The Rescue at Dead Dog Beach Page 12

She didn’t budge, so I went around to the passenger side and opened the door for her.

  “Are they contagious?” she asked as she stepped gingerly from the vehicle. I was surprised by her unease given her experience rescuing street dogs.

  “I told you to wear long pants and real shoes.”

  “Oh my God. I had no idea there’d be so many dogs. They look awful. What happened to them?”

  Clearly she’d forgotten, or ignored, our phone conversation.

  “I did warn you,” I said.

  “Well, you know, Steve, sometimes people exaggerate.”

  “I knew it! I had a feeling you didn’t really believe me when we talked on the phone.”

  This is where the situation got weird. My powers of observation had gotten pretty good over the last year, and if there was one thing I could spot at a distance, it was a non–dog person. Melanie’s body language was defensive and her tone of voice was strained. She held her hands in tight fists under her chin as she repeated, “There’s a good doggie, there’s a good doggie,” over and over. What the hell was she even doing here?

  Her vibe was transferring to the dogs, and some of the more hyper ones were getting a little frenzied, which was annoying the alphas—exactly how fights started.

  “Melanie? You’re not going to make me regret bringing you here, are you?” I said it calmly with a half smile, but I wanted it to be obvious to her that I was serious. “Just shadow me, get to know the dogs by watching them, okay? No talking, no touching, no eye contact with the dogs. You relax and they’ll relax. It’s easy.” I fully trusted my dogs to behave well toward her, but I didn’t want them fighting because she’d gotten them into a funky mood.

  A few hours passed, and still no sign of Melanie’s friend Mary. Meanwhile, Melanie’s lack of preparation for the day was manifesting itself all over the place. First there was the bad clothing and shoes. But she’d also forgotten to bring the snacks, water, and sunblock I’d told her to on the phone. I had to give her some lotion I had in the truck, and, as the day wore on, she worked her way through my own water and snack provisions.

  I was pretty close to fed up and about to suggest we pack it in when, lo and behold, a beat-up old VW van came zooming into the lot. The driver’s-side’ door opened to reveal Mary, her wild, frizzy hair blowing in the sea breeze and a crazy-ass crooked smile. Even though she was hours and hours late, it was impossible to stay mad at this woman.

  I immediately led her on a tour of the beach.

  “I’ve been doing this a long, long time, Steve, and this is by far the worst I’ve ever seen.”

  “I know some of them look pretty bad, but they’re in a lot better shape now than they were when I first found them.”

  It was then that Mary noticed my beautiful white shepherd, Jess. When Pam and I had found him months earlier, he was afraid of his own shadow and couldn’t be touched. We guessed that someone had thrown boiling oil over his back and neck, and he was covered in horrible third-degree burns. Once, I’d been standing in line at a food vendor when a street dog had gotten too close to the food stand. The vendor’s wife got angry and threw a ladle of hot oil at the dog. Fortunately, the dog was fast that day and got out of the way in time. I had a feeling Jess hadn’t been so lucky.

  As if the burns weren’t enough, Jess had several gashes across his flanks, likely the result of a machete. Since knife wounds were pretty common among my dogs, I had made it a point to learn how to suture. I’d been buying pig parts at the grocery store and practicing my stitching skills on them. I’d gotten damn good at it.

  The day I met Jess, I’d gone home to do some Internet research on treating severe burns. It took a while for Jess to trust me, but once he did, I was able to treat and suture his flank wounds. Then came the difficult task of scrubbing the wounds clean and dressing his burns with antibiotic cream every single day. Most of the time he would howl in agony and try to get away, and when I was done the little bugger would promptly roll in the sand, but over time it was apparent that he was slowly healing. The remarkable thing was that no matter how much he protested the treatment, or how much pain he must have been in, he never once growled at me or bit me, not even when I had to trim the edges of his flesh and scrape his wounds to suture them properly shut.

  Poor Jess was still covered in ugly battle scars.

  “I can’t believe what a sweetheart he is,” Mary said when I told her Jess’s story. “After what he’s been through? Amazing.” I was really happy that my dogs liked her, which I always took as a good sign.

  Mary opened the side door of her van and started pulling out plastic tubs filled with medical supplies, which we spent the rest of the day using on the dogs. We gave them vaccinations, vitamin boosters, and dewormer. In no time I was overloaded with information and supplies I could only have dreamed of in the past. Evidently Mary had some connection that supplied her with dog medications.

  “You are most definitely the Mother Teresa of dogs,” I said.

  It was getting late, and we’d done more than I ever thought possible. I was exhausted but beaming like a kid in a candy store. It had been a long time since I’d felt so hopeful.

  “Okay, let’s figure out who I can take with me today,” Mary said, scanning the pack.

  “What?” I was a little taken aback.

  “You can’t take care of this many dogs by yourself, Steve. I have a few spaces at my place.”

  She chose the motherless puppies and a few of the smaller dogs. I had no idea how many dogs this lady had managed to save in all the years she’d been rescuing. All I knew was that she was helping more in this one trip than anyone had done in the entire previous year.

  “Mary, what do I owe you for the medication?”

  “Nothing, Steve. I’ve got this.”

  I was overwhelmed with gratitude as I helped her load the dogs into her van.

  She got in and started to pull away, then stopped and stuck her head out the window.

  “Hey, Steve! Why don’t you and your wife break away from here after your morning rounds Saturday and come see me in Salinas. I’ve got more meds I’d like to give you for your dogs. I really didn’t know what to expect today, so I didn’t bring everything with me. And you can meet my pack.”

  When she drove off, I was left standing with Melanie, surrounded by dogs. It was now up to me to decide which ones were about to get a get-out-of-jail-free pass and go with Melanie for eventual homes back in the States. It was impossibly difficult choosing which dogs to take. I loved them all.

  In the end, we loaded the remaining motherless pups into my truck for the drive back to San Juan. As I drove away, the dogs left behind gave me a look that was more heart wrenching than usual, so I was quiet during the ride. I wanted to be excited about the day’s accomplishments, but I found it difficult to muster up the energy to pull it off. Melanie’s optimistic attitude had vanished several hours earlier, when she’d realized that the dog problem at the beach was much bigger than she’d expected. She was tense and cranky with the dogs barking in the back of the truck. We arrived at the shelter a little over an hour later, unloaded our precious cargo, then continued on into San Juan to drop Melanie back at her place.

  On the ride home, my heart ached. As wonderful as it was that so many dogs had got a new lease on life today, with the promise of a real home down the road, there were so many left to their own devices on that dangerous beach. I knew that many of them would die before the next rescue mission arrived. I would never utter my misgivings out loud for fear of sounding ungrateful—I was more than grateful for what these gals had done for me and my dogs—but as usual, it was complicated.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  A year into our Puerto Rico sojourn, taking care of the dogs was my full-time job; I did little to nothing else. The dogs depended on me, and I had come to depend on them too. There was something very healing for me about being with them. Until now I had never been able to re-create the feeling of purpose I’d had when w
orking with orphaned kids in Southeast Asia years earlier. Instead of thinking only of myself, my days had been scheduled around taking care of children who had nothing. Now I felt alive again, like I was doing something that could make a difference in the world, that my actions actually mattered. Even if only to the dogs and me, I was making a difference.

  As difficult as it was for me emotionally to bury the dogs, it was a job that needed to be done on a daily basis. The week following Mary and Melanie’s visit was no exception. Some of the dogs that were too far gone when I met them passed away during the night. Some of the dogs I had nurtured back to health had been killed deliberately; some of them had received loving pats from Mary and been promised they would be on the next shipment off this miserable beach. I felt like I had betrayed them.

  Often, when I was carrying a dog to the hole I’d dug, my mind would flash back to when I was a child and felt the need to run like hell from my fears. I had never actually been afraid of dying myself; it was more the fear of losing someone I loved. My dad. My grandpa. My childhood pets. I didn’t want to be left alone without them. Every time, I had run until I fell from exhaustion. I’d lie there until dark and then walk home, often not getting back to my house until the wee hours of the morning. My family had worried about me, but they knew that if they chased me I’d go even farther and stay away longer. I could only imagine how hard it must have been for Mum and Nan to keep it together and be strong for us boys after Dad and Grandpa died. I remember hearing them cry alone behind closed doors when they thought we couldn’t hear. But somehow they put on a brave face and remained strong for us kids and got us through incredibly tough times. I had always wished I could summon the kind of strength they had displayed.

  Now I was being forced to face this fear of loss and confront my demons head-on. The dogs had no one else to take care of them when they died. I was beginning to identify different feelings I had each time I carried a dog to its grave, or held one in my arms as it died. It had begun when Pam and I had to put Achates to sleep. I had lain on the vet’s office floor, holding his face and looking into his eyes. I didn’t want him to go, but I knew in my heart it was time. The urge to run was almost too much to resist. But I needed to be there for him, and for Pam. I lay there with Achates for over an hour after he fell into his forever sleep. He lay there with such calm confidence and peace, I felt his energy flow through me and calm me enough to stay at his side. I never forgot that feeling, and relied on it now.

  My daughter Bethany (from a previous marriage) and her boyfriend Ryan wanted to come visit for my birthday. I hadn’t met Ryan yet, and I hadn’t seen Bethany in a long time, so I was really looking forward to it. Neither of them had traveled far outside their small hometown in the American Northwest, let alone out of the country. I thought this would be a great opportunity for them to experience our island life and broaden their horizons.

  I’ve always loved to people watch, and the San Juan airport is a great place to do that. Whether it was a gaggle of tourists being shepherded to the sheltered quarters of a cruise ship or a seasoned business traveler striding confidently to the car rental desk, it was fun to guess each person’s comfort—or discomfort—level. Pam and I would sometimes make up scenarios for the people we saw, role-playing conversations we imagined they were having.

  Bethany and Ryan were pretty entertaining to watch, like two deer in the headlights, as you might imagine a young couple traveling out of the country for the first time would be. They looked quite relieved to see me on the other side of the glass in the baggage claim area. And I was happy to see them and excited about all I had planned for their visit. First up, the joyride that was the trip to Yabucoa.

  As we got into my truck, I said, “Ladies and gentlemen, at this time I’d like to ask you to stow your bags, put your seats and tray tables in the upright position, and please fasten your seat belts securely as we are ready for takeoff.”

  The kids chuckled at my stupid Dad humor, not giving it much thought until we exited the parking garage.

  The drive to Palmas del Mar was nothing out of the ordinary for me, but for them it was like a real-life amusement park ride. Bethany white-knuckled the dashboard, and Ryan did the same on the back of the seat.

  “Enjoying the ride?” I said. I guess I could have warned them what driving was like in Puerto Rico, but I figured why spoil the surprise?

  “How does anyone get where they’re going without an accident here?” Bethany said, her voice a little tremulous with fear.

  “Don’t jinx it! We’re not home yet!” I said smiling.

  We arrived in one piece. When we drove through the entrance gates to the compound, the kids’ fear turned to awe.

  “Oh my God, you live here?”

  I laughed. “Don’t be too impressed. Consider it more of a white-collar prison with benefits.”

  It was kind of fun to see how excited they were about where they’d be staying on their vacation.

  Over the next few days, Bethany and Ryan joined me on my morning rounds with the dogs, and then we headed off to explore the island. I could tell they were trying to embrace every new experience I threw their way, and I was determined to help them change their small-town view of the world and their preconceived notions about other ethnicities and cultures. I avoided the typical touristy things people usually do when they come to the island on vacation, instead taking them kite surfing and snorkeling at out-of-the-way spots. Wherever we went during their stay, I made stops at some of my favorite street vendors for lunch. The roadside food stands sold amazing homemade dishes, often displayed in the kind of aquariums people generally keep pet fish in. Usually the vendors had a wood-burning grill right there. What was most fun for me was the places where I was considered a regular: the vendors didn’t speak English, and I still had no Spanish under my belt, and yet we communicated beautifully and I was treated like family.

  I was heartened to see how open-minded Bethany and Ryan were. I only wished I’d been able to give my kids more of this type of experience when they were little, but, as a divorced dad, I only had them with me for six weeks in the summer and every other Christmas.

  In 1986, at the end of my three years with the orphans in Southeast Asia, I had returned home to Canada to recover from the malaria I’d contracted. Not long after that, I got a girl I barely knew pregnant. Determined to do right by her, I married her. It was a bad idea. In no time we had a second child. By the time I was twenty-four, we were divorced, and my kids grew up traveling between two families and sharing holidays. So I welcomed the chance to have an adult relationship with my now grown-up daughter, and to share my world with her.

  In the middle of Bethany’s visit, I got a call from Melanie saying that she wanted to bring her friend Monica from the World Society for the Protection of Animals to the beach. Apparently the WSPA representative had heard about the crazy gringo with a hundred dogs, and she was going to come to the island specifically to meet me. I welcomed the visit and promised to make time to show her around.

  On the appointed morning, I brought the kids with me to the beach to get the dogs fed and settled before Melanie and her guest arrived.

  Just as we were filling the buckets with food and water, an unfamiliar car rolled up right behind us. Always anxious about strangers who were up to no good, my hackles tingled when I couldn’t see inside the passenger compartment past the glare of the windshield.

  And then Melanie stepped out, laughing. “You didn’t know it was us, did you?”

  A pretty Hispanic woman stepped out of the driver’s side. “Hi. I’m Sylvia. You must be Steve.”

  We shook hands. “Welcome,” I said, the nerves of a few seconds earlier quickly dissipating into relief.

  “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you and your dogs.”

  “I’m about halfway through morning rounds. You’re welcome to tag along while I finish up, though.”

  “It’s amazing how much control you have over so many dogs, Steve,” Sylvia sai
d after a few minutes of observing my routine. I had nearly eighty dogs in the pack at this point. I gave her the backstories on each animal in turn. Like Mary before her, Sylvia was drawn particularly to Jess, the beautiful white shepherd who’d been so badly burned. Sylvia too was appalled by what I told her.

  While we were talking, another car drove up, several men hanging out the windows, throwing bottles and shouting at the dogs standing on the side of the road. The car swerved for the dogs and just missed. Not satisfied, they made a U-turn and went for the dogs a second time. I tore through the parking lot on foot to cut these guys off. To my surprise, Sylvia was right there next to me, shouting at the men in Spanish. They pulled to a stop, exchanged a few heated words with her, then drove away.

  “What did you say to them?” I asked.

  “I told them we had their plate number and had called the police.”

  I was impressed.

  “You can hang out here any time you like,” I said. Sylvia stayed with the dogs and me for the rest of the day. She was a natural on the beach: passionate, tough, and lacking the patronizing attitude toward the animals that drove me crazy.

  “Please come back anytime,” I said at the end of the day, giving her a hug.

  “I will. And I’ll try to get you some help down here, okay?”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FIVE

  My time with Bethany and her boyfriend came to an end, and I resumed my normal routine. It wasn’t long before Melanie called again requesting I give yet another “Steve tour” of the beach for someone named Nancy Guilford, whom she’d met at an animal rights function in San Juan. Melanie had told her about my dogs, particularly Nina and Nicole, and Nancy wanted to help.

  “She could be a big help, Steve. She’s got money,” Melanie said.

  “Okay, but please don’t keep me waiting again. Be here at nine A.M.” I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful—I was always willing to do whatever it took to get the dogs some much-needed help—but each day I had a laundry list of tasks to accomplish, and a glitch in the schedule could throw the whole day off.