Studying Dogs

Another year of studying dogs is beginning to be more interesting than ever; that’s dogs for you. In my years living with a dozen or more Rottweilers and/or Bullmastiffs in a fenced ten acre compound I saw them co-operate, communicate in various ways.

I wish humans were intelligent enough to speak dog, the way they understand us; most of all I wish I could speak dog.

My big guard dogs did a perimeter patrol when the spirit moved them, but they went to dog shows, school fairs, nursing homes, so we had activities. They worked as a team when cornering wildlife in our yard. A family of coyotes lived just the other side of the fence. My pure bred, Champion stock stayed near the house, but heaven help anything that strayed in too close; in short they were not obsessed with interlopers.

Here in Puerto Rico, the stray dogs, having been accepted by a household, become very possessive. There is a network of trails in the woods. Remember tracking wildlife when you were a few years younger? We don’t have wildlife; we have farm animals, rodents, mongoose, and various size lizards. Dogs and cats are sort of wildlife.

Pet dogs have puppies, survivors get a free one way trip to a better part of the island, where they get their asses kicked by dogs already living there or beaten off by a man driving them away with a stick. Dogs wander through the woods in search of a meal and safety.

The Sato Hill Crewe patrols the woods like the devil will sneak in to steal their last sandwich. Now, that our baby Border Collie is patrolling I’m seeing the more subtle cues these dogs send. 

This was written before Dominic went missing. His obsessive personality raised the level of perimeter protection; I learned much about my group’s communication while he lived here.

There has been a recent cull; neighbors from down the hill told me about ten dogs that were poisoned and another stolen from a yard. Perhaps that’s why there’s less activity in the woods.  

Life with dogs in Puerto Rico gives me a very different vantage point of our relationship with dogs. In Illinois I always saw dogs as belonging to someone or in need of rescue; here I see dogs visiting people who feed them, but belong to no one.

Because of the density of the dog population where I live, threat warnings have become ritualized with an obligatory howl to sum it up. Dogs are dumped regularly, the survivors learn from the old timers in the neighborhood. The traits and survival strategies a dog must have in order to live on the street are easily observed. In  a maybe not so odd evolutionary twist small and cute does well; some woman will take small and cute in over night! Smile.

Dogs fascinate me as much today as they did almost a hundred years ago. 

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. 

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

What Dog Traits Benefit the Group

Hi,

The Puerto Rican island dogs forage alone, and sometimes in packs. The sound of dogs rushing through the brush with rats leaping for their lives in front of mostly mixed breed, Satos, some with serious grimaces, others clearly enjoying the chase with play face, quickens the pulse.

A hound mix, I called Owl, shared my porch for a time. He hunted lizards the way I shop for chocolate. (Yeah, yeah!) To quote an old Cab Calloway song, everybody eats when they come to my house. Kibble is served twice daily. Owl still shopped lizards with enough zeal that the other satos tried little lizards; a couple tossed their heads and spit it out, but others picked up the habit.

I watched a yearling German Shepard bitch teach six month old pups, Lucy and Robert Redford, to roll coconuts down my driveway, so the coconuts would crack open when they hit the side of my neighbor’s garage; but Blondie taught them to hunt rats, the supreme delicacy.  

In general, dogs’ behavior varies with the availability of resources. Hungry dogs are volatile around food, but well fed colonies can be social as dogs in doggie day care, which I ran for a dozen years.  

After years of reading your thoughts in the dark; why am I posting?

My experiences are written in my blog, as they happened. I’m writing this to encourage you with the multiple degrees to come, visit my island before the dog catchers round up the alphas, the docile, the elders.

Could you picture a holiday hanging on the beach watching a colony of free ranging dogs rummage in the brush?

You may be interested in advising me as I develop the protocols for maintaining dog colonies.

Dog problem: 100,000 to 300,000 free roaming dogs on island size of Connecticut.

Current solution:

Round up to euthanize every free running dog you see until a numerical limit of what the municipality will pay is hit.

Rescuers pic up every dog they can fit in their bac yard. Some are adopted or shipped to the states.

Colony keepers Program:

 If trap, neuter, and return programs are to develop public support, a follow up control, support system should be in place.

As part of the protocols, I want to identify the dogs that are more valuable to the colony, so they will escape culls.

If people come to observe these fascinating animals, the government of this broke ass little island will co-operate in handling the dogs in a more humane way.

Watching a bunch of males (dogs) poking around on a walk is my idea of fun. My travel goals include other places to watch dogs. Moscow to ride the trains with the dogs tops my bucket list; I’m guessing I’m not alone.

Can you envision behaviorists visiting colony keepers to enjoy dogs behaving old school except for the hunger and rampant reproduction. Picture January on a tropical island, hmm; that’s how I got here. Is this a crazy goal?

The protocol should identify traits of benefit to the colony. Any suggestions? Questions? I hope I’ve explained it adequately. Thanks!

Oh, and Terry I’ve read a number of studies you’ve supplied links for; thanks!

    

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?

Nightmare = Tropics, Fleas and Ticks

Fleas, ticks + tropics = Nightmare

On the island of Puerto Rico I’ve noticed that some of the low coastal areas are more heavily infected than the rural area where I live. Sad to say I never saw a tick on the dogs here before we came back from a visit to the coast.

Stormy, Blondie and the various other street dogs, which have been thru here, from time to time had fungal infections for which we bathed and powdered, but never saw a tick.

The first time I brought the dogs to the coast, they came back loaded. In my whole professional career in Illinois I never saw so many ticks on a dog; and I’m freaky phobic about insects.

Bathing them with a flea and tick shampoo killed some and weaken the rest of the ticks so I could pluck without hurting the dogs as much. Their shin crawled as I pulled one after another. Mine crawled too cause I can’t stand those buggers.

Let me not forget that I applied Frontline shortly after the bath. Ticks seemed to be everywhere, still on the dogs, in the house and on the porch.

My dogs are my only companions. I take them as many places as I can; they also come in my house.

I cleaned the house inside and out with a flea and tick insecticide from Pet Smart and the Frontline kicked in, so I didn’t see ticks for about a month at which time we re-apply.

Recently we took a road trip to the coast. Robert Redford, my biggest came home with ears full of ticks. Blondie and Chi-Ping had some and Lucky has none. Frontline was applied to all dogs two weeks before their trip.

Bathing the dogs with flea shampoo, re-applying Frontline, and chemical disinfection of premises will restore balance here, but why didn’t the Frontline work? Were some ticks resistant to the chemicals contained?

Should I be rotating what I use, so ticks don’t develop immunity?

 A completely different chemical family would be best to rotate with, so what’s best?  

Any contra indications that these products be used in conjunction with the other?

What would be the best rotation schedule, and why?

Trap, Neuter, Release: a Reasonable Choice in Animal Control

A recent seminar on shelters in Puerto Rico ended with a PETA video proclaiming euthanasia as a better alternative to no kill shelters and heaven forbid dogs running lose in the streets where they eat rats and mice and garbage and God knows what else. They’ll live without love, she wailed as if  it were unheard of to exist without human love.

Which one of these free ranging street dogs looks like it would volunteer to be killed because its life is so miserable? Don’t tell me you’re doing it for them.

For their benefit, let’s put them on short leashes and tie them to a dog house, so they’ll be safe. Quickly toss them food and water, so they’re cared for. Put them in a pen where they never touch another of their kind.

They have no right to live unfettered. Eating rats, the PETA lady shuttered, living without love. How aghast would she be to know that dogs having a choice will frequently leave nutritious kibble to hunt for fresh meat with no byproducts? It demonstrates just how badly they need to be euthanized for their benefit.

Bored, brain dead pooches behind fences, that’s what we want; let’s put them in shelters to keep them safe. Walk them from the garage to the balcony for a couple hours fresh air. Get angry with them for scratching on the door like they’re trying to get out of prison. They’re well fed; what more could they want?

On any given day in the history of Puerto Rico there have been free ranging dogs roaming the island. When not over burdened by street dogs, the people are fond of their canine neighbors, preferring to feed a “Sato” and starve a rat.

Dogs are a part of the ecosystem here similar to fox, coyote and raccoons in the states, but they’re not really wild.  We can keep them healthy, manage them a lot more cheaply and successfully than the shelter or slaughter methods currently employed.

Trap, neuter, and release for this group of fine looking animals; what do you say?

Changing Patterns

     The dogs have settled into a comfortable pattern of early morning runs up the hill to investigate everything that set foot on the road during the night. Dogs dumped seek food and water after they calm down and start to get really hungry. They go for miles until they find a source of food and water. These days of no rain make it more difficult for the dogs than lack of food. There’s a break in the water main uphill from us, so I think more strays are making their way to our road.

     The dogs have been spending their nights in the house. They bark when dogs go down the road, but I’ve gotten tired of worrying about the fights they get into overnight, when dogs seem to travel around more.

     I’ve been practicing recalls with the boys. Robert Redford shows his golden personality by hauling butt up the hill as fast as he can. Lucky sometimes gets involved in barking and bouncing, so he doesn’t hear the first time. When he hears or sees Red running up, he comes running.

     Blondie gets so serious about protecting her turf that she’s the last to come. Chi-Ping often sees barking activity in the street as an opportunity to come in the house. She’s heading home when I come out to call. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started shit to get to come in.

     Over the years of watching dogs here things seem to have changed in that there once was a steady group of dogs living in the neighborhood. I saw the same dogs for a few years, and now, the dogs change frequently.

     I feed dogs I see on the road unless they look well fed. That happens dogs running the road are sometimes, not too often, well nourished. Some dogs I’ve seen in the same area for months or years. I have very few old friends anymore. I don’t know what that means.  

    

My Home Is Not a Dog Shelter, This is Not a Rescue

This is beginning to feel like Canine Grand Central Station, puppies, Labrador, German Sheppard, English Bull Terrier, Golden Retriever, plus assorted mixed breed or sato dogs have visited my house this year. I live on a tiny road in the middle of the country.

If people are dropping off dogs near my home because they’ve heard that I take in dogs, they’re making a big mistake because I don’t. I have no fence, no gate. The dogs that live with me were street dogs here.

Blondie will shag the bitches on down the road, as she did to the Bull terrier bitch just a couple of days ago. A handsome tri color, looked like an Australian Kelpie Dog makes this house part of his rounds, but moves along when he sees me. It is no kindness to dump a dog near my home.

It’s impossible to rescue all the strays on this island. Massive sterilization campaigns and education, perhaps coupled with license required for breeding and or selling puppies, might make a difference.  

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  

I'm Officially Upset by Chi-Ping

Officially upset, depressed, really put out, curled up in a ball at mom’s side, desperate for relief; I sighed. The puppy we found in the middle of the road follows me everywhere wanting to suckle. Blondie put a stop to her action, but mom raised her voice to Blondie, who has been skulking around ever since. Robert Redford and Lucky tired of her quickly; they can’t get away fast enough from the puppy, mom now calls Darla. Being suckled by a small critter with needle teeth didn't turn out to be as much fun as the boys thought it would. If a bitch could smirk, you’d enjoy my face as I remember them learning just this; aside from small satisfaction, I've had nothing but aggravation.

Mom’s friend Marcie, brought Snoopy and Hattie the day after Darla showed up in a bucket. Snoopy is my size and likes to chase me, I get so tired of it. Hattie, the Salinderas Beach puppy won the lottery, when mom and Marcie took a walk on the beach without a single dog, and there she was. A stray dog prays for someone to love, who will love me, too. Blondie and I know we’re lottery winners; mom is one crazy prize, especially when she brings home puppies. She promised there would be no more than, well, five, but Lola’s gone and I don’t want to replace her with this whining, complaining rat, who can tumble down a stair, but not up, so she screams bloody murder, until mom walks around to the carport ramp with her. This is not a dog; this is a baby and a brat, at that.

Defending our turf is job enough, without having company, even if Snoopy thinks I’m wonderful. If you have something good, somebody else wants it. There’s only so much room in a bed; Smoki takes my spots, we don’t need competition. Earlier this week we fought off an interloper for hours. I've never seen anything fight Blondie so hard, the boys and I nipped the behind of the fierce devil to give Blondie better advantage.

Mom called, the boys came leaving me and Blondie in the woods battling the beast. With Robert Redford and Lucky in the house mom worked her way through the weeds, calling as she came. We didn't want her to get hurt so we ran to her. Our adversary would not pursue.

You’d think that my life was an adventure, but its pure challenge, I tell you. Late this morning I was on the easy chair listening to bachata, really into the music when the scent of the vagrant who fought us to a standoff wafted in the window. My hair stood on end, me, I froze to the spot.

This ugly white bitch with her big egg head stood in our yard looking in through my front door. Her tail stood mid way between straight out and straight up, she wasn't spoiling for a fight, but with these bull breeds you never know. Snoopy’s nose was glued to her behind, well, easy come; easy go.

Asleep on the front porch, Blondie must have been dreaming about the bitch, who didn't seem ready to go anywhere. Mom woke Blondie and guided her into the house before she completely woke up. The Bull Terrier wandered about and then laid down under our SUV, while Blondie fumed with her head shaking and bubbles frothing from her mouth.

Who can blame me for being upset? 

Touching Dogs by Chi Ping

Some hands feel marvelous stroking my head and ears, sweet rapture, but I still find it difficult to trust human hands that hurt me so often. My body yearns for a gentle caress, but poking my sides is no fun for me. I gently nipped for fear of reprisal as a “bad” dog; some folks thought bitey mouth was a game I liked to play, so they’d laugh and poke like it was funny. Big whoop for them, all I wanted is for you to pet me and make me feel good.

Grabbing me around my ribs behind my front legs hurts, yet people picked me up like that all the time. They wondered why I don’t like to be picked up and run from their grasp. As mom’s friend, Marcie says, “Duh!”

Dogs have their aches and pains, just like people, even Smoki, the cat aches, poor guy has a little kitty limp. I have arthritis from being hit by a car. My hips hurt and my tail is kinked. Mom tries to help me, in spite of her making it feel better later; I can stand only so much touch before I must get away.  

Mom tries to fix me too much, I know she wants to help, but what I like the best is the twilight time when we’re in bed with her hand gently resting on my back, not doing a thing. She does, thank heaven, know how to pick me up with a hand under my front and the other supporting my rear end. I do trust her to pick me up.

It is a late fall day in Puerto Rico, the wind is roaring through the grass and it looks like rain; mom and Marcie are going to a Paso Fino Horse Show. I heard them planning on the phone, so after frantic tail wagging and big sad eyes, Blondie and I will retire to the bed for serious napping. Chi-Ping

Smart Satos Did What? by Chi-Ping

The last October Sunday morning on Sato Hill hens off laying eggs somewhere cackled. We tried to locate them, but they fled up a tree before we got there. Lucky and Robert Redford are learning to be good hunters. I taught them well, but Blondie did some educating these mongrels also.

Our early morning kibble breakfast needed to be supplemented to stay healthy or chunky-monkey as mom calls us. Blondie and I would never pick up avocados or coconuts, hell we never thought of it. Robert Redford and Lucky are on them the second they hit the ground.  My curiosity got the better of me, I tasted a bit of an avocado that Lucky left lying about; not bad, so I settled in to lick the skin. Lucky saw me. I didn’t think too much about it; until he pounced on me. That nervy little wanker pounced on me, well, it was pretty good.

What surprised me the most was the taste of coconut, oh my, that’s good. This clever pair of pups rolls the coconuts down the driveway. Mom laughed the first time she watched them from the bedroom window, said it looked like downhill bowling. We went back to bed, but I was a bit annoyed listening to coconuts rolling down the driveway all night. In the morning shards of coconut littered the porch, so before long I curled up knawing on a piece, Robert Redford stood over me like he thought I was going to give it up. My eyes bulged out of their sockets; my lips showed not just my fine teeth, but my gums as I growled and spit, “I’ll never give it up!”

Sunday mornings on the island and life is good. Imagine those pups figuring out how to break the coconuts by rolling them downhill; must have been a lucky accident; right?

A Dog's Best Evening by Chi-Ping

Hi Folks,

What would make a little dog say, “T.G.I.F.?” Give up?

It was so fun! Friday evening we went to the beach again, Lucky and me. The boy did not want to get in the car; can’t say as I blame him. It took me a long time to get over the fear of being dumped. I’ll tell you, it was a shocker to suddenly be all alone in a strange land. Anyway, I digress, we were at the beach next to Home Depot in Hatillo.

I met Tom, Dick and Harry, and then along came Jane. She said she wished she was a wolf bitch; they only get bred by the alfa male, she has to put up with Tom, Dick, and Harry. Harry made friends with me and Lucky first. He said they were the Saldinera Beach Boys Pack He was rather scruffy for my tastes, but because he was four inches taller at the shoulders than Lucky, the little pi(t)bull squatted like a bitch and gave that stupid grin of his. I walked way down the beach all by myself with mom standing on the shore crying. She talks to dad all the time.

Tom lay on the ridge of sand at the edge of the parking lot with his head between his paws watching. Dick kept busy pissing on bushes like everything was his territory. This nervous little prick had nothing on me. I lift my tail high; sniff this Sato. Just then, along came Jane saggy breasts half filled with milk swinging in the wind, damn, I’ll bet that hurts. She had this don’t make me mess with you look on her face, as she looked for something to eat. I put my tail down for her out of respect for a hard working mommy.

Lucky and I went down the shore, we raced and played tag, mom walked along picking things up. I wished she’d run with us. We found a flock of Sand Pipers along a rocky shelf. They scattered wildly as we flew around the rocks. Harry even joined us for a romp.

As the sun dropped from sight mom dusted the sand off us  before we loaded in the car to go home. We ‘re going to do this every Friday. Lucky dogs. 

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 

Look at Lucky

Look at Lucky rolling around on his back in the grass, just showing his balls to God. That’s right, Old Girl, God gave them to me and will be proud to see how they’re growing. Why, I lifted my leg when I peed this morning. God will be delighted with my early progress. Lucky gave the toothy grin he impresses Blondie and Chi-Ping with when they hassle him. Chi barked from the porch. You’re not fooling anyone with a submissive smile. Lucky slithered side to side like a snake, and then suddenly thrust his hips in the air. Soon, I’ll be putting this equipment to use.

Chi-Ping’s eyes bulged. You’re not but a minute old. Do you think the grownup machos are going to let you at any lady? I’m a pi-bull, Chi-Pi old girl. Lucky sat erect, arched his neck displaying an already strong male profile. You bad little puppy, Chi-Ping barely barked out, as she play bowed to him.  Not so little any more, I’m bigger than you. Chi-Ping barked threats. Cute or not, I’ll put some holes in you.

Blondie and I are the house dogs, we rule. Not the way I see it, Lucky proclaimed. You and Blondie spent all day at the neighbor’s house or in the street. Robert Redford and I go in the house, during the day, when you’re gone. We get treats and gravy on our kibble. Yesterday I slept in the bedroom while mom worked on the computer for three hours. I didn't have an accident in the house, the way some do. Go ahead Chi-Pi get in my face, growl, show your teeth; it’s only a matter of time until mom likes us best.

I hate smart-alecky puppies. Chi-Ping grrred.