Coastline Pilot
5 September 2008

Chasing the Muse
Catharine Cooper 

 

Beach Dogs

About four years ago, I began having dreams about owning a dog. 

I found these dreams strange, since I had always been a cat person.  My mom had a couple of poodles while we were growing up, but they were her dogs, not mine.  As an adult, felines, finches, and a run of my kids’ hamsters were the extent of my pet parade.

So the dog dream threw me.  The vision of me walking a furred creature on a leash down the boardwalk seemed both foreign, and strangely comforting.

“Maybe I need a dog,” I mentioned to Emma on one of our walks.

She looked at me with her wry dry smile, with which we simultaneously acknowledged the responsibility of a dog would likely outweigh whatever fantasy my dreams were delivering.  

As is often said, be careful what you ask for – even in your dreams.  Shortly after my dog dreams began, I bought a house in Loreto, Mexico.  This purchase was as much a surprise to me as it was to anyone in my family, but the purchase stuck.  And added to the joy of a retreat on the Sea of Cortez was the fact that the house came with dogs.

The previous owner had decided that the dogs were happier at the beach than they would ever be in a city or desert hillside environment, and given that everyone in the neighborhood already loved them, they were left behind.  I quickly hired someone to feed them every evening, keep an eye of them, and commandeered the neighbors to insure that Negrita and Matischa were well cared for and adored.

The first time I met Negrita she was very protective of the property, and let me know in no uncertain terms, that she was the boss, the queen dog, and the ruler of the territory.  Short legged with a German Shepard’s snout, her fur was black as night, as was her nose.  Her dark brown eyes seemed to look right into me and her heart was as true as a dogs can be.

When Negrita met Stephen, I thought she night take his hand off.  She growled and growled and was not easily convinced of his sweetness.  Eventually, they became the best of friends, and everyone said that Negrita was really Steve’s dog.  I’d argue this point and say that we shared her affection equally.

Negrita took no counsel.  She was the first alert system, and while I never saw her set a tooth into a single soul, to watch her pull back her lips and snarl was enough to cast fear into anyone with evil intentions.  With Negrita by the side of my bed, I slept with the angels.

I was told she was once a junk yard dog, but when she came into my life, she got dog toys, bacon treats and a soft bed.  She slept in the air conditioned house and was my sturdy companion on long beach walks. 

She and Matischa were best friends.  I figured they were about the same age.  Matischa, a lab/mex mix who towered over Negrita, but was always second in command, was poisoned a few months ago by some sick sick person.  After she died, Negrita seemed both confused and lonely.  They had been inseparable as long as I had known them.

Negrita loved to go to town.  She would dance in circles when it came time to leave, and the second the car door was opened, she was in and settled in her seat.  It was just like that a week ago when she went to town a with Jeanne, her alter-mom and my next door neighbor.  It was a normal happy day.

When they stepped out of Jeanne’s office, Negrita lightly bounced, as she usually did, across the street toward Jeanne’s car. 
Unfortunately, the on-coming traffic didn’t stop as it usually did, and she wasn’t merely hit, she was run-over.  Jeanne screamed, picked up the bleeding dog and raced to the vets. 

I was in the States, Steve in Loreto.  He called me with the dark news.  Sobbing, I told him that he had to go back to the vets.

“Please don’t let her die alone,” I begged him.  “Don’t let her die alone.”

He called me in an hour and told me that she seemed to be responding, and that Dr. Juan thought that she could go home the next day.  Steve had to come back to the states, but Jeanne took her home to recuperate.

Slowly, Negrita went from immobile, to dragging her hind legs behind her, to once again walking. When I spoke to Jeanne on the phone, she said that Negrita had even gotten her bounce back again and was starting to do her ‘spins’.

When I arrived in Loreto last week, Negrita was in the house waiting for me.  No wag of tail, however, and no raise up for kisses and licks.  Negrita lay on the floor, again immobile.  I had no idea what had happened, but rushed her back to Dr. Juans.  He gave her a pain shot and told me he’d make a house call in the morning. 

He didn’t have to say a word.  I knew she was dying and my heart felt broken in unspoken ways.  When she coughed up black blood around 9 PM, I called the vet, but of course, there was no answer.   Alexander, my realtor and friend, was at Jeanne’s and they rushed over.  He knew where Dr. Juan lived and took off to fetch him.  I could not let my friend suffer through the night. 

Dr. Juan returned and while I held my black beauty, my Negrita Bonita, she quietly went to sleep for the last time.  She is buried in the yard, butt to butt with her friend, Matischi, her buddy Buster Sr., the puppy, Bambi, and the wild rambunctious teenager, Pinta Fresca.

There are other dogs in our hood and in my life, but none will ever feel quite like the first one.  Negrita’s death leaves a huge hole in the hearts of everyone who knew her. 

We love you Negrita and we know the other dogs in heaven are dancing to finally have you with them.

Catharine Cooper, a former cat lover, is the proud ‘dog mother’ of Buster Jr. and Blondie who live in Laguna, and the co-mom of Diego Fuego and Skippy-Peppy-Shorty.  She can be reached at cooper@catharinecooper.com