The humble beginnings and true-life tale of Sparky, hero of the Isla Mujeres Mystery Series

Chapter 5

I thought they liked me!

They left me! I thought they liked me, then they left me at the cat-doctor’s place. I cowered inside a metal cage listening to the howls and whines of the other animals. I put my paws over my ears to shut out the noise.

What had I done wrong? I tried to be a good doggie. I hadn’t done my business inside the house. I hadn’t chased the cats. I didn’t leave a mess when I ate. I was tidy when I drank water. When I was still covered with bugs and dirt, I napped outside.

What did I do wrong?

I thought I had found a new home, and now here I was trapped in a crate. There were so many other unhappy animals in cages that I howled with uncertainty and fear.

“Shh. Sparky, it will be okay,” a pretty young woman with dark hair and kind brown eyes said to me in a soothing voice. “Easy, baby, we’re going to help you.”

I stopped my howling, but I was still quivering. She was speaking Spanish, and I understood her, except I didn’t believe a word she said. It had to be a trick to make me calm down.

“Come on, sweetie,” she said, lifting me out of the cage. “We have a couple of minor procedures and a few tests to do.”

Procedures? Tests? That didn’t sound good.

But then she held me while the evil cat-doctor stuck something sharp in my neck. I suddenly felt extremely sleepy. I struggled to stay awake, but it was useless. My eyes closed, my body went limp, and I sagged into the assistant’s arms.

“What a good boy,” was the last thing I heard.

A little bit later, when I woke up, I was back in the awful crate. I was stiff and sore, and very thirsty.

“Oh, good, you are awake. I’ll take you to your people,” the same young woman said.

People? I have people? I must be dreaming.

She gently lifted me out of the crate, carried me to another room, and placed me on a tall metal table. Inside the room, the people who brought me here were talking nicely to that cat-doctor.

I tucked my short tail under my bum and crouched low.

The curly-haired woman gently stroked my head and smiled into my eyes. “It’s okay, Sparky, you’re safe,” she said.

“He’s in good health,” the cat-doctor said. “He’s been neutered and checked for heart problems or other diseases. He’s been given vaccinations against both rabies and distemper. We also cleaned his teeth, trimmed his nails, and groomed his fur,” the cat-doctor said with a wide smile.

The curly-haired woman asked the cat-doctor. “What type of mix do you think he is?”

The cat-doctor smiled, “You know this is an island, and the pet genetics go around and around. His ancestors could be anything from a Great Dane to a Chihuahua.”

The woman laughed, “I think he is a pure-bred Mexican low-rider,” she said, motioning to my short legs.

“Exactly, and now he’s ready to go home,” the cat-doctor said.

Home?

Maybe this cat-doctor wasn’t as mean as I thought. He just said these nice people could take me home. I couldn’t help myself, my butt started to wiggle, and I stood up on my back legs to give him a quick little lick on his face.

“I’m so glad he’s okay,” the man said. “We’ve already been shopping and bought him food, a collar, a harness and leash, and a comfy bed.”

The cat-doctor said, “You’re going to have a great life, Sparky.”

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The humble beginnings and true-life tale of Sparky, hero of the Isla Mujeres Mystery Series

Chapter 4, 

December 2013

Oh no, the cat-doctor

“We should take him to the veterinarian to be checked out,” the lady said. “He could have medical problems that need to be treated.”

I’d just been bathed with nice-smelling stuff, and the lady was drying my soft, clean fur with a fluffy towel. It felt good. I wasn’t sure what the man and woman were talking about. I hoped it wasn’t the cat-doctor. The way Tommy smirked when he said that name terrified me.

“I’ll come with you,” he said. “He may get frightened riding in a vehicle.”

“That would be helpful since we don’t have a harness for him yet.” The lady tidied up the towels and put away the bottles of liquids that she had used to wash me. “They don’t make appointments, so we may have to wait a bit, but it’s important.”

“I agree.”

“Okay, let’s go,” she said. She picked me up and carefully carried me outside to a funny little vehicle that didn’t have any doors, a proper windshield, or much of anything. She put me on her lap and said, “We have to leave room for our golf cart driver.”

I wanted to tell them I understood. We were going for a drive in a carrito de golf. I’d seen many golf carts, but I’d never ridden in one. My previous owner had a moto, a scooter, and I would stand in the footwell while the man drove; sometimes another human friend rode with us.

This man backed the little vehicle out onto the street and turned south. We passed a few of my regular places where I usually scrounge for food. I hadn’t crossed this street since my accident a year ago. When I was younger and didn’t know that the roads were dangerous for animals, a car hit me on my rump. I have a limp, and when I’m tired, I lift my right hind leg and run on three legs.

Our drive was very short, and I had fun riding in the carrito de golf, snuggled between two people who seemed to like me. We parked in front of a building with many brightly painted images of dogs and cats.

“The memory wall is filling up,” the woman said, nodding towards the paintings.

“Yes, it’s a nice way to help support the veterinary clinic and remember cherished pets,” the man agreed.

I looked at the wall. There were numerous pretty paintings of dogs and cats, but I could smell fear. Many sick and frightened pets came to this building.

Oh no! This had to be the evil cat-doctor that Tommy had warned me about.

I started to shake and tremble.

Isla Mujeres Mysteries

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Death in the Vineyards Mysteries

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The humble beginnings and true-life tale of Sparky, hero of the Isla Mujeres Mystery Series

 

Chapter 3 December 2013

Thomas King of the Beach

A little while later, the woman came to check on me. She leaned over and looked under the sofa. “Are you okay, Sparky?”

I grinned and fluttered the tip of my tail.

“Well, we need to find some medication for those ticks and fleas. Doggies and kitties can get very sick from bug bites,” she straightened up. “I’ll be back soon.”

A short time later, the lady returned, holding a small box. “Let’s see if you’ll eat this.” She opened the box and placed a dark, round object in front of my nose.

I sniffed it suspiciously and turned my head away. No. Not going to eat that thing, I thought. Too many of my hungry friends had gobbled up bad things and gotten sick.

“Hmm. Okay, let’s try something else.” She picked up the brown object and walked back into the house.

Soon she returned with another plate with just a bit of food. I was still full, but after living on my own for a while, I wasn’t going to turn down an offer of delicious chow. If I refused to eat, this might be the last meal she’d offer me.

I ate everything, and I was so full I burped. I didn’t yet know how to say "perdóneme," excuse me, in her language, so I lay back down for another siesta. Pretty soon, I could feel the nasty biting bugs letting go and dropping off my skin. It was a miracle.

When I woke up a little later, the grey cat strolled over to me. He was exactly my size and had big muscles like me. His long, thick fur made him look massive. His fierce yellow eyes studied me carefully.

“I know you have been coming into my house while your friend was looking after Chica and me for three weeks,” he said, staring at me with those enormous eyes. “I never properly introduced myself because I thought you would move on when my humans returned. My full name is Thomas the Cat, but you may call me Tommy.”

“Mucho gusto, Tómas,” I politely replied in Spanish, telling him I was pleased to meet him.

“As the oldest animal in this house, my humans asked my permission to adopt you,” he added, arching an eyebrow meaningfully at me. “I said yes, as long as you are well-behaved.”

“Gracias, Tómas,” I thanked him. “I promise, I’ll be good.”

“You’re welcome to live here as long as you don’t hurt or chase either Princess Chica or me.” He stretched out one of his massive front paws and flexed his toes so that I could see his very long and sharp claws.

Wow! Scary!

“These are my murder-mittens. If you try to hurt us, I will scrape them across your tender nose,” he said.

“I won’t bother you,” I truthfully promised.

“Good,” Tommy nodded and said, “then we can be friends.” He flicked his tail and jumped lightly onto the sofa cushions. “When you’re clean, our humans will let you sleep on the furniture, too.”

“Should I clean my fur in the ocean?” I asked. “I really want these people to like me.”

“No, just wait. The lady will bathe you, don’t get upset. It won’t hurt.” Tommy said. He settled into what looked like a nice, comfy position, put his head down on his front paws, then closed his eyes.

“Does she wash you when you get dirty?” I asked.

Tommy opened one eye and glared at me. “Don’t be ridiculous. Cats are self-cleaning. We lick our fur and keep ourselves very tidy.”

I tried to turn and lick my spine like a cat, but my body wouldn’t twist all the way around. “I wish I could be self-cleaning, too,” I muttered quietly, trying hard not to bother Tommy again.

Without opening his eyes, he said, “She'll take you to the cat-doctor soon.”

“The cat-doctor! What’s that?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” he replied.

I’m pretty sure he was smirking when he fell asleep.

~

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The humble beginnings and true-life tale of Sparky, hero of the Isla Mujeres Mystery Series: Gotcha Day!

 

Chapter 2: December 2013

That smells so good!

A few weeks later, I was exploring the beach, looking for something to put in my tummy. I caught the delicious scent of chicken cooking, and I followed my nose. The smell took me back to the nice white house on the beach and toward the kind man.

I was about to step inside the house when I noticed that a woman with short, curly hair was preparing the food. She wasn’t the friend who had been feeding me.

I was a little afraid, but I was so very hungry I had to take the risk. I lay down on a mat under the kitchen table and politely waited for the new woman to notice me. Please don’t chase me away.

The woman finally saw me and made a funny noise, “Hmph!” She pointed at the smaller cat and said, “Well, that’s Chica,” then pointed at the larger one. “This is Thomas, and who are you?” tilting her head like a puzzled dog.

I swished my short, bristly tail back and forth on the tile floor. I tried to answer her, “guau-guau, jau-jau.” It roughly translates to “woof-woof, ruff-ruff,” but she didn’t understand.

She laughed and picked up a square black object from the kitchen counter, then started talking to it. “So. A dog?”

I could hear the man’s happy voice coming from the black thing, “Yeah, his name is Sparky, and he’s yours. I’m returning to Japan, and I can’t take him with me.”

Chuckling at the man's words, she put the device back on the kitchen counter. She looked over at a bald man who was quietly sitting at the table. “This is Sparky, and he’s now our responsibility.”

Her laughter gave me hope. Maybe she wouldn’t yell at me or shoo me away.

The man leaned back in his chair so that he could see me hiding under the table. He smiled at me and said, “Hola, Sparky, you look hungry. I’m sure we have enough food to feed you, too.”

“Of course, we do,” the curly-haired woman said, with another chuckle.

She took three little white plates from a cupboard. She placed one scoop of food on each of two plates and a lot more on the third. I was so happy when she set the larger portion in front of me instead of giving it to the cats. It tasted awesome.

I ate and ate and ate until my tummy bulged, then I carefully scrubbed the plate clean with my tongue. Nearby was a bowl of fresh water, and I lapped up the cool liquid. My belly was full, and I felt so sleepy.

I didn’t want the friendly people to be mad at me for bringing beach sand and creepy crawlies into their home, so I went back outside to the patio. I crawled into a shady spot, under the sofa, where I felt safe.

I snoozed and had a pleasant siesta, a nap. I dreamed about being adopted by these kind people and never worrying again about my next meal or where I could safely sleep. It was a very restful siesta.

Isla Mujeres Mysteries

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Death in the Vineyards Mysteries

10 Good Things About A Tropical Storm

Arrived home in this ...... wet, wet, wet!

Nails scrabbling on the marble tiles, Sparky dashed inside – his whole body, ears to the tip of his tail, vibrating as he vigorously spun the water from his fur.  A few minutes earlier, we had tried to meet up with Alexis and her dog Perogi for a doggy playdate of carefree running and swimming, but just as we arrived at our meeting place, the storm hit – with a vengeance.  This was the start of a four-day tropical depression with driving rain and stiff winds. 

Alexis and I ran to our respective golf carts, shrieking with laughter as the rain obscured our vision and soaked us to the bone. Both dogs were not impressed, hunkering down inside the open carts, looking for a dry spot - anywhere. By the time I had driven ten minutes, the streets were flooded, rivers of water flowing from the higher elevation of Las Glorias, engulfing the lower-level main road. Golf cart motors struggle in deep water, and I spent the next fifteen minutes searching for dryer streets as I wove my way back to our house.

Oceanside view from our house during storm

“Come on, baby.  You can do it!”  I pleaded with the cart as it threatened to stall at every flooded intersection. “Just a few more blocks.”  I really didn’t want to walk home in the downpour with a short-legged mutt dragging along beside me, and there was no way in hell that any taxi would have picked up two soaking wet passengers, especially when one is a very wet dog.

We arrived home, and as is the norm in a rainstorm, the carport was occupied by people hiding from the onslaught.  They moved aside as we parked, grinning at our bedraggled condition.  

Lawrie brought me two large dry towels, one for me and one for Sparky.  As I scrubbed the dripping water off my hair and then mopped the dog’s fur, I thought there had to be something good about all this rain; there had to be an upside.

Five minutes before the storm hit - hot and dry!

One: Soft hair!  Yep, rainwater is great for my hair, leaving it very soft and curly.  I can save money on hair conditioner.  Now, if I had planned ahead, I would have caught a few gallons in a clean bucket to use later in the week.  

Lawrie, on the other hand, doesn’t have to worry about hair conditioner. He has a nice, smooth head

Two: Soft fur on Sparky. He needed to be walked. He doesn’t know about weather and storm forecasts. When a guy has to go, well, he has to go. Thomas the Cat, on the other hand, was happy to hang around inside and use his clean, dry litter box. He is obviously much smarter.

Three: Clean railings on the upper decks. The aluminum railings are sparkling clean, or they would be sparkling if the sun were shining. The thick cloud cover was grey and angry, so the railings were clean, not shiny. Still, it’s a positive.

Sparky, wet and hiding with all the patio stuff

Four: Clean decks.  When the wind was gusting to 50 km/h, the decks were swept clean of sand, salt, plant leaves and pet fur. 

Five: Less traffic.  The island pretty much comes to a standstill.  Most islanders use bicycles, motos or golf carts.  During storms, these are less than ideal as transportation.

Six: Kids get an extra day or two off school. When the storm hit early Friday morning, some kids were already in school, but a lot had stayed home. The windowless schools are designed for hot tropical days, not tropical rainstorms.

Seven: The rain washes salt off of the electrical connections and wires – reducing electrical arching, and possibly increasing the life of the electrical connections.

Eight: Refreshes the salinas. Salinas are landlocked salty ponds that, at some point in their history, were connected to the ocean. Now they are surrounded by land, houses, and roads.  

They can become quite stinky during the winter dry season. A pounding rainstorm supplies fresh water and allows the excess to exit through the pump houses into the ocean. The wading birds - cranes, storks, egrets, herons and spoonbills - appreciate the fresh water.

Nine: Island cars get a good washing up.

Return to nice weather 

Ten: We meet new people.  Frequently, when a nasty storm rolls in, it catches people unawares, and our carport fills up with islanders hiding from the rain.  We usually put on a big pot of coffee and invite everyone inside to wait for a break in the weather.  Sometimes it takes ten minutes, and sometimes an hour, but everyone is happy to be a little dryer, and we get to meet a few more locals.

Several days later, when our tropical depression made landfall in Texas, it had become Tropical Storm Bill. We hope our American friends don’t get too badly battered.  Our carport is nice and dry if you need a place to hide from the rain, and we make pretty good coffee. 

In the meantime, we are happy with the return of light breezes and warm sunny days!

Cheers, Lynda, Lawrie, Thomas, and Sparky

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It's 5 o'clock somewhere - a dog's eye view of Isla Mujeres Part 2

Happy Hour at Nico's @ Isla 33 

Hola, amigos! This is Sparky, or you can call me by my Spanish name, Chispita. 

It's my turn to write the weekly Notes from Paradise.

For those of you who don't know me, my people tell me that I am a purebred Mexican low-rider. That's pretty cool. Don't you think?  A purebred Mexican low-rider. I think it sounds kinda sexy: low-rider. But I really want to tell you about a fun thing that happened to me when we were out for an evening ride in the golf cart.

Happy Hour - 1/2 price appetizers and drink specials

Last Friday, we stopped at Isla 33 Resort & Villas complex, on the eastern side of our island. There was a big sign at the entrance of Nico's @ Isla 33

Restaurant that said: Happy Hour. It looked like there were a bunch of happy folks there, so we stopped to investigate. There were two guys, Poyo & Payo, playing guitars and singing good tunes. 

Luis - pouring a glass of wine

There were lots of people chatting with friends and sampling great-smelling appetizers. 

There was a really nice man, Luis, who poured a light-coloured liquid into a big glass and handed it to the lady that I hang with. She seemed to like it a lot. I think Luis poured her a second one later on.

My people ordered something called Sliders. The three Sliders looked like little hamburgers, the perfect size for a small dog like me. I could smell cheddar cheese, bacon, Gouda, caramelized onions, and other great stuff. They kept saying how good the Sliders tasted. Unfortunately, I didn't get to try any of them, and it was hard not to drool all over my people's sandals.

Sparky's Spanish-speaking friend, José Cauich

But the coolest thing was this nice man, by the name of José Cauich, came over to me and started speaking my language: Spanish. 

I knew exactly what he was saying. “Acuestate.” Boom! I'm lying down.

“Sientate.”  And now I'm sitting.

Easy, I get this guy.  The man and woman that I have lived with for the last year and a half have always spoken another weird language, trying to get me to do stuff, but darn, it's hard. 

First I have to figure out what they mean, and then translate that into something I know how to do. I just wish they would learn to speak Spanish to me. It would be so much easier. 

A lot of my friends get adopted by people who don't speak Spanish, and I guess they all have the same problem. 

Gotta learn a new language, plus figure out the new people. It can be a big headache for a little dog, even a special and sexy dog like me, a purebred Mexican low-rider.

Personally, I am not clear on this Happy Hour stuff.  I think we were there for more than an hour, and everyone was still happy. I might see you there next time.

Hasta Luego, mi amigos

Sparky

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The problem with pah-king, Isla Mujeres Mexico!

 Ignoring the signs & yellow curbs

Flinging his long arms out wide to their full extent, he said, “You should write about the pah-king problem on Isla.”

Yep! We do have a pah-king problem on Isla, a big problem. 

(Translation: Parking, spoken with a New England accent!

Double yellow curbs and lots of no-parking signs

In 2011, a previous Presidente (Mayor) decided that parked vehicles were unsightly and should not be allowed on streets where arriving tourists could see them. 

The busy main road, Rueda Medina, servicing the beaches and restaurants on the west side of the island, was torn up, the sidewalks widened, and the driving lanes decreased to a tight-fitting one lane in each direction. 

Too bad for you if you get stuck driving behind a beer delivery truck, a garbage truck, or other slow-moving vehicles.

Next large No Parking signs, a circle surrounding a large E (Estacionamiento) and a slash through the letter, were installed. And finally, the curbs were painted bright yellow on both sides of the street. There! No more unsightly cars will be parking on this street. A red curb indicates; Don't park here ever! A yellow curb signifies that stopping to load/unload is allowed. A white curb says parking is okay unless you are trying to park in front of a store, garage, carport, or house. Frustrated owners block the curb with plastic chairs, traffic cones, or buckets of concrete festooned with no parking signs. Parking illegally can result removal of your vehicle license plate and a hefty fine to get it back. But here's the fun part: no one knows where or when the parking restrictions will be enforced. It's a game of chance!

A rare bit of white curb on Juarez Avenue

Earlier this week, we drove around the downtown/centro area of Isla looking for white curbs where parking is allowed. Rare! Really rare. What we saw were dozens of streets with yellow curbs on both sides of the road. On one side, by common practice, would be filled with parked cars, golf carts and motos, while the other side was left open for moving traffic. On some streets, like Juarez, the accepted side for parking changes from block to block. You have to be a local to figure out the system.

Lot next to ferry - priced too high for locals

There are still three or four places in centro that are commonly used for parking, but none of them are near restaurants or stores. The biggest lot is beside the new passenger ferry terminal. It's a convenient place to leave your vehicle if you are going into Cancun for shopping or appointments. It's not a convenient location if you plan to eat at a restaurant or shop at a store. On any given day, this large, newly upgraded parking facility has only five or six vehicles inside the fenced area instead of the usual thirty cars the lot held when it was just a dirt lot. The facility operators have doubled the price from 5.00 pesos to 10.00 pesos per hour or portion of an hour. For locals who may only earn between 8.00 and 10.00 dollars a day, the price increase was just too much. The lot sits almost empty - day after day after day.

Across the street is the Joaquin Golf Cart lot

Another parking spot on Rueda Medina is inside the Joaquin Golf Cart rentals near the port captain's office, but space is very limited. The cost is exactly the same as across the street at the bigger municipal parking lot, 10.00 pesos per hour or portion of an hour. In this lot, you leave your keys with the vehicle, as the employees usually shuffle carts and cars around during the day. When golf carts are out for rental, cars are allowed in. Golf carts back, cars get moved around.

Vehicles are presently tolerated on this lot.

The other two common places to park are on private property, and the cars are, for the present time, tolerated by the property owners. In the late afternoon or early evening, both of these locations quickly fill up with dozens of supply trucks: Bimbo bread, chips, and cookie distributors. At some point in the future, one or perhaps both of these empty lots will be developed, and there goes the only convenient parking for Centro.  For the downtown merchants, store owners, and restaurant operators, parking for their customers is a nightmare. And, if you have to do any business with the Municipality, forget trying to get into their small lot. It is always full, with cars double-parked behind, blocking everyone.

Mousehole, England, we brought the traffic to a standstill! 

However, no matter where you travel, parking can be a problem. I remember many years ago when we were travelling in southern England, we stopped our car in front of a hotel in the quaint village of Mousehole. By the time the owner had supplied us with availability and nightly room rates, our car had successfully blocked traffic in the entire town. 

Within minutes, we had a spit-spewing, red-faced British policeman screaming at us. “Move the *#%ing* car!” When the policeman stomped away to sort out the mess, we giggled uncontrollably at our stupid-tourist moment. We spent two relaxing nights at the hotel and still giggle over that first impression of Mousehole.

Everyone needs a parking space

People drive vehicles, for work, for travel, for entertainment. It's reality. We need someplace to leave them temporarily while we enjoy a meal or do a bit of shopping. On Isla Mujeres, it would be great if the powers-that-be would just pick a side on each street and allow parking. It's going to happen anyway.

Pah-king! It's a problem, but we'll make room for you, somewhere. And we promise not to yell: “Move the *#%ing* car!!

Hasta luego, Lynda, Lawrie, Thomas, and Sparky

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