Mexican Pups & Mean Streets

Tails wagging as they tumbled in the dirt by the side of the road, the puppies didn’t know they had been dumped to die. It probably looked to them like it was fun to run around the open space by the restaurant. They had no idea what cars were, or a busy road, or imminent death, it just seemed like a good place to play.
Ribs are sprung from empty bellies. Fur clumped from scratched flea bites, so many critters their fur seems to move from the busy biting of the monsters feeding off succulent puppy blood.
We were playing bridge, Nancy and I. There were an odd number of teams and it was our turn to sit out for three hands. She smoked, I sat for company. “Look, I said. There are puppies playing over there.” We walked over to see.
One was brown and white spotted. Sweet face little girl with black rimmed eyes as if eye-liner was carefully applied that morning. The tail's incessant as it showed joy at some attention.
The other, brother, shy and not as adventurous, hung back for a while and then, he too came for some attention. His tail wagged so hard it almost came off.
We looked over the wrought iron fence into the nearby campo. Momma dog and family must be close and looking for these sweet pups. I tried to open the gate when a man appeared from the restaurant. “No, no, don’t let the pups in, big dog kill them.” I looked at the man who was making vehement “no-no” signs at me.
“Don’t they belong here?” I asked.
“No, they from Ejido in mountains. All the time they come and dump baby dogs, cats in front of restaurant. Open car door and throw out. Same with these dogs.”
“You mean no one owns them?”
“No, no one. They dumped.”
Nancy and I are softies and we know it. Tears started to well up. We’re dog lovers, she with two, I have four. We looked at each other, then back at the tiny creatures at our feet, tails still wagging in the joy of our attention. We shook our heads. What would we do? Suckers both, there’s no way for us to avoid the necessity for rescue of these two little souls. It would be certain death for them. Either starvation or truck wheels over hapless bodies. No way.
The call came for us to play bridge once more. “Bye guys.” We called over our shoulders as we went back to the game, a game of skill with no resultant life or death at the end.
“Anyone want a puppy?” We asked the other players.
No takers. Mexico is a land filled with dogs in streets. The culture is such that men refuse to neuter the males. Belief in retention of masculine testicles is so strong that a flinch of horror is the result of even a hint of the cut being made. But no one wants the pups that result from dogs loose and giving semen freely to any bitch in heat. Mexico is fecund. It overflows with unwanted life. Creatures live, they die, it seems to be all the same.
So the gringos, soft hearted idiots that we are, try to take care of the some of the disposable life on Mexican streets. Now education is tried. Veterinarians give seminars on the necessity for neutering, keeping pets off the streets, good diet, care, the dangers of tying dogs up by the neck and leaving them alone for years. Not too many pay attention. Still, the horror of losing one’s balls predominates over the need for reducing excess dog population. So much for philosophy, it’s like preaching to the choir. We leave the pups to snooze on steps in the shade and go back to play bridge.
After the bridge game is over, the pups are still curled together on the steps of the gate house to the campo. Nancy and I gather them up in arms and put them in a box in my car. The fleas don’t seem to mind as the pups snuggle once more to sleep, now seeming to feel safe that they are in human hands. The pups don’t know of the dangers to be faced - men who pick up the strays to use at bait to train the fighting pit bulls, trucks careening by heedless of small bodies in the road, hungry coyotes and big mean dogs jealous of their turf. We know, Nancy and I, and don’t want these two served as lunch. We know also they are only two little souls out of millions on the street, but we also know that to save lives you have to start somewhere.
We pile the pups in my car and off we go to try and find a sanctuary hidden high in the hills above town. Two hours of driving over dirt roads, up and down to no avail. We end up at the feed store and veterinarian. The pups are left overnight for baths, shots, food and water. Hopefully the million fleas they sport will be reduced in number.
At Tai Chi the next morning I ask if anyone would like a puppy. Shock and surprise, the Tai Chi Master has been looking for a pet. He wants a “real dog” not a little fou-fou one - like my four poodle mixes. He comes with me to the vet and gets his pick of the pups, taking the little black male with white feet. This one’s faces bears the slightest markers of a possible pit bull heritage somewhere back in the generations and it’s paws speak to a large future. He is not happy to be separated from his sister, they have been constant companions.
Sister cries in a large crate on my patio while my dogs look on. I can read in their faces the questions: Are we getting a new addition to our pack? Will she ever stop yowling? Is she going to steal my toys?
Soon a friend, Jan, will come and we will try again for the sanctuary or find another solution. Sister’s panic is winding down; she’s tired of crying and looking at the chew toy I gave her. Her face is sad white and light brown and her made-up eyes are rimmed with tears from the loss of her brother and companion. We take her to the vet who treated the pups, Jan knows that he will put them at the front of his store and give them away to someone who wants a pet. As I hand her over to the boy who puts her in a cage with a hand-lettered sign “For Free” I remember that I still have her chew toy and I run to get it for her. As I push it through the cage I start to cry again. What if someone takes her to train their pit bulls to fight? What if they let her roam loose in the street? I can’t take her home, I already have four dogs. I run out of the store and into my car. The streets of Mexico can be cruel.
All I can do is hope she’ll find a kind home and loving family to compensate for the loss of her brother.
And - if I could find the man who threw the pups out of his car, I would be most pleased to assist in the removal of his genitalia, and not gently.