Thursday, February 14, 2013
This is Panchita. She doesn't deserve that stupid name, but--what can I say. I wasn't responsible for naming her. Come to think of it, I've named very few of my dogs.
Panchita came into my life at the end of 2006. One day she was at the parking lot of the company I used to work for, wagging her stubby magic wand of a tail, and looking cute as hell with those big liquid brown eyes of hers. Someone fed her, and that was that--she never left.
That was in November 2006.
A new employee, an expat who lived on the premises, named the dog and took care of her: fed her, kept a bowl of fresh water outside her door, even let her inside her tiny apartment when it rained (winter is the rainy season here in the tropics). This girl went around the office and collected money to have Panchita spayed. When she reached my office--she knew I had a special spot in my heart for dogs--she complained, "No one wants to help. I don't think we have enough, and I don't know where to find the rest."
I asked how much was missing--around USD 50. I pulled out my wallet and took out enough to cover the missing cash.
Ah, those were the days. When money flowed. When I didn't have to count coins to buy a pack of cigarettes. When I could disburse almost any amount and not give it a second thought. That financial security might come in handy now--how many dogs could I help!
Then again, I wouldn't have the time. And I've found that time means a lot more to dogs, more even than health. They'll put up with all sorts of illnesses, deficiencies in their bodies, and hang on with claws of steel--if only they feel loved.