A week and a half ago Dalys came to work as usual on Friday morning. In an effort to be an amiable employer and simultaneously practice my Spanish skills, I remarked that I had seen their family dog, Lassie, who is old and blind, dangerously perambulating the main road up to Palo Alto. Dalys replied, sniffling a little, that it couldn't have been Lassie because Lassie died of old age about a month ago. We commiserated a bit, and she said the children had cried miserably for several days. I asked if they planned to get another dog, and she said that they clearly needed one but that it had to be a small or small-to-medium dog."No problema," I assured her. "The Amigos de Animales have animals for adoption, and there's even a website with pictures." We repaired to the computer room for a gander, but the only dogs currently available were too large. (I noticed that most appeared to have a little to a lot of Rottweiler blood in their ancestry, suggesting that home burglaries are not just a thing of the present.) There are lots of dogs that need homes, I assured Dalys, and I further assured her that I would put the word out for a smallish dog.
So I went to the Boquete forum, plead my case, and almost immediately received two responses. Millie, of Millie's Chic Boutique, a local salon de belleza (beauty shop), was said to have been looking for a new home for her poodle. Knowing Millie as I do, having gotten one of my bad haircuts from her, I knew that she was not looking for a Panamanian home for Fritzi, or whatever its name may be. Moreover, I couldn't quite envision Fritzi withstanding the ministrations of Roberto and Daisy, whom you may recall from the Christmas tree decorating event. So I moved on to the next offer.
An acquaintance, Dianne, an former Australian who is the proprietor of La Zapadora in Potrerillos, an eclectic warehouse of furniture, garden stuff, and other design elements from around the world, wrote to say that a small dog had been hanging out there for a period of time. It is a nice little dog, she assured me, not at all neurotic, but suffering from malnutrition and a skin condition which had developed over the past week. It was friendly, though a bit skittish, she further wrote, but she was afraid it would not last long, what with the lack of food and the traffic on the road out front. This sounded like just the ticket, so, on Sunday, I set out for Potrerillos, about twenty miles away, armed with dog food for enticing.
Dianne was busy with a client when I arrived but told me to scout around for the dog. I eventually located him in one of the outbuildings and coaxed him outside with food. It was clear that this was a dog that could not be offered to anyone; a number of ticks were visible and there were large hairless patches, red with inflammation, in addition to obvious malnutrition. He was nervous, but allowed me to pet him while he ate. Dianne and I talked a bit, and I told her I would see what I could do, having no intention of doing anything.
When I got back home, however, I was overcome with the guilt that accompanies doing nothing for a creature in need, and I had a sleepless night. Larry agreed to help me retrieve him, and a call to Dianne revealed that she had an old dog kennel that she would take with her that day. So on Tuesday Larry and I set out for Potrerillos, loaded the dog into the kennel with minimal trouble, and drove back to Boquete. Our first stop was the office of the local veterinarian, Dra. Chely, where, as Larry was unloading the dog via leash instead of kennel, he deftly escaped the chain noose and came within inches of being crushed by a pickup truck backing out of the driveway. Dra. Chely rushed to the scene, and the three of us spent half an hour chasing the dog through the back streets of Boquete, Larry cursing heartily and frequently. In his weakened state, the dog couldn't run fast, but he was quick as lightning whenever Dra. Chely tried to grab him. I alternately chased and moved the car closer until we finally caught him and returned, sweatily, to the clinic.
Dra. Chely, who is very animated, kept up a running discourse in Spanish while she removed ticks, swabbed him with alcohol, and administered three injections. She then wrote out prescriptions for a shampoo, tablets, and skin sensitive dog food, told us where they could be bought in Boquete, charged us $15, and sent us on our way. I thought the charge was imminently reasonable, given the lengthy foot race she had endured. We bought the shampoo and the tablets, but passed on the special dog food upon learning that it was $20 for a miniscule bag. I decided I would be better off cooking up a batch, following the recipe provided by Candice, our organic produce purveyor. Larry first dubbed him Speedy Gonzalez but, when I objected, switched to Leroy (pronounced LEEroy). I have to admit that it fit him admirably, but, wanting to give him something to aspire to, I suggested Felipe. That seems to have stuck, although now and then we relapse and refer to him as Leroy.
Thus began the feeding, the nursing, the befriending. He's a sweet little dog and clearly appreciates my culinary efforts. And he endures the shampoos, the swabbings, and the pills. But on Thursday, apparently feeling a little better, he registered his objections to being confined by breaking out of the kennel (it was missing some screws, so he apparently lifted the top and dismantled the door) and disappeared. It was a stormy day and night, so I was pretty distraught, and we had little hope of finding him or of his returning. Early Friday afternoon, however, there he was back in the garage. Larry decided to leave the door off the kennel and affix him to a long rope so he could ramble around the front yard, and he seemed content with this for about five days. Then he began roaming more freely and consequently became entangled by automobiles, trees, landscape lighting, etc., and we noticed his attempts to chew through the rope. We finally relented and set him free, not knowing what to expect.
He hasn't left the property. The weather has been wet, so he's been happy to hang out in the kennel, fitted with pillows and blankets, for the most part unless a free ranging dog ventures up the driveway, in which case he bares his teeth, charges, and effectively runs him off. When the sun is out, he lounges in the driveway or on the front steps. He's become much less fearful and much more playful, dancing around on his long hind legs for attention and food. Chyna and Trudy are aware that he's there. Chyna objected strongly at first, as did Juanita, who swelled up like a furry blowfish, but the objections appear to have given way to curiosity. I think they'll become used to him, like the dogs did Juanita, and pretty soon will consider him a household fixture rather than a threat. His skin condition has improved, but not quite so dramatically as I had hoped. His treatment was largely antibacterial in the hopes that the loss of hair and inflammation was brought about by scratching, but there remains the possibility that it could be mange, which will require a trip to a licensed veterinarian in David. I'm going to shampoo him again this weekend and give him a good lookover early next week and decide.
The original plan was to rehabilitate him and put him up for adoption, but we finally admitted this morning that we're becoming attached to him and that he's too happy to uproot again. So it looks like we have a third dog. I have hopes that someday Felipe will be presentable if not beautiful.
