No Bounds

 

I have just found out from a very reliable source that the person taking care of my dog in Argentina complained about having to do it on an almost daily basis. The source also said that a dog activist called to ask why my dog was left alone most of the day. I wish I had known about this in time to save him. When I called the woman who went to feed him, change his water and take him out to do his business, she’d tell me everything was fine. As far as I know, she never mentioned anything about the dog activist.

I feel very guilty about Chiquito. I rescued him from life on the streets. I wanted (and did) give him a better life. I intended to bring him here with me, but at the last minute was advised not to. I will never cease to want to make it up to him in some way. Maybe I will do this by helping other dogs and next time I adopt, I will never ever let him or her out of my sight.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When It was Hot

 

When It was Hot

In the summer months, Rubio and I would walk for blocks and blocks all around our neighborhood. If somebody had put a bucket full of water on the sidewalk, Rubio would drink some of it and then put his paws inside the bucket. He’d shake himself and we’d keep on walking, with his long black and blond tail up in the air. 

 

Hungry

Hungry

No. It just stopped working. It does not keep things—it does not keep anything—cold anymore. The woman thought about her options as far as getting food went: The soup kitchen? No, she couldn’t eat a couple of sandwiches in one sitting and the soup wouldn’t last till the evening. What else? She tried hard to think of a solution, but that was impossible. Hungry. That’s how she felt. She thought about a time, a long time ago, when she stayed in a hotel room with a high ceiling and there was nowhere to keep food there either. She’d go to the supermarket twice a day, once at around noon and once just before it closed, to get something to eat. That supermarket was close by. In this new place, the walk to the nearest supermarket was on the long side. She had heard about people going to bed hungry. Now it was happening to her. Just like in a movie, she thought. No, it’s not a movie. It is even more real.

 

Hungry 

  

No. It just stopped working. It does not keep things—it does not keep anything—cold anymore. The woman thought about her options as far as getting food went: The soup kitchen? No, she couldn’t eat a couple of sandwiches in one sitting and the soup wouldn’t last till the evening. What else? She tried hard to think of a solution, but that was impossible. Hungry. That’s how she felt. She thought about a time, a long time ago, when she stayed in a hotel room with a high ceiling and there was nowhere to keep food there either. She’d go to the supermarket twice a day, once at around noon and once just before it closed, to get something to eat. That supermarket was close by. In this new place, the walk to the nearest supermarket was on the long side. She had heard about people going to bed hungry. Now it was happening to her. Just like in a movie, she thought. No, it’s not a movie. It is even more real. 

  

  

 

Wet on Mad

Wet on Mad The rain came down and wouldn’t stop. There was a food cart on the corner of 63rd and Madison. Some birds were desperately looking for something, anything, to eat. I took my white plastic bag out of my pocket and threw some bread crumbs. A bird, his wings all wet, pounced on them. And then another, and then a few more birds. The people by the food cart looked down at the birds and placed their orders.

White Dog

White Dog

Last night I was able to watch a movie from the early 80s directed by Samuel Fuller called White Dog. I had never heard of it before and I found it by accident at the public library. White Dog shows what racism can do to people and animals. The unnamed white German shepherd has been trained to attack black people. A young actress adopts him when she accidentally runs into him with her car. The ending made me cry. A so called human being trained him and it he, not the man, had to go. The dog’s original owner was not punished. The final scene of the movie shows the dog left to die alone. I realize that he couldn’t live, but still it made me very sad. White Dog did not do well when it came out. It is one of the best movies about a very hard subject that I have ever seen.

 

Chiquito, Chiquito!

Chiquito, Chiquito! I didn’t know. The neighbors in Argentina complained about Chiquito when I left the country to return to the U.S. I have no idea what they complained about because he was a nice, friendly dog. More than ever I regret not bringing him with me and I wish I could turn back the clock and do things differently. That is not possible and nothing can bring Chiquito back. I know that I think of him daily and that my time with him is and was precious. Another thing I know is that I have to be more careful with whom I trust. What happened to Chiquito and what is happening to me now must not be repeated. Ever again.

Out of Here

Out of Here

Please, please! I want out of here! She pressed her hands on the subway pole really hard and wished her stop would be next. No, there were 7 more to go. And nobody to give me a seat—a tiny little space on the light blue thing. It is not just the subway, she thought. It is everything. Hard is hardly the word to describe the way things are. Out of here! I would fly away like a bird and never come back. I would take what matters most to me and just disappear. Thinking of out of here makes my heart race. It is such a nice, healthy idea. It is an idea whose time has come.

Heavy Heart

Heavy Heart

My heart is so heavy today. Nothing seems to relieve my ache. I have been betrayed and the betrayal happened far away in another country. I am doing things long distance. I tell myself that I am coping. I attempt to stay cheerful, but for what? My heart is heavy. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to sleep.

Football Crumbs

Football Crumbs

There were seven or eight birds, all of different color combinations. I threw the crumbs on the floor. One bird got to it, then another bird kicked the crumb and yet another wanted to take it away from the first 2. I threw more crumbs and more birds came down to eat. The little bird with the bad foot limped from crumb to crumb. He couldn’t catch anything. The others were too fast for him. Finally, I saw that he had gone to the other side of the subway and I threw a big crumb down. This time he caught it.

The Bird

He was there again, limping. His left leg was almost gone and he used the right one to walk  from one piece of bread crumb to another. The bird is a beautiful black and white creature. Eat, little one, I told him. Eat. That was all I could do for him. People walked past us, rushing to get on the train. They were on their way somewhere home. We–the bird and I–don’t have a home.