Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Yesterday was an interesting day - in the ancient curse sense. Sunday night I met a dog, a lovely little urchin whom I named Ginger. I decided that Ginger should live with us. I've been wanting for some time to have a dog with whom to travel and do agility work. This little fellow is a sweetheart, very gentle, but hungry and uncared-for.

So yesterday, when he showed up again, I put a makeshift collar on him (courtesy of one of the neighbours) and brought him back to our rig. He was a little confused by the collar, but he soon adapted to it. Chantal and I walked him over to the vet's office because not only would he need shots, but he had a gash on his leg that needed looking at. The vet wasn't in. It was siesta time, but apparently he had gone to Hermosillo and wouldn't be back until five o'clock. We brought Ginger back here and I set about trying to convince Robin that keeping him would be a good idea. No dice. It seems we will not be keeping him. So then I had to go back to the vet and beg him to find Ginger a home. He's a lovely little dog, and he should not be living on the street - or on the beach. I heard that the vet runs a rescue organization of some sort.

Meanwhile, Ginger spent the day with me. He loved the chicken I cooked for him, and he spent a lot of the afternoon contentedly snoozing out on the patio.

At five o'clock I walked Ginger back to the vet's office. We waited outside while the vet's nine dogs - including a St. Bernard and a dachshund - shouted their displeasure at our being there. After ten minutes or so, the vet drove up. His car had broken down, so he was delayed in getting home. Meanwhile, another woman had shown up, this one with a pug and a big black dog of some sort trailing her and a pug puppy with a (probably) broken leg resting against her chest. I told the vet to go ahead and take her first, and I sat in the waiting room with Ginger. I had had to carry him in - he obviously isn't used to being indoors, as he wouldn't come into the rv either), and as soon as I sat down he squeezed himself in under my chair and had to be pried out.

Anyway, when our turn came I told the vet about Ginger's problems and mine, and he told me that unfortunately there was nothing he could do about finding Ginger a home. All he could do was treat the cut on his leg. There you go. He muzzled Ginger, sprayed antiseptic on his wound, gave him a shot of antibiotic, and administered a dose of sympathy to both of us. "I'm sorry," he said. "There are just too many dogs in San Carlos."

There you go. I took Ginger's collar/leash off and let him go. Of course, he followed me home anyway. I went to the neighbour who had lent me the leash and explained the situation to her. Could she adopt Ginger? No, at least not now. Her husband doesn't want any more dogs either. We decided that we would continue to feed Ginger and try to find somebody to take him in. Wish us luck.

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