All Dogs...

On Thursday, I left Walter with the vet in Changuinola. He had parasites and hadn´t been eating well. The doctor wanted to ¨admit¨ him for a few days, which was OK with me because I didn´t want to leave the sick pup in the rather incapable hands of my community. On Monday, when I was returning from the beach, I called the vet to see if I could come to Changuinola to pick up my baby boy. He told me Walter died the day before. My Walter died.

The Ambassador and I only had a month together, but that was enough time to fall completely in love with him. In fact, I was in love before I even took him home. Right from that first time he slung his paws over my shoulder and rested his head there like a human, it was game over. When I called to tell my Mom what happened, I think that´s the only time I´ve ever called her crying.

Everyone thinks their dog is extra special, and the rest of the world thinks they´re nuts. You can call me nuts; the Ambassador was one-of-a-kind. And sure, maybe this whole gringa-in-the-jungle gig I´ve got going made me vulnerable to form intense emotional attachments too quickly. How could I not? Love is love, and sometimes it can happen fast between an American girl and a Panamanian mut. The intensity of my sadness over this was more than I expected, but it was not helped by most of my community blaming me for his death because of sardines that I fed him, and subsequently explaining all my failures in ten-minute tirades until I was nearly reduced to tears on several separate occasions (Ngobe past-time: clinging to theories that have no factual basis in medicine).

So this will be the last post about Ambassador Caballero-Lopez Santos Santos. Is it possible his sad eyes knew he only had two months to the day? We won´t entertain the thought. Because now he has moved on elsewhere, past the cruel conditions of Panama that are not welcoming to baby dogs. He lived a short life, but he was a great Ambassador.

Where´s Walter?

I always subscribed to the ¨Dogs are people too¨ line of thinking. If you´re a dog person, you know what I mean. Our family dog Whistey was definitely part human. He was always respectful of personal space, and only got up in your face when he really needed something. He didn´t rush to eat his biscuits in the morning; he ate them neatly, using both paws to hold them as he nibbled away politely. If he had an accident or misbehaved, his embarassment was visible. He had a certain dignity about him.

My Walter, albeit still in his puppyhood, certainly has a different character, but is no less human than the late great Whistey Basham. He´s got this sadness in his face--a knowingness that tells you this puppy has seen it all, and it´s made him tired. The look of defeat he wears is a warning that life isn´t always sunshine and rainbows. Take it from a puppy who knows.

Do we believe dogs have past lives? He is only eight weeks old but his malaise is so convincing.
I know this dog is special because he has even captured the hearts of Ngobes who, though they often have dogs, treat them poorly or don´t feed them enough (or at all). But Walter? They see his face and ask ¨Is he OK, Cati? You should buy him milk.¨Which always makes me laugh because it´s such a luxury that they don´t even buy it for their children, let alone a lowly perrito. I took him by the school the other day, and two of the teachers said, ¨Why does he look like that?¨I don´t know; he just does. He lives the life of Riley compared to all the other dogs, but that miserable coutenence leaves the general public questioning my parenting skills.

So moved by his mournful gaze, neighbor Julio asks to take him out on trips into the woods to fix the aqueduct or go fishing. Julio says it´s so Walter doesn´t get lazy, but I know better, because the invites only come after Julio wonders aloud at the Ambassador´s ¨little sad face.¨

Of course, he doesn´t always look like it´s the most disappointing day of all time. He plays, scares the neighbors, and walks right by my side whether I´m going lejos arriba to clean the water tanks, or down to nearby Quebrada Juan to pasear. He´s afraid to cross the street and gets nervous in front of a lot of people, but left to run loose in the monte, he looks more at home.

I never had a puppy before, so I was unsure about what it would be like, but I´m always delighted by the ways he is like a real baby. He has sweet puppy breath and does not react well to bathtime:


In the night, sometimes he cries. I get up, give him a little cuddle, and he goes back to sleep again until the morning. When I read at night, he starts trying to climb up on me and wedge his face in the crook of my elbow or on my chest. H ewon´t settle for some affectionate patting. He wants to snuggle. In fact, while I was writing out this entry last night, he climbed into my lab and positioned himself just so:
I will have to work on phasing this out eventually because hammock snuggle hour is not as easy or enjoyable with a 50 lb hound. But right now, I am powerless to deny him. His eyes!

So life with Walter is fun. He makes every day a little more interesting. The town refers to him as my chi chi, Ngobere for child, and he is exactly like that. My own little chi chi with a body spotted like a cow, and a face marked by a persistant melancholy that he might be too young and erm, canine to really own.

I am a Mom

There were several months of internal debates that went into the should-I-get-a-puppy decision. Many volunteers have done it and sung the praises of having a little furball around to help you through those dark electricityless nights and the awkward pasearing moments. Then, I decided, unequivocally, that now is not the best time in my life to take on the responsiblity of a dog. I live, temporarily, in a foreign country, have to travel, and live on a limited allowance that doesn´t leave a lot of room for puppy medical emergencies.

But then Jim, our Bocas regional leader, found himself in a bit of a bind when a pregnant dog decided that he was her new daddy, and proceeded to move into his Changuinola home until she bore eight perritos. He asked me if I could please take one, and I thought to myself, ¨Cati, you did not seek out this puppy. It was delivered it to you.¨ And there are some faces that you are just born to love. And this one?

I fell hard, and I fell fast. His complete name is Ambassador Walter Fitzgerald Caballero-Lopez Santos Santos. Jim named him Droopy, but I thought a name like that could have life-long effects on his self-esteem. His last names came from my first host family and neighbors. The name Walter was suggested by my birthmother and also Paul. Fitzgerald is a shout-out to the adulterous, back-pain-plagued founder of Peace Corps, JFK.

He is an Ambassador because, well, why not givea dog a title? It might keep the kids from playing too roughly with him. El es un ambajador! Cuidado! Since Walter arrived on Sunday, he has been coming to pasear with me, at the quebrada to wash clothes, and from house to house helping me accomplish my daily tasks. We are working on the whole walking-on-your-own thing. He prefers to be carried like a baby and rest his head on my shoulder. He is still a wee thing (one month!), but it can´t go on forever. That isn´t very dignified behavior for an Ambassador. You have legs, Walter. Use them.

We are living a very happy life together. He falls asleep on my tummy while I lie in my hammock at night, and he even poops outside! Although we are encountering some small problems. One is that all of the deathly thin dogs that never get fed can fit through my porch fence and steal his food. And twice in the a night a bully has come by and tried to hurt Wally Fitz. His screams broke out into the night and awakened me from my slumber. My neighbor saw this happen both times and is also feeling fiercely protective of our poor defenseless hero. He is also a little bit of a chewer, and a mouther, which are common puppy problems but I am determined to be a rigid trainer. Teething is no excuse to behave like a common street dog, Señor Caballero-Lopez Santos Santos. This lady´s ideas about how to keep him from biting are interesting. Although if I start yelping everytime he mouths me, I think the Ngobes will finally decide that Cati is just completely off her rocker. He responds to my reprimands, and can be redirected to playing with his toy I made from a handkerchief.

Doesn´t he look thrilled? Anyway, he is usually only awake for fifteen minutes before he needs another break:

So that´s the story. Stay tuned. (I promise I will endeavor to keep the annoying dog-doting to a minimum. BUT DID YOU SEE HIS FACE?!)