If there’s one certainty about our coming to Puerto Rico—beyond the island’s beauty and warmth—it’s that our plans will be thrown into utter disarray by the arrival of one or more abandoned dogs seeking refuge at our front gate. This time it happened on the day of my second arrival. This charming little girl showed up, half starved, inside the gate, on the very day Allysen drove to San Juan to pick me up. You’d have to be Scrooge to resist this face.
I suppose we could have said, “Go somewhere else to die…” But seriously, no. By the time I got there, she’d been given food and water. Then she got a collar and a flea bath and a trip to the vet. She is sweet and affectionate and unafraid of people, and while our dog McDuff finds her energy mildly alarming, they get along fine. Did I mention she has boundless, explosive energy and no training? She could be in Wikipedia under the heading, “Handful.” Everyone is in love, and also exhausted.
Can we find someone to adopt her before we leave in April? Is there a way to get her back to the states, given that she’s too big to travel under an airline seat? Can my wife bear to give her up? Many questions, no answers. She appears to be part Manchester terrier, and guess who has always wanted a Manchester terrier. (Yesterday was Allysen’s birthday, so this might just be her present.) We’ve tried a dozen names on her and settled on none. I presently call her Shadowfox or Foxbat. But that might turn out to be her breed and not her given name.
When all these things are settled, I’ll let you know. Here she is with McDuff.
