Distemper hits Arroyo Seco

Tomorrow afternoon we 'get' to put a dog down.

Heartbreak City, for sure.

Here's the story: A few days ago a neighbor asked if we could help with her neighbor's dog, one that she had been feeding. He was emaciated, mucous dripping from his nose, had a noticeable lack of coordination. Like a drunk.

Last week we had already been busy helping animals around the village. We rescued a pitiful dachsund mutt who in one week has evolved into the lovely Princessa Mia and has stolen our hearts. And then there's the cocker spaniel that showed up at our palapa one morning, stinking and ailing with a fever. After a quick haircut and three days of antibiotic infections, she's bouncing around the town again, unfortunately noticeably pregnant. This will be her third litter in less than two years.

So the neighbors know we will help.

Last night a veterinarian made a house call to our remote little rancho of Arroyo Seco, at our request, to see if the current dog in crisis could be helped. He was still wobbling around in front of our place that morning, but when the vet showed up around 5, the dog was gone --- taken off to a remote pasture by someone in the village, whether to die or to get the dog isolated, I wasn't sure.

Our neighbor's husband hopped on his bicycle to bring the dog back so the vet could check him out --- something I definitely didn't understand because it didn't seem like the dog could walk that far. But there's a lot I don't understand here, especially when everyone's speaking in Spanish so fast that I'm catching about every 10 words --- if I'm lucky. And then there is also the cultural differences in how we care for our pets.

Eventually we ended up with the Oscar the vet (in the red shirt) and the dog -- and a committee of about 10 --- in the same place and the immediate verdict was ––– distemper.

Distemper?

Good grief. Don't they vaccinate against that here?

Apparently not often.

So tomorrow we'll put the poor pooch to sleep, vaccinate his siblings and the same owner's mama dog who has four-week old puppies, plus a different neighbor's dogs who have been sharing food and water.

Later, we'll do some research, make a plan, figure out the best way to help that might really make a difference --- prevention.

When you get past the tears from watching this poor dog suffer, the anger follows. How the heck can this happen so easily in 2010? Are these people heartless? Ignorant?

I think the truest answer might be two-fold: there's no veterinarian in the village and there's no money to pay for vaccinations. It costs between $10 to $15 per shot. Might not seem a lot to someone living (and working) in the States or Canada, but it could be close to a day's wages here. It might mean the difference between food on the table, clothes for their children, gas in the car.

So we have a two-fold response to the distemper crisis: bring in the vet, provide the money for vaccinations.

Another neighbor asked me today if the vet could look at her daughter's dog whose hind legs don't seem to be working. And then there's the other dog that apparently got bitten in the neck by a snake and the neck might now be gangrene.

I know we can't rescue every dog. But there's a lot we can do. We can continue to get every pooch snipped and clipped so every dog is a wanted dog. We'll work on getting them all vaccinated. We encourage -- and maybe find a way to fund the use of a monthly tick treatment so dogs won't get Ehrlichia.

We're a small village. Sometimes it feels insurmountable. I know it's impossible to save them all. But what is possible is to help by educating, preventing, and sometimes funding.

And eventually, hopefully, it will feel less like Heartbreak City.


The lovely Princessa Mia on the first day at home in the Palapa Pink Flamingo, Arroyo Seco. She's definitely decided to stay.

The dog lady of Arroyo Seco

Helping out the dogs in the village has been a way to introduce myself to more of my neighbors, a way to get to know them on a daily level --- as much as one can with only a limited vocabulary and confined to present tense.

It's interesting that we don't seem to stick out here as much as I assumed we did. When I introduce myself, they sometimes tell me 'they've seen me around the village' or even thought I lived on the beach where a few other gringos live.

So, that's cool, I think.

We're a couple of Saturday's into our free clinics (free to the villagers but not to our wallet) and we're beginning to get a daily routine going.

I prepare a huge bowl of dog food, chicken scraps or other meat, rice cooked in chicken fat, grab a bottle of high-potency vitamins, all the various medications and Michael and I head out on the quad.

Right now we're committed to feeding our now-thriving Capitan and the blind 6-month old puppy, Paloma. Along the way, we run across other needy pooches and try to give them a healthy breakfast.

They are all extremely grateful.

Each dog seems to learn the sound of our Honda quad after one feeding, pretty amazing considering how many motos there are in the village.

Our tours remind me of stories I've read about the rural nurses making home visits in Appalachia. The families seem happy to have the help, invite us into their homes, give us small gifts of fruit or food to thank us for taking an interest. Last week Brianda gave Rocio, our vet friend, two baby ducks, something Rocio had been really wanting for her yard in La Manzanilla.


Brianda gives the vet, Rocio, two baby ducks to thank her for her help

The people here might also think we're a bit loco about the dogs, but that's okay too.

For now, my goal is three-fold: demonstrate how easy it is to have a healthy pet, get them medical help when they need it and the people can't afford it, and eventually slice and dice every dog's reproductive organ in Arroyo Seco.

Helping is easy, often frustrating too. One quick example:

Our surfing friend Julien, from France, saw a really tattered dog around the village who had lost most, but not all, of her hair. He grabbed the dog, had a friend trim the remaining straggly hair, then gave it a shot of medicine that pretty instantly cures the dog of the skin problem.

Within a month or two, I realized that the dog was an adorable cocker spaniel. Who knew? Unfortunately, the owner didn't get her spayed in time. Last week she had nine puppies, who will now need to get fed and cared for.

She's on my list for the next spay and neuter clinic, as are all nine of the puppies.

When we got back to Arroyo Seco last night after a leisurely day in La Manzanilla with our friends Sanders and Pat Lamont, Chon to help us give a couple of overdue injections to two dogs. One, Leona, is scheduled for surgery in our palapa tomorrow at noon. Rocio has been researching how to fix some female problem (she's already been spayed). Last night we had to put a muzzle on her and hold her down just to give her the mildest of injections. She loves to bite those who want to help.

I find working with her somewhat nerve-wracking. Leona is none too happy about it either.


How many people does it take to treat Leona? A lot!

Samba, Julien's part-time dog, has adopted us and makes the rounds with us, I suspect because of the fragrant treats I carry with me. That's okay too. She's a poster child for what a healthy dog looks like. And great company too!


Samba makes house calls with us, then joins us for sunset at the beach

We also gave Capitan his last pills and one last shot, this one to boost his immune system. Now it's time to get the owner educated about how to keep him healthy. The biggest issue may be his pal, Paloma, who aggressively gobbles up all of the food before Capitan can get a bite.

We've learned to tie Paloma up near his own bowl until Capitan leisurely finishes his meal. It's a tradition we're hoping Marta understands as we pass the feeding chores back over to her.

The progress Capitan has made in the past few weeks is inspiring, we hope to our neighbors as well. He was probably just a few days from death when we got him. Eye infections, blood dripping from his nose, skin so raw that you couldn't touch it without it bleeding, barely able to walk or sit, too weak to stand to eat.


Capitan when we first spotted him in the village


Capitan after about two weeks of treatment and a lot of food

Now he's playful, growls and yips, wags his tail, takes walks to the village. He's already growing fine red hair where the skin had been scabbed and bleeding.

This week a family with three small children and two dogs are camped next to the jardin, the central garden across from the church, while they charge village kids to play on a big trampoline and a fooz ball game (or something similar) in the evening. For the past few days we've been feeding their mama-dog, who is nursing four puppies, and their ratty-haired fluffer-dog who drags its hind leg behind him. Broken? Twisted? We'll check it out on the next clinic, scheduled for tomorrow.

On our way to treat Leona, I spotted our friend Chena toweling off one of the toddlers from the same family camped at the jardin.

She said she saw how dirty the kids were and decided to help them out with a bath. Then she discovered the lice. So she had been de-lousing the three kids for the afternoon.

It seemed so symbiotic, that Michael and I would help out the pets, she would help out the kids, all part of healthy community that is willing to share what it has.

Nice.

My Spanish phrase for the week has been vale la pena --- worth the effort, worth the pain.

Here's a video that Michael posted on his blog about when Capitan came to visit last week. You can see the spring in his step already!