Adventures in Puppy-Owning

The Anti-Cruelty Society says that under no circumstances should a puppy be removed from its mother and the pack it was born with until 8 weeks of life. They claim that some states even have instated laws to this effect. 8 weeks is the minimum, if possible they suggest that a puppy stay with its mother and pack until 12 weeks. The benefits include learning proper play, versus overly-aggressive play, diminishing the puppy-habit of nipping and chewing, and other things. You can imagine how glad I was to realize that my puppy could potentially have those 12 important weeks with her mom, since I live just down the street from there.

My puppy was born to my neighbor’s dog and her husband felt strongly, although she did not, that someone could come along and steal my puppy from their yard, or that perhaps mine would get confused for one of her siblings. My puppy has a sister and brother, the sister is black and white, and the brother looks a lot like mine, but has one blue eye. Mine is brown and white. I thought it was strange that he’d be so concerned about this, considering people are constantly at their house, playing dominoes, hanging out, eating, talking on their phone, etc. But when he brought it up for a second time, I agreed that I’d either come over to the house and stay with the puppies, or I’d take mine to my Dona’s house. We agreed though, that it was still too soon to take her away from her mom for the night, as she wasn’t even four weeks old yet. After about 4.5 weeks, my neighbor was planning to take the other 2 puppies to Santiago, the other girl puppy for his daughter, and the boy puppy for a friend. This was last week.

Well, when I went to watch over the puppies one day last week I noticed the mom, who is a very rambunctious dog, was laying still in the very small space that was typically only inhabited by her puppies. I knew something was wrong even before I saw that the only puppy still there was the black and white girl, ie: not my dog. Apparently my neighbor had sent a little girl to come get me because they were taking the puppies to Santiago a week early, and they wanted to make sure they took the right one. When the girl got to my house my Dona told her I was eating and couldn’t be disturbed (what?!?! Since when is that the rule!?!) Needless to say, I didn’t get the message that they were looking for me down at the house, and so my little girl was carried off to Santiago, barely 4 weeks old.

In the grand scheme of things I knew this wasn’t a huge problem. I could take the black and white puppy to Santiago on my way to the capital later that week and pick up my girl on the way back here. Sure it meant my girl would be away from her mom and pack at a very small age, in the care of strangers, but surely it wasn’t the end of the world.

It turned out not to be at all. My neighbor helped me put the black and white puppy in a box to carry on the bus, and she slept the entire way. She didn’t even make a mess in the box. I was very impressed. I dropped her off with some relatives of my neighbors and arranged to pick up my girl from them a few days later. I’d bought some pet supplies in the capital, although let me tell you for all of the American food I tell you I miss, and the convenience of Walgreens and abundance of Costco, it’s nothing compared to how badly I wish there was a Petsmart in this country! The plan was to pick up my girl, bring her back to my neighbor’s house for meals and sleeping, and either play with her there during the day, or have her at my Dona’s house. I was nervous, but feeling good, despite having tons of stuff to carry, in addition to the box with a small, precious, life inside of it. She was calm and well behaved and when I looked at her, I could see years of fun that I knew was coming. She responded well to my voice, and although it might be naïve of me, I think she remembered me from before; I used to go to the house to play with the puppies to get them and their mom comfortable with me.

A ways into the journey back to my site (about a 2.5 hour drive) she started to get restless. At first it was just adorable, watching her try to peak her little nose and little head out of the small gap in the box. But, I was sitting in the back seat of a very full public bus with my backpack under my knees, her box on top of them, between the window with a very hot sun behind it beating down on me, and a large man on the other side. Things weren’t so ideal for a fussy puppy. I tried lots of things, gave her a bone I’d bought for her (of course she had zero interest in that), let her chew my fingers, tried to give her space to climb around, pet her, let other people pet her, talked soothingly, and much more. With about 45 minutes left in the journey, once the back seat had emptied but for us, a man sitting near us suggested that she was fussy because she was hot. I took out a bowl and gave her some water from my water bottle. He suggested that we move up a row because the back seat (called the kitchen, in Spanish) is notorious for being the hottest part of a bus here.

It was like magic. She drank water enthusiastically and fell asleep immediately after I moved her. My mom had suggested I keep the dog who was so well behaved on the bus before, and after mine had been so fussy, I’d been thinking of how I could explain to my mom that I’d still made the right decision in keeping my girl, but was having a hard time convincing myself. But of course, she was just thirsty and hot! Sometimes Dominicans get me a bit frustrated; but other times I don’t know what I’d do without them.

So we made it home. So far that has definitely been the hardest part. Well, my brilliant plan of buying some pet supplies, but not all that I’d eventually need, sort of back-fired. I know, I know, I should have known better, but I really didn’t look ahead. You see, while my girl was off vacationing in Santiago, her mom, left with no puppies back home, lost her ability to give milk. I’d been banking on that, and in an effort to not over burden myself with stuff, decided not to buy dog food. Also, I was pretty sure you’re not supposed to give that for a while after they’re born, so I thought I’d have time. Nope. We’re rolling with the punches though, and she’s doing as all Dominican dogs do and eating rice and meat. We’ll change to dog food soon though.

Nights aren’t the greatest. I keep her in my room because that’s really all I have at this house (one more reason that I should move out, and hope to by the end of the month). She sleeps a lot during the day, takes little naps, so when we get to nighttime, it just doesn’t seem natural for her to be able to sleep a full 8 hours. She usually cries a bit out of boredom or something else I haven’t figured out yet. I’ll take her for walks and give her water, sometimes let her crawl around in my bed, but it’s the strangest thing-she wants nothing more than to nip and wrestle and be rowdy when she’s in my bed, but when I’m working or eating at a table during the day, she loves to curl up between my feet and fall asleep. It’s almost like she prefers my feet to my face. Wow.

There are a few things that make this a remarkably Peace Corps Dominican Republic puppy-owning experience. For one, I know it’s cruel not to let a dog have clean water at all times. However, my house is a breeding ground for mosquitoes and as a health volunteer, I can’t reconcile leaving a bowl of water lying around all the time. So, I’m still working on that one. Another thing is that she’s still pretty young, and small, to know how to walk and get around, so I try to keep an eye on her the vast majority of the time. This becomes quite a challenge when the power goes out. Looking for a puppy the size of your hand in a house full of places for her to hide with nothing but a candle to help isn’t exactly how someone imagines their first few days with a new pet would go. But again, we are rolling with the punches.

I haven’t told you a thing about her yet. She’s adorable. She has the greatest face. I can capture some of its greatest in photos, but not nearly all. She’s scrappy. It’s a great word, and truly the best to describe her. It means that she’s curious, adventurous, willing to get dirty, and a fighter. She nips, enjoys shoes, pants, my backpack buckles, and couldn’t care less about the bones I bought her. She has the softest hair and I just adore her brown spots. She’s got one over the base of her tail, one about half way up her side, and one big one that covers her face, but leaves a white stripe down between her eyes. She’s patient and very smart. The first full day we spent together, she found her way outside, even when I had her roped up inside, to do business! I was blown away. She knows how to push whatever I’ve left sitting on her water bowl to get to her water when I forget to provide it for her. She’s friendly and curious, and so far has been great with everyone who has handled her, which if you know my host father and some of these Dominican children means you know just how patient she must be. She’s only barked twice that I’ve heard; once was at a very annoying yippy-chihuahua dog that wouldn’t stop barking at her, and once was at a chicken that had wandered into our house, so in my mind, both were great times to bark. We’re visiting her mom at least once a day which they both seem to enjoy very much, although not nearly as much as the people who watch them play.

Most importantly, she seems to be getting to know me pretty well. We have this thing where I make kissy sounds near her ear and she kisses me. Is it weird that I love it? Also, she responds when I call her by name, “Lina,” and seems to enjoy the belly rubs I give her. On her name, it’s “Angelina,” for the notorious Angel dream, and I’d thought of that always as more of a formality, that I’d end up calling her “Lina”, the clear nickname. Well, why did no one remind me of “Angie,” which is a much more obvious nickname as well as a much cuter name for a puppy? Dogs named after rock songs are always a good thing. Oh well, perhaps when we’re back in English-speaking lands we’ll transition to “Angie”. For now, it’s good old, able-to-say-in Spanish-“Lina”. And they seem to like it.

*Update since I first wrote this entry… today, she got fleas. Now, I’m not so familiar with fleas, although I’m sure American dogs, including mine, get them all the time. They’re gross. And they crawl fast and are masters at avoiding ones finger tips. I gave her a bath with flea-killing shampoo and let it sit for a while but wasn’t entirely sure it worked. After the bath I spent a long time combing her and searching for more fleas. As you can imagine she wasn’t too pleased. Another thing that makes this undoubtedly a Peace Corps-DR doggy-owning experience is that I got to give her a bucket bath with cold water. As you can imagine, she hated it. Yikes.