Walking in the la Sabana, we came across this little corner of animals. All were up for adoption. I might as well have stepped into a gummie bear-chocolate-all-you-can-eat shop. Though Coco did pretty well, her face stopped looking joyous because I’d just bought her a beach ball. She wants a pet like I don’t want a pet. One more species to care for would put me over the edge. I’m trying not to be cold-hearted and look forward to the day the last guinea pig dies.

The faces are tough to look at, no matter if you want to take one home or not. This group was called amigos de los animales.* What work they have cut out for them. I suspect the treatment of animals is a symptom as to how we treat each other. Unfortunately because they speak a different language (that perhaps we choose to not understand) they become dumping grounds for all our human frustrations.

I remember when I was covering a conference in the Netherlands for a radio station, somehow the topic of stray animals came up. I asked someone what they did with their stray animals in the country. What programs did they have?

His reply: What strays?

This particular mutt had the eyes that at times in my life I would not have been able to resist. I mean look at that face. The other day, I was out running while Coco danced away in ballet, and I came across this partially crippled husky-like white dog. He was obviously dehydrated and in a bad way. Why me? Why place this dog in front of me, the sucker that wants to cure the whole world of everything? I told myself it was I had to let him go and couldn’t save the whole world, at least before ballet was over. He and I went in different directions.

Ten minutes later, there he was again. Again! Geez how can I resist twice? Now I was feeling helpless and horrible all at once. The dog split off to another block and stood next to a park, his tongue was too pink and all floppy like a filleted fish hanging from the side of a bucket.

I said to myself: Self, do you at least have something the dog could get water from if you run into him again? Save the world, no. A tiny speck of effort, O.k. I could do this. I filled a bottle with water and when I finished running, returned to the dog. He was still there but had moved to staring at the front door of a home.  I poured water into an discarded ice cream cup by the curb. Then I realized: Self, this is where the dog lives!

I hesitated ringing the door bell. What if it wasn’t the right house. But the dog kept looking at it as if he knew exactly where he was. This is when I get a little nervous about my Spanish also. I get mixed up when it comes to terms like dehydration, homeless stray, and why is the dog so crippled anyway?

I took a deep breath and buzzed the bell. A muffled voice came over the speaker. I asked them if perhaps they had a big white dog. There was a hmmmph and crackling on the other end. A minute later, a man opened the door, and the dog bolted inside. He was at the right home. The man said thank you and shut the door. I stood there for a second and then picked up the dish of water in the old ice cream cup.

I hope each one of these mutts up for adoption has a success story, someone that will help them snuggle in at night and flip them the bits of sausage left on the plate. Coco asked if when we do adopt a dog, she can pick it out. I said, sure. Why not?

*(phone 506-267-6011 email: consci@racsa.co.cr)