Sunday, September 20, 2009

Israel, the Dog Whisperer

A couple of days ago, I was taking Bo on his morning walk and saw a chicken with a string tied to its ankle; the other end was tied to a potted plant. The chicken had about three feet of string, so the poor thing would get to the end of the string till its foot caught, then go back and nest in the plant. You can't make this stuff up.

Last night, Israel showed up with his usual assortment of yummy food items -- tamales wrapped in banana leaves, some pastries and fresh orange juice. He really knows how to win me over. We decided to walk Bo. Well, I always go left when we exit the building, because the mean rottweiler and his minions hang out on the block directly across the street to the right. When we go left, there's Fred Gwynn -- the wrinkled sharpei/hound mix -- an obnoxious horny chihuahua and my favorite little white terrier, who I've christened Nena. ANYWAY, for some reason, all those mean dogs were hanging out right in front of my building. I wasn't about to take Bo out with those dogs waiting. Well, Israel decided he can speak in "dog." He went outside and all these dogs start wagging their tales and rolling over on their backs, and Israel talks to them in this highpitched "dog" whine. There is one yappy little terrier who won't play along, so Israel points his finger at the dog without a word and the dog slowly backs away. I got impatient standing behind the metal gate in the breezeway, but eventually, all three dogs went back to their end of the street.

Israel is convinced he can speak to the dogs in their language. And you know what, in a place like this, I believe it's entirely possible.

Today, we will go to a place called Punta Negra, a beach where a shallow river meanders through the jungle and flows into the ocean. There's plenty of shade -- the first thing you look for in this tropical heat.

A couple of evenings ago, I took Bo down to our public beach that's adjacent to a golf course with a pond on the 9th hole. On the other side of the road that deadends at the beach, is a nature preserve with crocodiles. Well, Bo has gotten into the habit of squeezing through the barbwire fence and running at a gallup over the manicured grass -- totally ignoring me. Occasionally, he'll go down the sloping hill to the pond and get a drink of water... I have since learned from my friend Stan that the pond has been known to be a crocodile hangout. According to Stan, some guy was making love to his girlfriend next to the pond and got his leg bitten off. Soooo, I may have to find a new place for Bo to run...

1 comment:

  1. Can you say cocodrillo? Yep, I'd keep him away from there. And I haven't had a decent tamale since I left El Paso. You got a good thing going there.
    Sibyl Kathie