Romy's Story (Part II -- The Seven Dwarves)

Missed Part I?

How did we miss Romy's pregnancy? Easy: she was probably three days pregnant when we picked her up. All initial vet checks showed no signs because it was too early. And canine pregnancies go fast--before you know it, it's too late to do anything about it.

Romy at the vet on Oct 15 (2012)
Three weeks before giving birth. Looks very
un-pregnant, doesn't she?

Which is exactly what happened.

So Romy was going to have puppies. A problem in itself: in an island where homeless dogs are too many to count, where animal rights culture is a step up from non-existent, finding good homes, even for puppies--perhaps especially for puppies, because everyone wants them while they're young and adorable, not so much later when the cuteness is marred by their potential for destruction--is not an easy thing.

There was another problem, however. A more immediate problem. Romy's foster had upwards of 17 dogs. Romy would have to give birth in close proximity to them. Even separated by the iron fencing of the kennels, everyone could see this wasn't a good idea.*

Nassau (Part I): The Lesson

Nassau was the beginning of my formal training in dog behavior. I didn't even believe in dog trainers. In my mind, they were all nasty control freaks that used dogs as an outlet for their inferiority complexes, forced them to perform circus tricks for human entertainment. Punishment. Whips.

I had a lot to learn. And Nassau didn't waste time teaching me.

She bit me the first time I met her.

Romy's Story (Part I)

Romy's story was first published in Quiet Laughter,

October 3, 2012

The last weekend of September [2012] I got a call from CARF. "There's a dog at the dump," the woman said. "We've been feeding her for a while, and we think she's ready to be caught and brought to the vet. Can you foster her?"

Romy, at the dump, the day
before she was rescued.

Uh, yeah. But--at the dump? The garbage dump? They threw her away like garbage?

"The rescuer will meet you at the vet's Monday morning."

The rescuer called me Sunday evening, a lovely Dutch woman, wife of a Marine officer, unfortunately only stationed here in Curaçao for a few more years. Why can't people like these stay around forever?

When I walked into the vet's waiting room, she was holding a reddish-yellow dog, smaller than I thought, on her lap. Huge eyes, all sweetness. Her legs were stiff from fear, but she let herself be moved over to my lap and we cuddled while we waited. She was so dirty--he-llo, garbage dump--that I got a rash all over my arms and neck. Nothing that a good shower didn't cure, though.

Sasha Number Two

Ah, little Sasha. With you began one of the most pleasurable, most challenging, most chock-full-o' learning years of my life.

She lived in an empty lot behind Goisco (the Curaçao version of Costco). The owner and employees of a nearby restaurant fed her for at least two months. No idea where she came from, how she got there, what kind of life she had before. One thing is clear, though: if she had an owner, s/he will burn in brimstone and magma for all eternity.

Sasha is terrified of humans.

Three different organizations tried to catch her. Everyone was afraid she'd go into heat. She's so little. So defenseless. The idea of every dog in the neighborhood after her horrified us all.

But no one could get close.

The trust method failed. Cornering her failed. Epically. A trap was invented over a weekend. Chicken livers were cooked. The lure carefully set, a monitoring station set up a safe distance away.

Nope.

A Tribute To Frida

Frida came to us in December 2008. Tiny thing with matted hair, thin, shy but not hostile. She showed up at the office parking lot (yes, her too). I saw her two or three times, scurrying around the cars, looking so small. So vulnerable.

I left early that afternoon for some reason I don't remember--usually I worked until 7 or 8 pm. When I walked out of the building, the sun was setting and the air had that peachy glow of Caribbean dusks. I saw her then as she hurried away, out into the street.