Cowboy the Pit Puppy Finds a Home

Puppy Update

The red and white puppy found his way to my door all the way from Counselor’s Ridge, which is about a mile or so away. He stood at the bottom of my driveway with a couple of people who were gathering coconuts. I came out because my dogs were barking at the people.

The boney boy stood in the road with ears and tail down, so as to not attract attention. He watched the Sato Hill Crewe come down the driveway in full protection mode, as the man stood on the roof of my neighbor’s garage and his wife gathered the coconuts dropping in my driveway.  The dogs’ focused on the people; until the puppy recognized me. His eyes widened, head came up, ears went forward, and his tail burst into a full speed wag.

Lucky, Robert Redford, Blondie, and Chi-Ping turned as one from the people they had focused on, to the little guy doing the happy dance. They went into stalk position, which scared me, since they were already halfway down the drive. 

The woman in my driveway saw the dogs’ predatory posture, freaked out yelling, “Hay dios mio,” and ran around her car, while her husband tried waving the long rod he used on the coconuts at the dogs.

“NO,” I boomed at the man. “TRANQUILA, tranquila,” I soothed the woman.

“No,” I said again in my serious dog voice; the dogs actually looked at me, big sigh of relief. “GOOD GUYS!! COMEON, LET’S GO TO THE HOUSE!!”

Lucky and Robert Redford flew up the hill; what good babies! Blondie and Chi weren’t convinced to leave the people or the little competitor with the wagging tail, but minus the boys’ support the girls regrouped halfway up the driveway.

Boys in the house, Blondie and Chi, my old friends, came along.  I haven’t had them in the house much lately, so the hounds were happy, allowing me to find the puppy, who had headed up the hill in fright.

This is a pit bull puppy; he only retreated to the other side of my neighbor’s garage, where he greeted me with joy. About a week ago, the only time we met, I fed him on the way to feed the litter in the lane. A good ten dogs I’ve seen for quite some time have disappeared from that lane, which gives me more surprise to see him.

Down the lane where the big cows graze my little Cowboy came. 

Puppy at my Door

The puppies are gone, the pit bull mommy is gone, the white boxer boy is gone, so are the Counselor’s Ridge dogs except for the new arrival red bitch.

Surprise! Today the five month old puppy from up the lane showed up at my house. I couldn’t NOT feed him; I brought the other dogs in the house, while he gobbled down a big bowl of food. By the time I let the dogs out one at a time, they understood he was staying.

Blondie, Lucky, and Robert Redford ignored him. Chi-Ping tried to terrorize him, which is standard small terrier behavior. He’s this tough little Cowboy, so that’s what I’m calling him. He’s a happy boy. 

See those horrible feet!

I need my head examined, but what am I supposed to do, when a puppy shows up at my door?

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.    

What to do about Dogs

Thirty years of training dogs and teaching people to have a better relationship with their dogs came and went; I retired. For the last five years I’ve done no training, no teaching. I can’t tell you that I’ve missed it; I simply haven’t thought about it.

Living with four dogs who come and go when they want has been interesting, but I haven’t trained them. I don’t have fun with it the way I once did. Once in a blue moon I’ll do a few sits and downs with Lucky and Robert Redford; the old trainer in me still has a pulse albeit a weak one.

The dog situation in Puerto Rico is deplorable despite the efforts of many wonderful animal advocates. Yesterday I fed the counselor crewe and gave them a big bowl of water; these dogs live in the woods on the ridge overlooking the lake. The members of this little crewe change rather frequently; at the moment a small red spaniel seems to lead the fearful hounds living near an enclave of houses where a couple of lawyers live on counselor ridge. I didn’t feel well, so I tossed down the food and water and left.

No more than a hundred feet away in the bend of the road huddled a litter of three puppies maybe ten weeks old. I gave them all of the food I had left and a bowl of water. This pisses me off because someone dumped these babies there. The clean healthy pups will change in days to bedraggled, gaunt creatures within days without help. Their best hope is for the counselor crewe to adopt them. This is where I am lately on the subject of dogs.

So I’ve been asked to teach a beginner dog training class on Monday nights in Manatee. I met with the class volunteers, who are wonderful dog lovers. We played with a few of my friend Alma’s dogs and worked on name recognition. Yes, me remembering the people’s  and the dogs learning theirs’ when said by anyone other than Alma.

My journey continues; wish me well.    

Sato Hill's Border Collie Missing

On the two and a half year anniversary of my husband Kirt’s death, I’ve lost my beautiful Border Collie, Dominic, Dominic Perignon. And I thought 2016 would bring healing.

I’m lonely, so I’ve writtten to single men on a friend finder line. All I can say is if I’d buried my husband, I’d be crawling in next to him before I deal with any more slicksters telling me how beautiful I am and our love is written in the stars.

Dominic got dumped at the bottom of my drive early last spring. He hid in the weeds, when I came to get him with a towel. I always wrap new babies and give them a bath welcome to Sato Hill. Black coat, flashy white paws, and perfectly folded ears; he had me before his feet hit the ground. I cooed sweetly to my heart throb; instantly he Velcro’ed himself to my leg, my scared little boy.

In the eight months Dominic lived here, puppy to young adult he matured into a crewe member, even Blondie went hunting with him. Dominic was full of himself in all of the ways young boys push and test boundaries. He thought he was the smartest in the room, which annoyed Chi-Ping, and me upon occasion.

From clingy to challenging I gave him what he needed to mature into a great dog, a companion. My darling boy, who chose to sleep outside was wanting in at night again; patience paid off.

Whoever took him, I pray they give him a good home. This hurts because I don’t believe that many dogs on this island get good homes. Tied in between house and garage is not a good life.

At least I gave Dominic eights months of a wonderful life. I enjoyed getting to know him. LOVE. 

Hola, Tolola, the Abandoned German Shepard Mother

One morning a few weeks back I glanced out the window to see a pick up truck stop at the bottom of my driveway. For a country road this one can get rather busy, so I thought nothing about it, until a few minutes later when I went outside to water plants; there stood a magnificent German Shepard bitch with large upright ears and noble expression. “Lola,” I gasped, seeing the gorgeous girl, who died two months after my husband.

She wagged her tail. I could feel my face light up; I ran to the top of the driveway, where she wagged her tail in the way that says, “Good to see you.”

Stroking her long nose, I cried, while I thought of my lost husband and dog. We had enjoyed our lives here for a short time. The new Lola raced down my drive in the long strides of her breed.

The Sato Hill Gang barked warning from in the house; thank God.  I called, “Lola.” She sniffed around in the road where she had been dumped with a frantic look on her face; her tits flopped to and fro with every step, the sagging tits puppies recently suckled.

The new Lola ran up the road; I waited in the driveway talking to her, hoping she would connect with me. Before long her ground covering trot carried her around my yard; here and there she stopped to sniff. The food I offered her, she gobbled before tiptoeing across the porch to the water bowl.

Since the dogs were settled in the house and I was on my way out, I hoped she’d be there when I returned; she wasn’t.

Days passed; each time down the road my eyes scoured the countryside for her. My route varied to increase chance of sighting her. This fine animal deserved a good life with a family; they are bred to passionately love somebody. I needed to find her.

In the afternoon I take the road home that goes over the hill, so I can see the lake; it’s always treat. As I rounded a curve near the horse pasture, a man leaned against a fence post watching a dog; it was new Lola.   

“Hola, como esta? Es su perro?”

“Bien, gracias.”

He shrugged his shoulders in answer to the question, is that your dog. We talked for a while; it turned out that he owned the house with my favorite view of the lake. We both admired a fine German Shepard and he would think about keeping her.

In a desperate attempt to assure her of a good home, I promised to have her spayed, if he would just give her a home.

Two days later, I drove past hoping to see her proudly protecting his yard. No one was home. Further up the road she chased a rooster, while a young boy threw rocks at her, and a woman yelled.

Oh, crap that will never do. I got out of the car.

“Por favor, no.” I said to the boy, who stopped immediately. The woman yelled some more in rapid fire Spanish. The rooster raced past us screaming for its life with Lola in hot pursuit and ready for breakfast. The woman screeched so loudly I wanted to get in the car and go; I opened the door and called, “Lola, come on pretty girl. I’ve got food for you on the porch. The other dogs are in, so you can enjoy the yard all to yourself, good girl.”

Hot damn, she sauntered to the door and hopped in like she knew what she was doing; that went well.

What in the hell am I going to do? Supporting five dogs costs plenty with food and monthly anti-pest topical treatments; not to mention vet bills when they get sick. Ugh, I can’t afford another dog. My property has no fence, so wildlife comes and goes. 

Where else can I take her, but home? I texted a couple of rescuer friends, who wanted a photo; that’s just great because the camera on my phone is dead, grrr.  

Lola number two ate on my porch. I hoped she’d feel more comfortable the second time. Her tits were shrinking nicely, she lost weight, but still fine. I had plans for the day; would she stay?

How could I get so freaking torn about something I should not do? The dog had better sense than I; she left when she finished the food.  

Did she migrate over the hill as before? The man with the vacation house overlooking the lake had been good to her, so maybe; I drove the hill road day and night.

Lola one died of a disease I exposed her to, when I brought her to a friend’s; I blamed myself. She loved me intensely, at a time I had lost most of the love in my life, then I ran out of money, she ran out of help; that sucked.

This Shepard has the black saddle, whereas, Lola one was a light sable. Tolola’s face is the color of a fawn with intelligent brown eyes.  One of my favorite things about German Shepards is you feel so smart because they know what you want with such little effort on your part; not all breeds train so effortlessly. I appreciate the attributes of this marvelous breed.

All I can say is that I pray I find her alive and doing well.     

        

Spaying Street Bitches

Rounding up stray bitches for sterilization is more difficult than I thought it would be.

Far out of my comfort zone is talking in Spanish to strangers. I can see it in their faces; they don't trust me, when they finally understand me.

One family, I offered to take the six puppies to a shelter my friend runs, the woman's granddaughter told her in Spanish, right in front of me, "The gringa is going to make money off las perritas." The puppies vanished, I don't know how or where. A year later the pregnant shaggy terrier mom disappeared from the yard, only a handsome young son remains; and that’s my neighbor.

Since I’ve lived here, any dog moving in gets vaccinations and neutering on me. Little puppies wandering in the street break my heart. I don’t make money; I donate time, energy and money to improve life for dogs. Our relationship with dogs began in the caves, they’ve served us since then; don’t we owe them?

Free roaming carnivores maintain a balance in rodent population, if the dogs hunt is another topic.  Too many dogs is the problem; I think of it as finding an ecological balance and believe that the barbaric practice of collecting and killing them should be replaced with trap, neuter and return. 

   

Returning a post operative dog to a vacant area doesn’t set well, so going with people at least somewhat interested in it appeals, comes with other perils.

 I'm going further away from home talking to people. I need to enlist help from local people. Catching dogs the night before spay day, even dogs I feed when I see them, is hit or miss, so where I see dogs hanging around, I know that a person cares enough to feed at least occasionally. These are the people I need to support to end the huge reproduction cycle.

Understanding the street dog problem in Puerto Rico has taken a long time. Finding a boots on the ground part of the solution I can believe in; halleluiah, I’m blessed.

Each week I’ll be bringing up to three females/hembras to the vet to be spayed. In my valley, over the years I’ve learned where dogs are fed; the dogs hang on the outside of the fence. I believe these are the people I need to say hello to, but people get weird looks on their faces when I speak; you have no idea.

Well, wish me luck!        

Street Dogs in the Night

At one in the morning, without warning, all hell broke loose; the neighbor’s dogs barking sounded scared. The Sato Hill Gang awoke from a snooze on the porch, galloped down the drive to investigate. The two terriers from up the hill joined the uproar with their fiercest, we’ll rip your ankle off bark and growl combos.

Before I could get out of bed, dogs were circling my house.  The yip of one in pain sounded close; it was here, by my house. Was someone kicking a dog? Puerto Rico is a poor island, so once in a while men walk the roads at night in search of opportunity.

The pained yips came from my carport. Good heavens, my car, I looked around for a weapon; not seeing one in my currently stressed out state, I prayed turning the lights on would frighten away any mal-traitor.   

Barking continued in all out panic at my neighbor’s, but only Blondie barked on my porch. My boys weren’t barking. Lucky and Robert Redford, two year old adult males defend the house bravely, so I calmed somewhat and opened the front door.

Dominic, the baby border collie jumped on my leg wanting re-assurance or, better yet, to go in the house. Robert Redford sat near the open door; Lucky followed him into a sit. I opened the door; they quickly filed in.

Blondie barks from the carport sounded halfhearted, but clearly, she had something cornered under my car. I knew it had to be a female dog, a bitch. If it were a rat, I’d have to pry all the dogs away.

Not wanting my face too near whatever hid, I walked to the bottom of the ramp. From there I could see the outline of a fat, short coated, brown dog with little prick ears crouched by a front tire.

Blondie stood between the car and the kitchen door, her now occasional barks were followed by a whine, which told me she was losing motivation. Goody, I called Blondie in the house. She’s not a girl to give up her power; she looked long over her shoulder toward the car before heading through the open door.

Alone under the stars, I waited for chubby brown dog to stir. The light by the kitchen door allowed me to see her every move; the sweet face followed me, but she wouldn’t come out.

Lit by the Milky Way, my valley is a tropical paradise, so I walked around the yard, stared at the lake before peering in at the huddled creature under my car. Would she be here by morning?

The dogs already in their sleeping spots, only lifted heads, when I came in to go to bed. The neighbor’s dogs continued to bar another half hour.   

    

Different Life Styles With Dogs

Hi Terry,

The Blue Cross in India running S/N & vax programs; is this the same as Blue Cross/ Blue Shield? I want to get more info on any possible funding source.

Anne,

I love your description of the dogs co-existing rather than belonging to humans. The energy dynamic is different. When I first arrived in Puerto Rico, the independence of dogs living outside the gates amazed me. I had never seen dogs self-determine their lives before.

I have noticed that the dogs in the more agrarian areas are healthier than the beach dogs of more densely populated parts of PR. To me, lean, injured and mangy seems to correlate with overpopulation.

Beach dogs with lepto from eating rats, I’ve seen, but not where I live in the country. My colony goes ratting most mornings. They prefer fresh meat to kibble. A rat’s last defense is to urinate in the dog’s mouth before the dog delivers the death bite. Some inexperienced hunters release the rat early, when they shake their heads to expel the urine.

What you said about the koori people having little consideration for their dogs reminded me of the groups of young men 18-20 year olds strolling the roads in Cuba with a number of male dogs.  The dogs were completely ignored by the boys, but the dogs were hanging with them. It intrigued me enough that I followed them for some distance. When the boys would stop to visit with other people, the dogs would go sniff something or lie under a tree. Why did the dogs stay with the boys, when they paid no attention to them, no re-inforcement that I could see; I hope to return to solve this mystery.

Colonizing dogs already at a site means that the dogs are neutered, vaccinated, vet checked, and monitored during daily care visits. There is no way to confine this many dogs.

If I picture life on PR a hundred years ago, I envision the dog situation to be similar; don’t you

Pet Sitting Again

Pet sitting for the first time since 1999, when I sold my business. The route and details remain the same, except I’m not leaving cute little notes about what my charges are doing during my visit.

The friend whose dogs I’m pet sitting is into container gardening, which just happens to be labor intensive, so I play with the dogs between areas to be watered.

The big black female has a skin condition of some sort, perhaps Demodectic Mange, since her little Chihuahua buddy has no sign of the problem. She wags her tail so hard it bends her body in half, but I find it uncomfortable to pet her in case it’s something I could bring home to my dogs. We have enough problems.

Small yellow boy stands for as much petting as I’m willing proffer, after which, he’s quite content to go piss on my tires.

I find a piece of plastic about the size of a hair comb, that I start scratching the big girl with, so tries to press closer to me. Shortly we get it straightened out that she must stand away from me to get the scratching with the plastic. Her eyes roll back in her head. She is an itchy girl.

The house is locked. I have no access to the bathroom, or her router to re-enter the required security code, so it’s time to add some food to the fresh water in their hut and say goodbye for today. 

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?

  

Death to the Beach Dogs

Discarded dogs find a steady source of food and move in, if the locals allow. Hunting, scavenging, and begging for handouts keep street dogs alive. In some areas I’ve seen the same dogs for a couple of years.

For example, when I go to the beach where my friend rescued her dog, Hattie, I expect to see some of Hatti’s relatives. Dogs come and go from this little family group, otherwise it was a stable unit.

The dogs scour the beach for scraps of food carelessly tossed aside; and death to any rat foolish enough to step out by moonlight.  It’s not much of a living, but these dogs have been managing for the two years I've been visiting.

The scruffy cadre cautiously shadow my dogs, when they romp on the beach. These dogs have always looked clean, by that I mean, no mange or tick infestations. To my dogs’ chagrin, dog food is shared with the locals.

Lucky made friends with two of the males, who approach him in a familiar way.

Today I walked the beach; there wasn't a single dog anywhere. The sweet, shy little creatures, who followed us at respectful distance or came close with bowed head and low wagging tail, were gone.

Where have all dogs gone? There’s always one or two lurking about. They’re part of the Eco system; sometimes it seems a few too many, but they’re seldom all together.

Summer’s coming, the beach has been cleansed of dogs before the people arrive. In case it’s unclear, cleansed means to collect and kill.

Is this who we've become? It’s our beach and we’re not sharing it.

This was a family of dogs, a nice family; that they were picked up and killed makes me sad. Should a being’s only sin, for which the sentence is death, be that it’s inconvenient?

Discarded

Little lad in black and white, never far from my sight

You bounced in front of near garage

One week ago today, to my delight

Some asshole threw you out, like garbage

You bounced into my arms, like you belong there

Welcome to my life, little lad in black and white

I think, I’ll call you Dominic, Dominic Perignon

The Changing Face of Animal Advocacy in Puerto Rico

Just returning a dog to the street doesn't sit right; does it?

Why?

It beats not letting the animal have any chance at life, or puppies littering the road.

Because rescuers don’t want animals out on the streets suffering; right?

There is a wonderful man in San Juan, who everyday rain or shine, walks his round, feeding street cats. This guy has the cats neutered with an ear notched so you can tell. He’s really much more than a feeder; he’s a freakin saint, as well as, an excellent example of a Colony Keeper.

Are there other Colony Keepers on the island? These are people who not only feed, but neuter, vaccinate, and maintain a healthy group of dogs. I’d like to watch a colony keeper in action.                                                             

Who in Puerto Rico is actively doing Trap, Neuter, and Return? Please, let me know when and where, so I can help.

T-N-R works best when the people in the community assist the project by being on site caretakers.

Animal Activists are a large, vocal part of the Puerto Rican population. We have good people doing wonderful things; maybe, this will work out for the animals. 

Profile of a Cuban Animal Advocate

The face of a dog lover registers concern for the street dog with his syphilitic prick waving in the air while he rolls, scratching his back, her eyes narrow, and her breath comes out in a sigh. He is on her mental list of animals needing help, but the list is long.

Moments later this dog lover questions two teenagers about neutering the pitbulls they each have on leashes. The boys are resistant, but the grandmother speaks to them so kindly that they lower their heads before her.

A word of encouragement or instruction to all they see with animals is the hallmark of the dedicated animal advocate.

Maylin Carretero, the most spiritual woman, who was my host and guide to some of the animals of Cuba, leads with her heart for all things animal.

Off to ANIPLANT we would go taking public transportation all the way. ANIPLANT is the Association for the Protection of Plants and Animals, in Cuba this is it for animal advocacy.

ANIPLANT President Nora Garcia and Vice President Maylin Careterro work hard for the animals of Cuba. I visited the busy clinic at ANIPLANT headquarters, during which a young couple brought in a sweet yellow dog they had found in a bag, legs tied and mouth bound.

After a long day at ANIPLANT Headquarters on the walk home from the bus stop. Maylin said to me when she saw the manager of the local store, “I have been trying for weeks to talk to him about treating the dogs that live by the store for mange. I need his help and there he is!”

Around eleven o’clock one night someone dumped a four week old puppy in her yard. You can imagine the ruckus that set off with her dogs. Let me tell you that woman is fast. As I got to the door she shined the light under bush to find the crying puppy, while verbally keeping her dogs out of the way, most impressive.

While still clutching the puppy to her breast, the true heart of a dog lover goes searching for a box to line with bedding for the tiny life.

If more Cuban American animal lovers knew about the good work these volunteers do, I’m certain they would see more support.  

Malecon Pup Saved from Rocks at ANIPLANT, Headquarters in Havana, Cuba

The lovers walked the streets of Havana with the spaniel until they came to 128 Calle Principe, home of ANIPLANT.

“Hello, we have this little dog in need of rescue,” they called out.

“You can’t just bring your dog here to drop it off. We have no facilities for keeping your dog. You must take it home,” replied the unhappy woman, who came to the door. Her heart winced as she looked at the lovely dog the people were trying to dispose of; how could they do that?

The young woman explained, “This is not our dog. Not an hour ago we found her in a bag on the rocks at the shore with her feet and mouth bound. We untied her. She is a sweet, sweet girl; we couldn’t just leave her on the Malecon with all the traffic of Havana speeding past. My mother told us to bring her to ANIPLANT, where animal advocates would keep her safe.

“You found her tied up in a bag,” the woman at the door gasped.

“Yes, when the tide came in, she would have drowned. We couldn’t just leave her to such a fate,” the young man with big brown eyes looked pleadingly at the woman in the doorway, who opened the door and took the little yellow dog in her arms.

“Who could do that to a beautiful baby like this? Dios mio,” she cried out.

The waiting room of ANIPLANT was filled with people who had brought their dogs to be seen by the veterinarian. Many were there with dogs to be neutered. There was no room for the couple with the little cruelty survivor, so they waited on the curb, while the animal loving advocates came out to see the beautiful dog and the young heroes, who saved her life. Tears filled the eyes of the women, who came out to see the sweet faced dog, as she wagged her tail for all.

Nora Garcia, President of ANIPLANT, looped a long piece of mesh through the dog’s collar to use as a leash. “This is not a shelter; we have no place to keep her. Can you keep her?’ She looked at the young man, who appeared to be quite taken with the dog.

“No, I live in the home of my mother-in-law to be. She has dogs and cats already.” His eyes moist, as he peered at the helpless creature, who kissed his face.

The veterinarian stepped into the lobby, “Who is next?” He called out to no one in particular. The advocates were snapped back into the action of the day, hustling the next patient into the surgical suite, and making return appointments for others. 

“What’s to be done about you, little one?” Maylin Carretero murmured as she set down a pan of water for the dog, who was probably not quite a year old judging by her teeth.  

Pitbull Wandering the Neighborhood

The Sato hill gang chases off stray dogs wandering through the neighborhood, but yesterday morning when I opened the door Lucky and Robert Redford clamored to get in the house with ears back worried looks.

A large intact pitbull pissed on my tires. “No!” I hollered as my scared boys ran in the door. Chi-Ping looked like a prickly pear with every hair standing on end. She barked and growled. The pit looked aggravated by her. Where the hell was the vinegar spray I keep by the door?

Blondie wanted no part of this boy. She laid in a ball on the veranda on the far side of the house, pretending to sleep. So far he knew to leave that sleeping bitch lie, but Chi began snapping her tiny jaws at the pit’s well-muscled head.

The handsome pecker pissed on the tires again. This is not allowed on my carport, so I grabbed my little bat out of the car and thumped it against the tire. Pit boy got the message.

My hope to get Chi in the car and away from the big dog she was really beginning to annoy didn’t happen. She always tries to jump in the car when the door opens. Now, her hair stood in a ridge down her back, like a Mohawk, her eyes gleamed with rage and she spit through her teeth in a growl.

The pit began to stiffen. He clearly had enough of her. I scooped her up; he went for her. “No,” in my most authoritative tone was greeted by what sounded like, “F that,“ in pitbull Spanish, as he leaped at the snarling little critter in my arms.

Chi-Ping seldom cooperates when it counts and this was no exception. She wiggled and squirmed for all she was worth to get the bad dog.

The nobody home look in the pitbull eyes told me of trouble to come, if I didn’t get Chi in the house now. A lifetime of experience won out as I wacked the pit on the nose when he leaped for my little girl, Chi, who had to be tightly clamped under my arm until I could get her in the door.

The pit stepped about three feet away from me after the smart smack I gave him. Once I deposited Chi in the house, I went around to the other side of the porch to check on Blondie, whose absence spoke volumes about how afraid my dogs were of this wandering pitbull, who wagged his tail as he followed me.  

Blondie preferred to stay where she was. The boys and Chi were safely tucked in the house, so I left the pitbull standing on my carport when I went to the gym, and prayed he would leave before I came home.

This handsome animal I’ve seen tied up in a yard not too far from here; frankly, I’m glad he had a good morning escape even if my dogs aren’t.

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.