Sunday, December 31, 2006
As I sit here on the porch now at Casa Jungla, close to midnight on Saturday night, drinking starting-to-ferment chicheme, or 'chicha' - a traditional Guanacasteco Christmas drink made from maiz, water, ginger and honey (I leave it out at room temperature for a day or so because it begins to naturally ferment adding a bit of a bubbly kick), listening to nothing but crickets, geckos, waves breaking on the beach beyond the woods, some fireworks and the occasional half-awake, bark/grunt of one of the dogs twitching away in a dream, I'm kinda at a loss for words.
I'm a very fortunate person, because I've had the best year of my life. This year was a pretty huge one for me, personally, filled to the brim with challenges and uncertainties, as well as accomplishments and blessings.
I've never been more happy in my life. Challenges turned into accomplishments (mostly) and uncertainties to blessings. It all feels so natural. I have both less and more than I've ever had in my life. I am both happy and content. And I am looking forward to the upcoming challenges and uncertainties that the new year will bring. And there are many looming on the horizon...
...We're expecting a baby this new year. Not taking anything for granted... I can't freakin' wait!!!
¡Feliz Año Nuevo! ¡Paz y amor!
Cochinos also like to defecate in the ocean. The locals don't go swimming this time of year. They'll wait a week or two for things to clear up before the boogy board hits the surf again. If a cochino uses a public restroom, they routinely urinate and/or defecate on the floor, sink, walls and, sometimes, the toilet. They throw dirty toilet paper on the floor next to the empty trash can. They plug up sinks for a quick bath, then leave the water on to flood the restroom. They try to flush large objects down the toilet. Beach establishments typically lock up their bathrooms for customers only, or charge 300 colones for non-customers to use their bathrooms. This reduces problems as cochinos can't or won't pay the tariff.
Though far outnumbered by those possessing a modicum of self-respect, as well as respect for others and the environment, their impact is substantial. They really rain on everyone else's parade. There's nothing anyone can or is willing to do about them. I, personally, treat them like the pigs they are, to and in their face. I break the "no confrontation" rule here. I throw their trash back at them. I once followed a car containing a passenger who threw 3 empty 16 oz. beer cans from his car window - 2 of which nearly hit me on my motorcycle as they bounced on the pavement behind the car and in front of me. I pulled over and went back for the cans. I caught up with the car at an intersection and threw 2 of the 3 recovered beer cans back in the window of the car, screaming every Spanish language expletive I knew at all four occupants, and giving them the world-recognized 'finger'. They laughed at me.
Cochinos don't have a conscience, don't understand and, most of all, don't care. It's what they've always done and will continue to do.
So we just accept this and clean up after them.
Friday, December 29, 2006
There was one thing that I hadn't noticed before that caught my eye: on The Virgin's vaccination record card under 'raza' (race or breed), the vet wrote "SRD"...
...I'm not big on race. I really don't care what color you are or what you're heritage is. I hate listening to white people from the US or Canada, who are decendents of European immigrants, talk about being an eighth Norweigian, an eighth Irish and 3/4 Italian. In most cases you're in the US or Canada because your grandparents left the Old Country because life there sucked. Some of them may have even changed their names to hide their ethnicity. My black friends in the US, those who are descendents of slaves, never have this conversation. Their heritage was robbed from them. You never hear a black person say they're 1/4 Nigerian, 1/4 Ghanaian and half Congolese. They're just black (except in the office and media where they are "African American"), from Virginia, Mississippi, Alabama or Michigan. Their heritage starts in North America because the memory of wherever their forefathers were from before being loaded onto the slaver was erased.
But then there are those black folks who somehow derive their African lineage based on their facial structure, height, build, cup size, ass size or whatever. They like kinte cloth (like my white friends of Scottish or Irish descent love plaid, all having no idea of the significance of the patterns and colors). They've never been to any country in Africa, not even Morroco. In fact, Africa is a country in their minds, not a continent consisting of many countries. They can't identify Mali on a map of the world. They have no knowlege of the history of colonialization and how borders drawn by Europeans on a map to this day mean nothing, and everything, to those living over and between them. They've changed their names to names that sound African, but aren't. They give their kids the same names. The fact that black Africans and white Europeans were complicit in trading human lives - bodies for goods - is news to them. "Stolen from Africa"? More like, "Sold by my father-in-law". People thirst for money and power, no matter what color they are.
But I digress, and that's what blogs are for...
...So I noticed that the race/breed of my dogs is "SRD" - "Sin Raza Dominante". Which translates literally to, "Without a Dominant Race". In other words, they're mutts, zaguates - like me. When someone, usually a white person, asks me, "What's your background?", I always say, "I'm a white guy from North America." Deer in the headlights stare. End of inquiry. Their question is usually a segway into telling me THEIR heritage anyway. Who freakin' cares?! Like your Swedish blood somehow elevates the quality of your character?! We're living in the here and now. I'm more interested in whether or not you showered today because something smells a little ripe down there at the end of the bar.
Next time someone asks me that question, I'm going to tell them I'm "SRD" and let them figure it out. My friend, Blackie (yes, he's a very black Costa Rican and that's his real nickname - we're not uptight about that crap down here), loves the idea. We're thinking of selling t-shirts.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
...that old school, flip-flop, between-the-toe, no-heal-strap-style sandals rule here! Reef's are the best! I collect them like t-shirts. If you want to be immediately identified and stand out as a tourist, wear Teva's or Nike's. It's equivalent to wearing a sign that says, "Rob me!"
...that all ants are not alike. I can now tell you the name of 4 species of ants by the way they bite or sting me without having to look at them. I can also tell you whether it's an ant or a termite that is biting me.
...that termites rock!! Unbelievable creatures!!
...that I have developed an affinity for observing the sky and avoiding rain showers to stay dry when I'm riding my motorcycle in early and late rainy season. I've figured out when and where to stop and wait for clouds to pass over the route I will be following, when to gun it and outrun them before they get there, when to take an alternate route to avoid them, when to slow up and let them pass in front of me. And I've noticed that I'm not always right.
...that many smaller bugs hurt more than larger ones when you hit them at high velocity on your motorcycle. It's the construction of the exoskeleton. Hit a dragonfly and you feel it. Hit a beetle, a quarter of it's size, and you REALLY feel it. But then, there are the butterflies... Butterflies leave exciting and interesting colors.
...that mosquitos don't really bother me much.
...that when I eat lots of bananas mosquitos don't bother me at all.
...that eating lots of yogurt keeps me from contracting just about any sickness that makes me vomit.
...that I eat a lot of yogurt and bananas.
...that I pay alot more attention to my feet than I used to. I wear flip-flops. I've had more than a few toenails ripped off by someone taking a step backwards and catching a long nail. I now keep them closely trimmed. I also get a lot of cuts on top of my feet and ankles, and sometimes on the bottom. My feet get extremely dirty. So I do a morning and evening inspection every day and night and perform periodic maintenance and repairs as required.
...that the crappiest, lowest price, bottom of the bin, discount Costa Rican coffee I can possibly buy here en el culo del mundo, brewed with luke-warm tap water, through a tin can filter I made with a hammer and a bent, rusty 6-penny nail, blows away anything that Starbuck's or Seattle's Best Coffee has to offer on any day of the week, at any given moment!
...that anyone who says they're a tradesman and doesn't have tools and a truck, isn't.
...that I can sleep through the calls of a male howler monkey (congo) - the loudest land mammal on the planet - navigating the canopy outside of my house at the crack of dawn with every sliding glass door and window in the house open, but be awakened by the sound of a mosquito buzzing in the bathroom.
...that driving cattle is very much like driving a car - you prefer to do it on a paved road. The only difference is that cattle occupy all lanes in one direction.
...that ticos who have to pull their car over to pee while on a road trip take pride in doing so and do it unabashedly, in the open and while sometimes waving at passer's-by with their free cigarette/beer hand.
...that orange highway cones, road flares and roadside emergency reflectors must be expensive because everyone uses a tree branch instead.
...that horses are more stupid than Irish Setters.
...that a crab of a certain species here can breath air, travel many kilometers of horizontal and elevational distance away from anything remotely resembling their birth/spawning place at the beach, climb walls, glass or any other vertical surface that is not coated with Teflon or butter, and gain entry into just about any man-made structure that it wants to. And that I will never be able to figure out how it does so.
But most of all, I've noticed...
...that holiday's like Christmas and Easter in Costa Rica are less about shopping and giving gifts than about momentarily and completely disconnecting from everything else that's going on in your life and, for a couple of weeks, concentrating on having a great time with the people who matter most in your life: your friends and family. Sharing stories, laughing, helping each other out, walking the beach, fixing a flat, sharing recipes, babysitting, running errands, playing beach futbol, snoozing in the hammock, cooking, eating, eating, eating, eating!!
Merry Christmas to all of my friends and family reading this. I love you all very much and miss you. I wish you could be here this year to enjoy the sol, mar y playa we will be enjoying this Navidad - and the TAMALES!!!! I wish I could be there for some turkey and stuffing, home made cranberry orange preserve, bannana nut bread, English toffee and Italian zucharini's!!! I can taste them all now!
¡Feliz Navidad! ¡Pura vida! ¡Paz! ¡Amor!
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Both of my dogs - to which I now reference as "the Bumpas' dogs" (from the Christmas classic "A Christmas Story"), are raiding my neighbors burn pile of trash. They have a special affinity for dirty Pampers. I'm about to kill them both and cremate them on the burn pile.
The cable company wants to charge me $850 for the beefier cable I'll need to get service to the house. They will not be able to use the poles I installed for the phone lines (ICE did give us a solicitud de servicio finally. When they will show up.... ???). Needless to say, I'm searching for other options for TV/Internet. Satellite comes to mind, but RACSA has a monopoly on broadband and only works with ICE and the local cable companies to provide broadband. Resourcefulness is Salvation here. Brainstorming... Perhaps DSL on my new phone lines.
Working on selling some of my family's property here to pick up some extra cash to fill the money pit. Between the sellers and the potential buyers, it's quite the challenge. It always amazes me how grown people can regress to a grade school playground mentality in matters of business. "I call no leads, outs on one bounce, no girls and the mine field of horse shit in left field out of bounds and an automatic out - or I'm taking my ball and going home!" Paaaleeease!
My pickup should be ready tomorrow. I should have it Thursday. Finally, I'll be able to start hauling some big items again and start getting things back on track for completing the interior of the house. I have to buy more PVC conduit to bury for ICE to get their line to the house from the pole at the gate too. I spent all day yesterday attacking the remains of burn piles, construction debris and raking the layer of crap that has built up around the house. Marked improvement. But will have to hire someone to haul off the piles of non-combustibles.
Am installing a safe closet beneath my stairway to secure valuables. It will need to be custom built. I had a gate maker come in the other day to measure and provide an estimate, which was supposed to arrive yesterday - not. But it's Navidad and the entire country went on vacation this week through New Year's week. Not holding my breath. A New Year's wish.
Am riding my motorcycle around Deadwood in the beautiful sunshine donning my Santa hat and Costa del Mar's. Get's a lot of looks, especially when Apellido is riding with me with paws over the crossbars.
Am starting my snake collection soon. More to come in a future post...
I'm enjoying our newfound privacy here at La Casa Jungla. It's quite peaceful when the kid next door isn't screaming and my dogs aren't terrorizing an armadillo or anteater. I found my iTrip and am back now playing on the boom box the 7000 songs in the palm of my hand I had so missed. The sounds of Ludacris, Hendrix and Sinatra fill the jungle. The monkey's dig it, baby! We're in old Guanacaste, a world away from the construction boom happening around us. Yet I only have to walk a max. of 200 meters to the mini-super, the fereteria, sports bar and now, Deadwood's first ATM machine!!!! Wooo hooo!!!! We've officially reached 2.5 World status!!!!
Gotta pay the electric and phone bills, and deliver a plano to the playground. Pura vida.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
1st day he shows up on a Sunday to do an install of 2 units. He shows up with his wife and 2 kids who are waiting for him to finish so they can go to the beach. Doesn't have the right tools. I lend him some of mine. Tries to run the condensate tubes between the jambs of my new windows and the wall. I tell him I don't want to see them - duh. Well then, I need condensate pumps. Fine, go to the beach with your family, order the pumps and call me when you're ready. 1 week later the pumps arrive. 110 v instead of 220 v. Reorder. 1 week later the pumps arrive. He comes back only to realize that he doesn't have the pumps in his truck. 3 days more of waiting 40 minutes. Calls me to tell me he's coming. But forgets the condesate tubing. 3 more days of waitng 40 minutes. Arrives yesterday and complete's the work. I awaken this AM to a noise coming from somewhere outside the house. The condensers have been running all night with the fans on the inside turned off. There is ice all over the tubing on the outside, up into the roof all the way to the fans. I throw the breakers. The thawing process starts. There are towels under the fans to collect the melting ice. The melting ice has soaked the ceiling. I will have to repaint. Am waiting now 40 minutes for 3 hours for them to come and fix the hookup so that when I turn the A/C off the A/C is turned off.
My father-in-law lent me his pickup/mobile paint shaker. He's "muy tacaño" (really cheap) and didn't put any gas in it. I just figured the fuel guage was busted. Not. I ran out of gas en el culo del mundo. Hitched a ride to the nearest station and filled the gas can he, thankfully, had in back. Hitched a ride back and siphoned the gas into the tank with the hose he, thankfully, had in back (should have been a big clue). Gas tastes pretty good. It's the aftertaste that sucks. Motored back smelling like a Shell refinery.
The new house looks beautiful. We love it. We've named it Casa Jungla (Jungle House). We have very little furniture: a bed we have named "el hueco" (the hole) and a table and four chairs my father-in-law dropped off yesterday AM from the restaurant. That was nice. The dogs love the new place. They've figured out how to raid my neighbor's outdoor kitchen to steal empanadas when abuela isn't looking. They've also figured out how to raid the chicken coop for eggs. Had one very pissed off hen outside our place at 4AM yesterday.
My wife is at ICE 2day paying the 60 bucks it will take them 2 get out here to run a telephone line 2 the house on the 4 new 2-1/2" galvanized poles I bought and had installed the other day to get the line from the main road down or private road 2 the house. Am hoping the cable company can use the same poles. They were supposed 2 be here at 7 AM. It's 10:30 AM and I'm still waiting.
Am typing these last two entries sitting on a chair in the jungle mooching an open Wi-Fi channel from one of my neighbors. He's not quite close enough to the house so I have to mobilize my office. Leaves keep falling on my keyboard. But it's a beautiful day. We have a wedding to attend later on so I must sign off. Pura vida!
Friday, December 8, 2006
Today is D-day - the final moving wave. The A/C guy STILL isn't finished and is threatening to show up today to finally complete his work, just like the day before, and the day before that. We shall see... Pura vida!
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
At first glance, Gollo appears to be a store franchise. But the prices and products vary from store to store. Turns out the company founder didn't trademark the company name or logo, so everyone uses it. If you're too unimaginative to come up with your own appliance/furniture/electronics store name, pirate the Gollo name. Everyone does it, and sign makers have the template in stock so you can save money hanging out your shingle.
Anyway, my electrician began the installation process and I finished it. A few things:
- In English, 'H' is for 'Hot; 'C' is for 'Cold'. It's not uncommon here for them to be reversed. You see this on imported shower and sink faucets all the time - you go for cold and get scalded. That's because, in Spanish, 'C' is for 'Caliente' ('Hot'). 'H'? Well it's just leftover so it must be for 'Frio' ('Cold'). I mean, it's only two letters after 'F' in the alphabet, which is pretty darn close. And darn close is good enough. So the guy reversed my hose hookups. Not a big deal.
- When making a hole through a masonry wall for the dryer vent, you typically drill a small hole through the wall from the inside to mark the center. Then core through the wall from both sides. If you can't core, you chisel from both sides. These guys chiseled from the inside all the way out, spalling the stucco off the wall on the outside. Had to be repaired. Cost me an extra 2 days for patching and painting. Not perfect, but good enough.
- The guys lined the vent hole in the wall up with the duct hookup on the W/D. But the W/D was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, not where it would eventually sit in the corner of the room. The hole should have been about a foot toward the corner. It now sits centered on the wall with the hole dictating the location of the W/D instead of the reverse. Not the best placement, but good enough.
- Is it a man or a woman? The adjustable galvanized through-wall duct that hooks up to the louver plate on the outside, and the flex duct on the inside, has a male end and a female end. The female end receives the louver plate on the outside. The male end penetrates the flex duct to the dryer on the inside. These guys didn't know boys from girls and reversed the through-wall duct. I caught this in time before the pegamix the guys were smishing around the duct hardened. Had it hardened, it would have been good enough to live with.
- Rubber washers for hose hookups cost less than a nickel and are readily available, but you would think they were made of solid Molybdenum and mined on Neptune. People steal them all the time. My garden hose is constantly being violated. So when I turned on the water for the washer, the hookups leaked because they didn't have washers. Not good enough. Trip to the fereteria.
- All 220 volt hookups are not alike. My fault. The W/D's don't come with the hookup. You have to buy it separately. I bought the wrong one - the one with the 'L'-shaped ground prong. Not good enough. Another trip to the fereteria for the 'I'-shaped one.
Thus, a W/D hookup that should have taken about and hour or two, took about 3 days. Pretty typical of doing just about everything here.
I used to be a perfectionist. I'm recovered now. If someone asks me how something looks, I say, "Pura vida!". "Pura vida!" translates literally to "Pure life!". But to me it means, "Good enough!"
It sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm not. I received an email from a friend of mine who flew back to North America the other day in flip flops and shorts only to arrive to 7 degrees F weather. Pura vida!
Monday, December 4, 2006
Yesterday, some %#@*&! thugs ran over a guy I know. He's less than popular with a local developer and his investors. The guy's tenacity shut down the developer's construction project. There was a confrontation in the street in front of the project. Five guys in two pickups - one of them wearing a t-shirt with the developer's company name on it - sandwiched his quad between their trucks, front to back. He jumped off the quad and one of the trucks backed up, sped forward and sandwiched him along side the other truck, then gunned it, rolled him like dough along the side of the truck while striking it, and then took off. The second truck took off with him lying in the street screaming in pain. I mean, the guy's not perfect, but gimme a %#@*&! break!
A friend of mine called 911 - no answer. She called the cops at the police station in the neighboring town - no answer. She then called Deadwood's finest rent-a-cops and finally got a response. The ambulance showed up 45 minutes later. He was released from the hospital today. I ran into him, his girlfriend, his lawyer and one of the witnesses on my lunch break from the taller. 2 broken ribs, a broken shoulder, a sprained neck and a lot of bruises.
The %#@*&! Soprano's have arrived in Deadwood.
The weather today was nice, though.
Today, on mayoral election day, there was a bigger competition at a different nearby venue. One might call it The Regionals. More roosters from a larger area with more competition, pride and a grand prize at stake. So I hopped on the bike and motored over to spectate the prestigious event.
A couple of friends of mine, along with my brother-in-law and the husband of my sister-in-law, raise game cocks. It's very serious stuff. The grooming, the clipping, the diet, etc. are taken very seriously. There's money and prestige at stake. Even fame. And a prize game cock can fetch a considerable price.
It's a cruel sport, for sure. Lots of blood, guts, pain and suffering for both animals, and sometimes death for the loser. Personally, I'm not sure whether I condemn or condone it. It's exploitation of an animal's natural instinct. But then, so is Spanish bull fighting, which many aficionados consider an "artform". Maybe that's because the human element is more directly involved in what transpires in the arena. I think that if the cocks were wild animals, I'd have a stronger opinion. Domesticated animals for me, especially livestock - stuff we eat - are kind of a perversion of nature. Yeah, I like dogs, so sue me for not being a fundamentalist. But I could really give a crap about domesticated cows, pigs, and chickens. They take up the space the wild animals used to occupy so we can enjoy a juicier steak or pork chop.
Anyway, I was the only gringo there. I always am (though there's a Canadian guy I know who sometimes shows). Most of the gringos in my community hang with other gringos. Few of them know Spanish well enough to have meaningful interaction with their tico neighbors. But there are some who overcome this with persona. I love these people. They can laugh at themselves. But the others... It's a shame. They're missing out. Most don't know and don't really care. There's a certain arrogance in it. Many would be the same people in US who would tell a Spanish speaking Mexican, "Speak English! This is America." It hasn't occured to them that they are that Mexican here.
I won't go into the bloody details of the fights I watched. You can get that somewhere else on the internet. I was there more to bond with my family and friends, and did so. I let my brother-in-law use my lucky lighter to melt the wax they use to adhere the fighting spikes to each his gallo's legs. In between fights I had a couple of beers with my wife's great uncle. He introduced me to more of the family tribe. We watched a couple more fights and drank a couple more beers. It was a great afternoon.
So fight on mutants! There, I said it.
Sunday, December 3, 2006
Anyway, the police visit all of the bars, hotels, restaurants and mini-super's in the area and put tape over the doors of all of the liquor cabinets and refrigerators with the words "Cerrado! Municipalidad de Carrillo. Blah, blah, blah!". If the tape is broken or missing, it is assumed that you have been selling alcohol and your establishment is fined. Or you just give the police money to go away, usually a better deal.
Which means it's the weekend and I can't get a drink! Well, almost. My sister-in-law runs the family restaurant at the beach. My brother-in-law has figured a way to get the tape off of the stainless steel Imperial fridge and be able to put it back without it's removal being detected. Why is it always so much more fun to drink when it's illegal?
See you at the beach! Pura vida! Salud!
P.S.: Ticos have their elections on Sunday - a day when no one works. You go to church, you go to the polls. Wake up USA!
Saturday, December 2, 2006
Crime has been escalating here in Deadwood. Not just the regular car breakins on busy weekends at the beach. But home invasions where people are bound, gagged and held at gun or knifepoint. A gringa was recently raped by her assailants while they cleaned out her house and stole her car. They drove it out the main gate, right by the night security guard. My wife will not walk the street to her parent's house at the beach at night - a street she's walked for her entire life until this year. Criminals and theives have been gaining the upper hand lately. The residents of Deadwood are afraid and angry. Someone will be shot - hopefully.
The epidemic has been mainly concentrated in a new gated community with several houses under construction. There's a lot of construction traffic through the gates. Lots of imported labor is part of that traffic - people who aren't part of the community, have no community relations, are unskilled, illiterate and have nothing to lose - mainly poor Nicaraguans. Nicaragua is the poorest country in the western hemisphere behind Haiti. 80% of its population lives in poverty. Many are immigrating to Costa Rica, and especially Guanacaste because if it's proximity, in search of a better life. But when you're unskilled and illiterate, the only job opportunities available are for maids and day laborers. Many find that the life here isn't much different than from whence they came.
Regardless of nationality, peones have all day to scope out the existing homes while they work: whether the home is occupied and if it is, when people come and go. One phone call to a friend and the heist is on. But lately it isn't just about stealing. People are being stabbed and raped. This is quite new for this area of Costa Rica. I, for one, believe our private police force is complicit in what's been happening lately. Too many coincidences. Smells fishy, more fishy than usual.
Deadwood has a crime problem it needs to effectively deal with before Frommer's and Lonely Planet start getting wind. If the trend continues in the direction it's heading, the tourism and real estate economy on which Deadwood is based will crash, causing a ripple effect that will destroy many peoples' livlihoods.
Growing pains, I guess. But I'm beginning to feel less safe than I did in the city of 3 million from whence I came.
Though rumors are spread primarily to hurt other people, I did have an opportunity to flip one around, get in a great laugh and gain some personal satisfaction in publicly humiliating a rumor monger. I was at my favorite watering hole having a cuba libre when I overheard my wife's name in a male conversation. She was my girlfriend at the time. I began to eavesdrop. A man whom I didn't know, and who didn't know me - or my girlfriend as it turned out - was ranting about how my girlfriend's gringo boyfriend (me) had abandoned her to return to the US. She was broken-hearted, didn't see it coming. The rant continued on: gringo's were here just to lure ticas into sex with their money, drugs and fast cars. They didn't care about ticas. They just wanted to use them. (Sad thing is, this is often true, but I was the gringo he was talking about in this instance).
I let him continue for a short while, but long enough for all of the people I knew at the watering hole to pick up on what was transpiring. I was enjoying this. You should have seen the look on this guy's face when I tossed the grenade and told him that I was the guy he was talking about. Huge laughter and caballero calls from the crowd around the bar after the pregnant pause when they realized I wouldn't beat the crap out of him. The public humiliation I dished on the guy gave me all the satisfaction I needed.
Never saw him again. Rumor has it that his family disowned him and he moved to a new province.
Friday, December 1, 2006
I acquired my first dog who was about 4-5 weeks old from my father-in-law, whose dog had a litter of puppies. "The bitch" had a litter of 9; one died. She was pure pit bull, not well taken care of, and getting on in years. She had 8 tits that almost touched the sand, was flea and tick infested and had only one eye with vision. The other eye was constantly infected and was the color of sour milk. The father was... well... everything else on the beach. The bitch stopped nursing, probably because she was malnourished, and my father-in-law started giving the pups away. He saved a special one for me.
But first... My first introduction to the bitch was when I first began dating the woman who would later become my wife. I stepped onto the porch of her family's house on the beach one night to pick her up for a night out. The bitch was there to greet me with a growl that set my primordial defensive freeze instinct immediately into action - or inaction. She advanced on me in a crouching position that I've only seen on Animal Planet's "Predators" series when those wild African dogs are featured. The recollection is giving me goose bumps as I type. My wife came to my rescue before the bitch locked on to my leg with the compressive force of a T-Rex (which, as I found out later, was her signature method of neutralizing home invaders).
With the proper introductions made, I made friends with the bitch almost immediately. She would follow us everywhere. She would sleep outside of my house while we were dating and after my future-wife moved in with me. She wanted to kill my gardener, for whom she had the utmost distaste (or perhaps a taste for). She should have, as time would reveal. I loved her. I really loved that ugly bitch.
But she was bad for business at the restaurant. She scared the hell out of ticos and gringos alike. And she was protective and would take a nip at someone every now and then. She would go up against any male on the beach, and any who encountered her had had his ass kicked at least once. So my father-in-law gave her to one of his brothers with a big finca down the peninsula. I miss her. I see her face in my dog's face. I see her actions and instincts in his. She was the ugliest bitch I ever loved (think country 'n' western song).
But unlike his mom, the bitch, my dog's not a biter. In fact, quite the opposite. He'll get in anyone's car for a ride or follow anyone down the beach and spend the day with them picnicking and swimming in the surf. He disappears for a week or two weeks at a time - five days last time. Each time I send out a message on the coconut telegraph to be on the look out for "Apellido" (I'll explain below). The first time Apellido disappeared, he returned to the beach two weeks later after being sighted in a town about 8 kms. away 3 days before his return. The second time, I got a call from a guy I know in the same town he was sighted in the previous time, who found him and tied him up. I went and picked him up. The last time he showed up after 5 days for a fogata we had in the woods behind our new house. I heard his bark, whistled, and he materialized from the darkness. In each instace he returned without a collar (stolen), and very well-fed. It was like he wasn't even gone. I now figure he gets tired of his dog food, gets pissed off and hits the road to visit the next family on the circuit. Hell, they've got REAL chicken, pork and gallo pinto, not this cereal crap!! He's now famous between here and this other town. Everyone's on the look out for the "bago" (short for "vagabundo", or vagabond).
The Spanish word for a last name, or family name, is apellido. My dog has a last name for a first name - like Jefferson. He's named after one of my favorite MLB pitchers. This confuses the living crap out of ticos. Having a last name as a first name does not compute. DOES NOT COMPUTE. It's a concept too far outside of the lines, envelope, box. They laugh nervously as they try to process this information when I tell them his name, thinking I'm messing with them, but maybe not. I ENJOY THIS IMMENSELY!!!!!!!!!!!!!
When Appellido was about 6 weeks old, he got parvo virus. I had had him vaccinated, and the vaccine set off the virus, which he had already contracted. His brother, the one pup my father-in-law kept, also contracted it. It's tough watching a 6 week old puppy puke his guts out every 20 minutes to the point of beef jerky-like dehydration. So I put him and his brother in the car and rushed them to the vet. My father-in-law sure as hell wasn't gonna spend the money on a vet for his dog - that's just not done in Costa Rica. I don't know how vets survive here. The vet, a Russian-Tica, was direct: "I think these dogs will die." She was wrong - to her credit. I worship this woman. Four days later after being on the brink of death they were well enough to come home, and they fully recovered after about 3 weeks. Two weeks ago the Apellido's brother got into a fight with a three-toed ant eater. He lost his eye when the ant eater planted one of it massive claws in the dog's face. No vet. Dog is recovering on his own - maybe. Last report was that he was vomiting puss. Pura vida!
When Appellido hit 7 months, I noticed something next to his peepee that looked like an infection. Russian-Tica was direct: "It's a tumor. He has cancer." I mean, he's still a puppy for Chrisake!!. And I'm getting married this week!! I immediately put up the emotional armor and came to grips with the fact that I would have to put him down. Russian-Tica suggested chemotherapy. Didn't know they had that for dogs. All I could see were colones signs in my head. She gave him 4 treatments - injections into the tumor - with a night or two of observation each time. Total cost for each treatment: $22. She didn't charge me for boarding him. He's a well-trained and very friendly dog. She kept him in her house. She liked him because he calmed the other dogs down and played with the old ones no one else would play with. He's fully recovered. He loves going to the vet, catching up with the old dogs. Of course, he usually leaves with a new rawhide chew too. He turns one on 3 January, 2007.
The second puro zaguate was reconnoitered with here sister from a trash can on the next beach up from us. Some tico tourists brought them to the restaurant to see if anyone would take them in. I was ambushed by my wife as I got out of my pickup after chopping jungle with the machete. I melted at the sight of that cute little face and put up no resistance. My mother-in-law took the sister (apparently, a good turtle nest hunter judging by the egg harvest this year). She is a small breed mix and she was in pretty bad shape - flea/tick infested, ear mites, malnourished and no hair on her tail. We de-wormed her, de-flead her and pumped her full of Purina Pro Plan and vitamins. She was 5 1/2 weeks old, according to the vet, when we found her. She weighed 1 kg. (2.2 lbs). A week later when we brought her back to the vet for her first round of vaccinations, she weighed 1.6 kg. She eats like a shark. She's named after the Virgin Mary, which is easier for ticos to process.
The two pooches are inseparable. The contrast between their sizes is of no importance. Apellido comes to the Virgin's rescue on the beach when one of the other dogs gets too rough with her. She returns the favor by devouring all of his food. Pura vida! Puro zaguate!