Rescuing Thistle – We Meet (part 1)

The first time we saw her Art and I, my sister Susie and her husband Bruce were sitting in the Ole’ Café, having an afternoon Corona (or two).  Scruffy and filthy, the little dog had been skulking about under the tables, trying not to be noticed as she looked for stray bits of food. 

 Susie and I had been trying to throw a few scraps her way, but she was very wary of getting too close to anyone.  Street dogs are a given in most Mexican towns, and Loreto is no exception.  And although it is strongly discouraged by the restaurant owners, it is very hard for Americans to resist big brown hungry eyes.

 Suddenly, shouting in Spanish, one of the cooks saw her.  She was used to be yelled at and chased off.  Darting away, down the cobblestone “calle” and across the main street, she barely avoided being run over by a jeep full of fishermen, then quickly disappeared down a dirt alley.

 That should have been the end of it, but then a week later the four of us rendezvoused at a funky little bar/grill called El Borracho” (the drunk) that sits all by itself out in the desert – a good 6 miles away from any other “civilization” – but worth the trip for the hot burgers and cold beer.

 The guys had arrived a few minutes earlier and had already gone into the restaurant, but as Susie and I got out of the car, who should we see but this same little scraggly dog!  We were sure it was the same animal because her tail was almost bald, and had a strange bend in it, making it appear to be broken.

 Susie always carries a bag of dog food, a ½ gallon of water and a couple extra dog dishes in the car, for just such situations.  The little dog was so hungry, but also so scared that she wouldn’t let us get near her.  Then, just as we were almost able to get her to come up to us, four large dogs came tearing out from behind the restaurant.  Barking and snarling, they quickly sent her dashing off.

 Eventually we lured the big dogs off with a pile of dog food, then went back to the car and left another pile of kibbles under the car, where we could see the little dog hiding.  About a half hour had passed, so Susie and I went into the restaurant and joined the guys who were sitting out back in the patio area.

 This might have been the end of it, but half way through our burgers, there she was again, hiding under tables just hoping for a tidbit of something to drop unnoticed.  No sooner had we spotted her than the big dogs did too, and once again they chased her off.  She would scuttle away, then a few minutes later come creeping back up under one of the tables, trying to invisible.

 People in Mexico view stray dogs differently than Americans, and most of the bar’s patrons either ignored her or shooed her away.  As Susie and I tried to lure her over to us many of the families lunching in the patio viewed our behavior with amused curiosity.

 Slowly she kept coming closer and closer until we were finally able to offer her bits of our hamburgers, which she would gently but quickly grab from our fingers, then wolf down in one gulp.  Between the four of us I’m sure she consumed the equivalent of at least one jumbo burger, until finally Art said we should probably stop feeding her, she might get sick from so much, so quickly.

 Now you can just imagine the conversation that was going on all through our lunch.

“We HAVE to take her” (me)

“We do NOT have to take her” (Art) 

“She’s starving” (my sister)

“She’ll be alright” (Bruce)

“She won’t be alright” (me)

“She probably lives around here” (Bruce)

“We saw this same dog in town last week,  6 MILES from here” (Susie) 

“She’s a street dog, she knows how to take care of herself” (Art) 

“She’s a street dog, she DOESN’T know how to take care of herself” (me)

“You SAID you were thinking about getting a dog” (me)

“Yea, but not now” (Art)

“She’s the perfect size” (me) 

“It would be too hard to get her home” (Art)

“We’ll drive her back, won’t we Bruce?” (Susie)

“Sure, you guys take her, we can get her back” (Bruce)

“Well, maybe, let’s see if she’s still here tomorrow” (Art)

“We can’t just leave her here like this, we HAVE to take her” (me again)

“You know this is NOT the right time for us to be getting a dog” (Art) 

“We HAVE to take her” (guess who)

 This was the general tone of the conversation for the next half hour or so, until Susie and I suddenly realized that the little dog was probably as thirsty as she was hungry.  In the middle of the desert water was probably a bigger issue to her survival than the food. 

 As Susie and I started asking the kitchen help for a bowl, the guys had had enough and said they were going back to the house, leaving us to our humane endeavors.

 And she WAS thirsty.  It had taken a bit of fast talking to get the kitchen people to part with the bowl, but as soon as we filled it up she knew what it was.  We had to step away from the bowl before she would get near it, but as soon as we did she pounced on it – no telling how long it had been since she had had a chance to get a drink.

 And, of course, the big dogs immediately re-appeared and chased her away.

 It was at about this time that the proprietor of the business came out to see what all the ruckus was about, and stood watching the two of us trying to coax the little dog back to the water.

 “You girls need to get that small dog out of here.  These big dogs are also street dogs that got dumped out here, but I’ve sort of adopted them, and they live here and consider this their territory.  If she is still around when it gets dark, they will corner and kill her”.

 At this point we didn’t know what to do.  But we knew we couldn’t just walk away  Somehow during the last hour she had become our problem and we knew that we were not just going to leave her here to get killed by the big dogs.

 Too bad no one was around at that point with a video camera.  For the next hour or so my sister and I (to the great amusement of the restaurant’s patrons) ran around the restaurant, the outdoor patio, and the parking lot trying to catch the shaggy little creature.  After the first 15 minutes or so we worked out our strategy – Susie would run at the big dogs, shouting and shooing (which were friendly enough to us, but hell bent on catching the little dog), while I followed the small dog, coaxing, cajoling, and frequently crawling under the parked cars and vans she kept trying to hide under. 

 Suddenly, after about 45 minutes of this (and I have no idea why), as I was inching my way on hands and knees toward her, she suddenly stopped, stared long and hard at me, then turned and began slowly crawling on her belly toward me.  I had been chasing her for so long that it took me a moment to get my wits about me and now wonder what I was going to do if she actually let me get close to her.  After all, she obviously wasn’t used to being with people, and I had no idea what she might do if I tried to grab her.  But, it was now or never, and something about the look in her eyes kept me from hesitating at all.  As she came within reach I quickly grabbed her, stood up and yelled to my sister “I’ve got her!”. 

 I stood up and as we hurried back to Susie’s car, the dog never moved a muscle.  I climbed into the front seat and still, not a move. It was almost like she was in shock at being held by someone. 

 As we drove down the road back towards Susie’s house, the reality of what we had done set in.  “What are we going to do with her now?” I asked, looking down at the little bundle of dirty fur in my arms.  And then she moved.  She looked up at me, right into my eyes, then bent her head down and kissed my hand.  She looked back up and gave me one more kiss on my chin, then sighed and became very still again.  And all was lost in that moment – I didn’t know how we were going to pull it off, but I knew that dog belonged to us.   

To be continued soon. . .

Tagged as: dog, dog rescue, Thistle