Osprey - 8-7-2013 at 09:30 AM
This is Snoopy. Snoopy is not my dog, he belongs to one of my Mexican neighbors, Refugio. It’s only a short block between his house and mine so he
comes up to visit, to romp and play with Tino, my Retriever.
To take one look at him is to love him so we were concerned when we didn’t see him for a week or so. He had been seriously mauled by a couple of
passing dogs, a Rottwieller and a Boxer and his wounds were serious enough that he couldn’t make the short trip. When he finally showed and we saw
what condition he was in, I put out some food for him to aid in his recovery and he gulped it down.
Miraculously his wounds healed without any noticeable doctoring and when he could, he would come for the food in the morning and again in the evening.
As cute and loveable as he is, he’s also just a long leap behind a potted plant in the smarts department. He chases cars and trucks but he’s not good
at it and no sooner did he heal but he was injured again by a car or truck. Again he healed quickly without noticeable help or lasting loss of
mobility – he looks now as he did when he first arrived at Refugio’s house.
He is totally to blame for his injuries because his scattered genes won’t help him discern the difference between a passing dog who wants to play and
one who wants to kill him.
It’s a totally Mexican thing. We just have to enjoy him when we can, if we can, as long as he lasts. That’s life really --- we have no real authority
over his care or comfort, he’s not our mascot.
He’s my clock now – he howls or barks just after first light and about our dinner time and I take him a handful of our dog’s dry Purina pellets and he
does his little happy, happy dance and makes his way home.
bajajudy - 8-7-2013 at 09:33 AM
What a cutie..
Good work, Jorge
edit to add
I love it when the short legged gene gets into the pool.
[Edited on 8-7-2013 by bajajudy]
Pescador - 8-7-2013 at 11:05 AM
You know I have met a few people and was very clear that I did not want them swimming anywhere near my Gene Pool.
vgabndo - 8-7-2013 at 12:23 PM
My reaction was 'all warm and fuzzy'. I expect it was the same for many readers. And it makes me wonder why we feel that way about helping a dog who
was born "a taco short of a combo plate" and at the same time in the USA we have demonized the humans who have experienced the same misfortune.
Today I am going to remember that there is little difference between a critter yipping at my gate, and someone on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign.
Thanks Osprey, you've enriched my day.
Osprey - 8-7-2013 at 12:36 PM
For Vagabundo
Beautifully Arranged
At first I felt uneasy when I saw this strange Mexican near my gate. Martin, Marteen as he is known here, became a fixture on my little dirt street.
Over time I feared him less, began to expect him, walking barefoot back and forth past my house -- shuffling through the dusty streets of the pueblo
looking in garbage cans, scanning the dirt lanes, empty lots for anything of use. Some days would find him returning to the cold comfort of the old
abandoned icehouse near the beach with several bags of things he thought had enough value to be hefted, carried home. This home, the crumbling
concrete and rusting steel bunker is a stone's throw from the Pemex gas station operated by his well-fixed brother Roberto. I'm told they do not
speak.
At times his worn-out contraband could not be carried in a sack. In his bare hands, bright pieces of plastic, perhaps remnants of broken toys, parts
of discarded furniture, appliances, used clothing, pieces of metal, cloth...the bottom layer of things that had come to the end of their uselife in
the saddest way. Perhaps the things hold a special utility we cannot see -- maybe he breaths a certain beauty into them. A few of these things can
be seen on the front porch, actually what was once a loading dock, of the place he calls home. All the rest is inside this concrete shell. No
windows. No water, no electricity, no bathroom, empty space; a large, dark, cement tomb. Sometimes I try to imagine what it must be like in there.
Just heaps of things or are the things arranged in some fashion that pleases him, calms his restless spirit, makes some kind of sense or order? A
human bowerbird? Who or what could he invite with the display?
All anyone can do is wonder. As far as I know no friend, relative, social services organization ever considered giving him a bath, clean clothes,
taking him to the Military Hospital in La Paz for a brain scan. A shriveled, peanut left brain could explain his possible idiot savant obsession with
the creation of the new-age art his little arrangements might represent. In his 54 years in the village, he has never been arrested, confined,
hospitalized, fingerprinted, examined, counseled. In the United States those who "live on the streets" are called Homeless. Martin has a home. He
does not live on the streets, he walks the streets; he forages, never stopping any longer than is necessary to examine, gather or discard, then he
moves on.
As you might imagine, he is lean. About six feet tall, his skin shows the weather, his poor posture looks contrived. Always barefoot, he walks not
only the dirt streets of this village but the main highway and the streets of the villages nearby. I have seen him in Los Barriles (about 15 miles
from this little village) and in Santiago (a little further). His hair is remarkable -- a natty black going gray, it never grows long, probably has
never had to be cut.
He is obsessed by dental cleanliness..he carries (most days) in his left hand, toothpaste and brush. He begs, steals or buys enough fresh water for
his daily personal needs. If he baths it is not in the ocean -- I have never seen him near the beach. In overall demeanor I can say he smiles more
than frowns; at times he rages at things others cannot see or imagine in that high-pitched falsetto that announces his arrival. The pitch Dopplers to
a less strident sound as he moves on to the next dirt path.
He makes mistakes. We all do. Once I saw him inspecting roadkill, the remains of a chicken. I slowed the truck to watch him in my rearview mirror.
He held the bloody, crumpled thing in two fingers, at arm's length as though it might explode. Turned it, held it high to see the underside, put it
in his bag. He depends on the tropical fruit hanging from trees all around the village (he only takes the fruit he can reach from the street). He
foolishly ate too much unripened grapefruit (including the skin). His mouth and lips were one big blister for more than a week.
His disappearance is a mystery. His brother (after two weeks of my urging) finally checked the icehouse. The police checked there too, just
shrugged, said there had been no reports of accidents, of Martin's demise, incarceration, illness that caused him to be hospitalized. Others said
"posible se fue", maybe he went away.
I can't fully explain how I feel right now. The best I can do is say "I miss him". Maybe others in the pueblo feel the same sense of frustration, a
strange kind of hollowness, loss. He was as much a part of this town as the schools, the stores, the streets themselves. It is as though someone has
stolen a small, but important piece of our little town. The streets he walked are too quiet. Maybe he was our own old broken thing we now find some
use for. Only now do we see that he was an odd but indispensable part of the arrangement.
Bubba - 8-7-2013 at 03:09 PM
Very good, love the pic.
vgabndo - 8-8-2013 at 07:57 AM
BEAUTIFULLY arranged. Excellently crafted.
In our small town, those of us with more than 40 years here can remember "The Crack-walker", Yellow Bird, and now our old friend Kathleen. People with
homes, but whose presence was of the streets. Each had, or has, their own little patch of mental lawn where the grass died.
They are people whose bodies out-lasted their minds. Not dangerous, not frightening, not always sad, but part of the tattered fabric that is our
society.
I am reminded that I haven't seen "John", our old friend who was swallowed-up by alcoholism, since the past winter. A part of me is shamed that I let
him disappear without knowing what happened to his one and only life.
Thanks again Osprey, I'm a better person for having you as a cyber-friend.
MMc - 8-8-2013 at 08:43 AM
Wow! Thank you all! The writing ability of some of Nomads is over the top.
Osprey, The second prose reminds me of Cannery Row.
Its threads like these that makes it good to be a Nomad.
Kgryfon - 8-8-2013 at 10:38 PM
Simply beautiful writing.
BajaBlanca - 8-9-2013 at 11:34 AM
Thought provoking and excellent reading .... Both. What a pleasure to read!