Anyone who knows me personally, knows that a story like this is inevitable any time I travel.
I have always had a major soft spot for our furry brethren, and am innately keen to how they feel (and yes, I do believe animals have feelings). I have been debating writing this post for over a week, unsure as to whether this sort of a story would resonate for anyone but myself. I've written journal entries, and even a letter to her, and I am unsatisfied. So, this blog entry is dedicated to my good friend Venus, who proved to be the hardest thing to leave behind in Tecolutla.
The Manzanos are good, kind, generous people, and though they never went looking for a dog, they now have two. They obtained their second dog, Kira, ony about 5 months ago, and she is a feisty, energetic puppy, who has two sisters next door. If Kira ever manages to get out of the camp, she goes directly there to play. I think she is somewhat of the favorite, likely due to her spunk and her newness to the family. She's a handful.
I felt no real pangs for Kira. She was well taken care of, and well adapted. Who my heart was drawn to, was their older dog, Venus. She has been with the family for a couple years. She found her way into the Manzano clan, when a friend of theirs called to say they had found an animal in desparate need of a good home. She was incredibly thin--you could see all of her ribs, she had been beaten, and hit by a car, with a broken back-left leg. Quite a pitiful creature. Who could turn away a dog with a story like that?
But sadly, Venus' story, though hard to tell, and hard to hear, from what I have seen, is not unusual. There are lots of stray animals here (and in many other countries I have visited), and many people regard them as pests. I don't even want to remember the number of times I have seen people do things that made me flinch, brought tears to my eyes, or the number of arguments I have had with people about animal treatment. Oddly enough, most commonly I have seen children being the cruel ones--sticks, bottles, rocks, ropes, clothing, even coconuts prove handy, it seems.
So it is with all this pain and protective instinct that I came to meet Venus. In comparison to her "sister," Kira, Venus is much more reserved and guarded. She's not unfriendly, but she tends to keep more to herself, which is understandable given her past. She will let you pet her, provided you don't move too suddenly and startle her. She has the biggest and deepest eyes I have ever seen in a dog.
Our friendship began as any would--the attentive scratching behind the ear, under her chin and back hips. With time, she stayed at my side for longer and longer, learning to trust me. Soon she would approach me, and just look at me with her soulful eyes, and I knew what she wanted. Before long, if I stopped scratching her, she would lift up her paw and tap my leg, letting me know we weren't finished. And then, of course, the crowning moment for any animal lover, the belly rub.
Mind you, people here, even those who love and care for their animals aren't really into petting. I have gotten more than one strange look when I sat at length with Venus. But let them look all they want.
She followed me to dinner with friends, where she snuck under the table at the open resturants. She followed me to the internet cafe, where after a few minuted of waiting outside, she snuck into the corner and curled up next to me. She came to the beach every time we had a liberation, even though she is terrified of the water and avoids the sun. And once when I went swiming, she lay perched on the shore, watching me the entire time. When a large wave obsured my head, she got nervous and hoped up, until she was confident I was still there and still ok. She is the reason we invented the phrase: Man's best freind.
All the while, I did try to remain respectful of the fact that she is not my dog, and she llives by the rules, here and not at home. Until one night.... She is usually very good about knowing her human boundaries, and always waits to be invited before leaving, or sitting with you... but one night she pushed her way ahead of me into my cabana, and went and curled up under the bed. Very unlike her. She lay there, looking at me, cowering, her eyes deeper and more pleading than ever. SHe refused to move when I called her. Also very unlike her. I left the cabana again to go get something, but she remained. Again, unlike her. I knew something was up, and I was afraid she might be sick.
Soon I was to find out why. Not within 30 minutes, did an enormous, loud torrential thunderstorm begin. Poor Venus jumped at every crack, and whimpered occasionally at new sounds outside. It turns out she is terrified of storms, too. That was the first night that Venus slept in my cabana, though admittedly not the last, but always waiting for me to invite her in.
.
And so, it was with agony that I tried to explain to her the night before I left, to say goodbye to her properly, even though I know, of course she couldn't understand. All through the next morning, I was teary, taking any spare moment to give her an extra scratch. Most heart-wrenching of all, was when my friend Herminio gave me a ride to the bus station on the atv. She ran along behind, looking up at me, limping due to her bad leg. I said my goodbyes outside the station, but she followed me in anyway. I pet her for a while before boarding the bus. And then there she sat. My good friend was the last familiar face I saw as I left town. She waited, sitting at the open bus door, waiting to be invited in. She waited there patiently for 15 minutes. Finally getting up and walking away one the engine started and teh door closed. I watched her get up and walk back into teh station, looking around, a bit lost. Unsure of what to do with herself now. And away she went.
So this is for you, my good friend Venus. Thank you for all the wonderful memories and tender moments. Thank you for letting me in. I hope that the rest of your life is filled with happiness, and even more and better friends.
Goodbye.
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