All alone in the world: November 2013
Hola, soy Sparky. Hi, I’m
Sparky.
I’m a short-legged mutt, born on the island of Isla
Mujeres in the Caribbean Sea, near the city of Cancún.
Soy Mexicano. I’m Mexican.
I have curly white and grey fur covering my pink and
black polka-dotted skin, and long, dark, silky ears. My front paws are larger
than my back ones, and my sense of smell is amazing.
When I was a puppy, I lived with a young man, but he
had to move away and told me I couldn’t come with him. He untied me and said I
had to find a new place to live. I was miserable. I whined, and howled, and cried until
I finally realized he wasn’t coming back. If I wanted to survive, I would have
to take care of myself.
On the beach where I lived, many visitors spoke
languages other than Spanish, although most of them spoke English. A very nice
woman, who spoke a slightly different type of English, was gentle and kind to
me. She said her name, and then she repeated it more slowly so that I could
understand her.
She encouraged me to come closer, and she offered me
food and water. I gulped the food, then timidly ran away. Eventually, I let her
touch me. She made soothing sounds while she pulled the big, nasty ticks from
my fur and combed out the tangles. It hurt a bit, but it felt good to be free
of those awful bugs for a few minutes. Unfortunately, no matter how many times
she pulled them out of my fur, more ticks would find me.
I hate ticks!
One day, while she was removing the bugs from inside
my ears and the sensitive spots between my toes, her friend asked her, “What
should we call this little guy?”
“Do you have a suggestion?” The woman replied as she
dunked the nasty ticks into a container of soapy water to make sure they
couldn’t come back to bite me again.
“How about Sparky?” he said.
“Sparky?” she tilted her head like I do when
questioning something. “Why Sparky?” she asked.
“He looks a little bit like the dog in the movie Michael,
and that dog’s name was Sparky.”
I wanted to tell them my real name. My first owner
called me Bos because I have a deep bark for a small dog. Bos is
the Spanish pronunciation of the word meaning voice, vos. Now I was
going to be called Sparky. I hope I remember my new name.
Every day, I visited the place where my new friends
were staying, and they offered me food and love. But one day, my wonderful new
friend had tears in her eyes as she cuddled me. She told me she had to return
to a place called Japan. I didn’t know how far away Japan was. It sounded like
it was a long way away. I was miserable because another person I loved was going
to leave me.
The man said he wasn’t going away, yet, and we could
be buddies for a little longer. Then, in late November, he moved into a white
house where two cats lived. One was a small, tortoiseshell female, and the other
a huge grey male. I was afraid of the cats, especially the male. I had seen him
chase larger dogs away from his house.
“It’s okay, Sparky,” my friend said, “I’m looking after the
cats for three weeks, and you can visit me. They won’t hurt you.”
Making sure I had an escape route, I cautiously
stepped through the open kitchen door. The cats ignored me. They just flicked
their tails and strutted away.
to be continued...
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