when Chi walked over to her wagging her tail. Chi gave her a lick on the face and walked into the house with me tail still wagging. An hour before Chi-Ping snapped at Lola until she dropped to her belly. That’s how they usually get along.

This gruesome bit of news needed to come from me and not my darling Chi-Ping or Chi-Pi as Lucky likes to call her.

Thanks for reading, Tricia 

New Sato on the Hill

Early morning with the sun just licking the valley summits, coffee beckons. Four dogs trotting down the street have upset a pit bull chained to a vacant house down the road. He’s jumping and barking, destroying the peace. Conversation with my creator concludes. I toddle into the house for my first cup, followed by the new edition to the “Satos on the Hill Gang.”

A couple of evenings ago, at least I think it was a couple of evenings ago. Life blurs, since Kirt’s hospitalization. The “yipe” I’ve come to recognize over the years as severely injured dog, most probably hit by a car sounded close, sounded like a puppy. Every house had people coming through doors. Que pasa? A bare foot Geri, the first to arrive, yelled at Blondie. His anger with her was clear, but I didn’t understand anything beyond that. He poked in some leaves on the side of the road with a little stick. It looked like the leaves came alive. I couldn’t see what, and then I saw yiping intensely, a black puppy hanging from Geri’s hand by the tail. Lifeless rear legs splay wide. The yiping stopped and Geri walked off, stopping only to shake his finger at Blondie, who was standing in the road watching him. What just happened?

By the time I got down my driveway, everybody was gone. As a precaution I put Blondie and Chi-Ping in the house. I thought the puppy died while Geri was examining it. In fact I almost didn’t go all the way down to the road because I assumed that to be the case. The ruble in the leaf litter screamed, “Yipe” in my face as I bent over for a close look. I hiked back up the drive to fetch a towel.

What the hell; where did everybody go? When I got back to the puppy, the nearest neighbor stepped on her porch to say something about Blondie being a bad dog, as I picked the female puppy up and examined her. It’s probably a good thing that my Spanish isn’t better at this moment. If Blondie isbad, it’s nip and run, not one to just go in for the kill, attack a puppy, no. She was a good mommy. This is a baby, anything pre-puberty would get a pass from Blondie. I certainly didn’t care to discuss why she hadn’t done more than point a finger at another dog to help this little creature.

Kirt sat in his wheel chair waiting anxiously for me to place the pup in his lap. His wise old hands scanned the pup gingerly, while I emptied the wicker basket at the end of the bed. The pup closed her eyes, raised her head as if in ecstasy as he stroked her chin and neck. It struck me as odd to see her small smile. This would be her moment of happiness in a short life.

Geri very nicely came to the door to tell me about Blondie being a bad dog. And, oh, by the way there’s another puppy hiding under a van parked on the other side of the road. I smirked to myself thinking of a recent conversation in which my Aunt Margaret told me not to worry things couldn’t possibly get any worse. She laughed when I replied, “Easy for you to say, you’re dying.”  God, we’ve had some frank conversations.

Show me where this other puppy is, so we can save it. Step up, Dude, we’re going to rescue a puppy, before it gets killed. Geri poked his head under the van. In gestures he told me it was under the back tire at, of course, the end without access. In Spanish I ask him to bring some water for the pup. He lives just across the street. I head on back up the hill for kibble. Walking these hills, one day my behind will be perky. Hah!

It’s a good thing I brought a bowl of water with me. The pup lapped it up. We negotiated with a kibble at time to come to just under the bumper. A few more trips down the drive to acclimate the puppy to coming when I squeaked before delivering some food, had him crying in conflict. I’m afraid, cry. I want food, cry. I stepped back to a distance that resolved the conflict for him. Little whip of a tail beat fast and low. Food glorious, food, his teeth crunched loudly. A white slash down his chest made him easy to see under the van.

Early morning I went down the hill first trip; he didn’t make a sound when I squeaked and placed food under the tire. Once back at my house I saw the little bugger exit the garage and scoot under the bumper to the meal. He was alive!

Geri sat in his yard watching as I coaxed the puppy near. After a few more trips the puppy was all, but ready to jump in my arms to take him home, except for being so afraid of me. I’m not one to push things too quickly. I hate cleaning up mistakes, so I went up to the house for breakfast. A bit later I heard, “Good morning,” which is the extent of Geri’s English. His smiling face peered in through the window telling me he caught the puppy, my hero. Before leaving he told me the puppy’s name was to be “Negrito.” And pretty much to take good care of the puppy. Thank you very much.

Cruelty Event Counseling?

Hello Puerto Rico,

In the news yesterday was the story of a school principal, who set an example of cruelty for her students. As I read the story my mind pictured the movie of the event.

 Glen Close, Cruela De Ville, as a grammar school principal tearing through a crowd of little children playing with a darling off white puppy. Cruela dowses the puppy with bleach in hopes of whitening the coat before skinning the puppy; splashed with bleach spray, the children jump back. The bleach fails to whiten the scared puppy’s coat. An angry Cruela beats the pitiful puppy with a school broom into a field where she leaves it to die. Cruela charges back to the school entry where children huddle with eyes glaring threat and challenge. “Dogs carry disease,” she growls as she closes the door to her office to be alone with the puppies in cages she only sees as coats. Don’t you just hate her? I mean Cruela.

It must be a dark comedy; what school principal would really douse a dog with bleach… and then, beat it with a broom?

A person, who could teach aggression against another living creature for just being there alive, must have what we in the Catholic Religion called intrinsic ignorance. I mean this woman flat ass did not have a clue she was doing wrong. That scares me for the future. This lesson must be untaught; don’t you think?

Like trauma counseling social workers and/or animal activists should go to the school. Bring some dogs or puppies to teach these kids that their first instincts were right. That animals are our cousins, our family of God’s creation to be treated as something made by God and therefore… Okay, I’m getting on a roll. You get the picture.

Give this woman an opportunity to grow a soul. If she confronts her behavior, she may learn empathy. Didn’t know, didn’t care, yes, but is she a Cruela De Ville?

Who will advocate for these children who need to tell how they feel? Who will assure them that they are right, this is not the way you treat animals?

When you want something done, ask a busy woman. Michelle Cintron, as President of FEPA, the organizer of animal activists/advocates, I am asking you to form a committee to approach the principal to advocate for the children and the animals.

Does anybody think this is a good idea or am I whistling Dixie?

Puerto Rican Street Dogs

Hello Puerto Rico,

The rich island culture includes the boriquas living with dogs in much the same way as you do today. Better to feed a street dog the leftovers than the rats in the garbage cans, does not begin to describe the relationship the island people have with their feral dogs.

Street dogs sound the alarm, when night walkers slip down the road. With dogs on the porch, no rats are near my house. Watching the behavior of free ranging dogs is one of my favorite pastimes. Given that this is also a historical relationship, I thoroughly get the lifestyle choice; part of Puerto Rican heritage, like cock fighting.

All of the wonderful activistas on this island working their butts off cannot shelter and adopt out all of the free born creatures.  Trap, Neuter & Release works, if people care.

 It doesn’t take much to keep an animal from starving. If people are kind to the animals by feeding their leftovers, the loyal dogs protect their providers. When I see neighborhoods with healthy looking dogs on the street, I believe that Puerto Rican People do love their Satos/street dogs. Other places I see dogs so hungry I stop my car to feed them. If the people of the island want Satos/street dogs, they need to share what they have with their neighbor dogs. Allowing a fellow creature to starve under your nose is so unworthy of us. We are better than that!

For some people it is better to enjoy a Sato/street dog than to have their own dogs. Some people should not be allowed to have a dog. Those are the… ,oh, what is that word in Spanish that adequately describes the people who would discard their dogs on the side of the autopista, a sixty-five mile an hour death trap, oh yeah, pendejos.

The last two times I've traveled the toll way from San Juan to Arecibo, I’ve seen freshly abandoned animals. It’s easy to spot the newly tossed dogs. They look like they don’t know what they’re doing, confused and scared in varying degrees sketched on their faces. Animal lovers of Puerto Rico, if you seen this cruelty, take pictures. These heartless fiends need to be exposed.

All of the hard work of dedicated human beings undone by unfeeling cruelty should not be tolerated in a loving society such as Puerto Rico Photograph atrocities such as abandonment; report to cruelty investigators such as Alma Febus. You can also go to the police. Become part of the solution. 

Street Dog Rescue

Tonight big brave Blondie’s voice has a little quiver and a growl undertone, she is unsure without her young male collie companion for support. Interesting how much she relies on her buds for moral support or confidence.



The collies are gone, picked up by my favorite mother earth on the island, Adri Galler Lastra of Amigos De Los Animales Pr. Org after a bit of drama because one of the neighbors wanted to keep them tied up someplace on their property after I told them that I wanted to get them out of the street and into a good home.


Bay has the bad feet, knees and hip which show effects of his confinement, so tied on a short leash was never an option for the sweet soul guy waiting at the top of my driveway when Adri arrived, her heart pumped in his paw, the great rescuer fell in love with the long collie nose always strategically placed for maximum petting.

The charming and always lovable Goofy, these folks decided to keep after all, taking him off in the van, until a relative called asking them to return with the dog, which they did just in time for Adri to be standing in the street in front of their patio, where she saw their little dogs tied out on leashes so short the poor critters are, pooped and peed in the same spot, in fact we were watching a matted up little fella with an open abrasion on his nose do just that, when the van pulled up, then pretty soon the yelling began, lord I hate yelling, so I cringed behind the van until the wife said that they had all those dogs, and there were a lot, because the last time I left Puerto Rico, I left all these dogs in the street with nothing to eat. Huh? What?

Anybody who knows me knows me better, so that just brought a new intensity to Adri explaining that they were in violation of Law 154 as she handed them a copy.


My friend came a long way to rescue two lovely collies, discarded, dumped in the street by humans who no longer wanted them; what she found was a bunch of small dogs in sad conditions. The peaceful visit sitting on my porch looking at the lake went to hell in a basket, before you know it we had Goofy and the little guy with the messed up face off to the vets with Bay.


The people admitted to having twenty-five dogs kept the same way, so Adri called Alma Febus to assist with an intervention. These are two of the best animal control officers on the island, so rest assured these little dogs will be going to good forever homes.


Tonight my blonde girl is a bit lonely. She has no idea that she now has forever people, who love her and will soon be taking her for her first trip to the states. Guess who!

Post Cruelty Raid Emotion

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?