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.”

BUY HERE!

Return to Paradise, Isla Mujeres

My favourite - Bougainvillea flowers.

The warm, humid air, filled with the scent of tropical flowers and lush vegetation, greeted me at Cancun Airport, making me feel as though I was returning home, even if only for a few weeks.

On December 23, 2019, fifteen months after Lawrie’s passing, Sparky and I moved from Isla Mujeres to the historic city of San Miguel de Allende, nestled high in the mountains north of Mexico City. 

Known as a refuge for artists and writers, I had planned to live in San Miguel for at least ten years, but the pandemic changed those plans.

Ultramar passenger ferry.

Starting in mid-March 2020, I received several emails from the Canadian government urging me to return to Canada because borders were closing and all air travel was being suspended. The emails said the government wouldn’t be able to ‘rescue’ any remaining citizens once the lockdown was in effect. I was on my own in an unfamiliar city, with no support system. If I became ill, Sparky would have been at risk. We flew back to Canada on March 20, 2020.

This trip marked my first return to Mexico since the pandemic. As we neared Cancun airport, my seatmate, a WestJet employee, noted that the small gold emblem on the front of my Canadian passport allowed me to use the expedited customs line. With nothing to declare in my small carry-on, I cleared customs smoothly.

Gone were the customs and immigration forms that had to be filled out on the airplane after scrambling to find a working pen at the bottom of my purse. 

Gone were the massive lines at the luggage scanners, where each bag was rechecked before the owners left the security area.

Gone was the red-light, green-light lottery system that randomly (we were told) selected who would have their bags searched. That system was highlighted in an amusing illustration by my creative partner, Diego Medina, in The Adventures of Thomas the Cat: Las Aventuras de Tomás el Gato. It's a bilingual children's book that documents our cat Thomas's move to Mexico in 2007.

First photo - across from the Navy base.

Outside of Terminal 4, I quickly found the kiosk for my pre-arranged shuttle, and then we headed to the Ultramar passenger ferry. In previous years, when Lawrie and I returned from adventures abroad to our home on Isla Mujeres, we often took the inexpensive ADO bus from the airport to the bus terminal, then a local taxi to the Ultramar docks. This time, I wanted to be pampered, so I used a familiar shuttle service that included a round-trip ticket for the passenger ferry.

Arriving on Isla, I joined the line at the taxi stand and asked the driver how much it would cost to take me to my friend’s home near Maria’s Kin Kan. He quoted a price I expected, and I hopped in.

Punta Sur, a favourite spot for Sparky & I

For the next 16 days, I reconnected with many pals: permanent residents, part-timers, snowbirds, close friends from our old neighbourhood, and island friends whose great-great-grandparents had been born on Isla. We laughed, ate, shared a bottle or two of wine, and enjoyed the warmth of good friends and new acquaintances.

Different combinations of friends and I ate at several new-to-me restaurants, including the Isla Brewing Beer Garden, owned and operated by our friends Jeff, Rhett, and Anya McGahee.

Carnaval 2026. 

I searched for the tastiest tacos at Blue Ballyhoo, El Rancho, Loretta’s, Sabor de México, El Charco, also known as Deisy and Raul’s, Ulan Eatery, and Marina Bartolomé. We enjoyed tasty Italian dishes at De Nuccio’s. My friend Michelle and I dined at Rosa Sirena’s, where Debbie Crinigan de Chacon gave me a warm welcome-home hug.

The Medina family, Freddy, Eva, Diego, and Danaee, plus Carol Lawler and her cute pooch, Paloma, hosted breakfast at Sabor de México twice. On the morning of my birthday breakfast, a massive three-layer cake with a volcanic sparkler appeared at our table. Freddy and I served everyone in the restaurant a piece of cake and had plenty left over for the staff.

With permission from the owners of our beachfront home, I spread some of Sparky’s ashes on the sand. Sparky has many of his four-legged pals to keep him company: Thomas the Cat, Princess Chica, Missy, and Odd the Dog. And a little bit of his very best friend, Lawrie.

Sabor de Mexico.

On Isla, I zipped around in a rental golf cart, photographing favorite spots and comparing the photos with earlier images. I watched the always entertaining Carnaval parade. Michelle and I popped in to visit longtime friends Neil and Abbey Fox at Sac Bajo. 

My last night on Isla was spent at a successful fundraiser at my friend’s home, raising money for several worthy island causes.

Playa Norte, North Beach.

Usually, when someone has been on a tropical vacation, they come home with a tan. I am still a ghostly white. In sixteen days, I never once sat on the beach! (I did take a couple of photos of Playa Norte.) Neither Lawrie nor I were sunworshippers, even when we lived full-time on Isla Mujeres.

So, what had changed in six years? A lot. And nothing at all. There are more houses, more restaurants, more stores selling souvenir tat, and more golf carts buzzing around, but essentially, it is still Isla. 

The islanders are kind and generous. The food is delicious. The weather is perfect for this chilly Canadian. The scenery is gorgeous. Isla Mujeres is still very dear to me.

This trip was a mix of happy tears and heart-wrenching memories of my adventurous and romantic life with Lawrie. But I am glad I went. It was enjoyable to reconnect with some of my amazing pals. 

I missed seeing a few folks, but I am planning to return this winter. See you then! 

Cheers, Lynda

Top 100 Canadian Women Authors, Top 40 Mexico guides (But it's a memoir more than a guidebook.)

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

OR 

Death in the Vineyards Mysteries

A surprise gift!

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

 

Chapter 1

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...

Sparky's mystery novels by Lynda L Lock

Doggy dreams in paradise

Dreaming in paradise

He’s an old, slightly arthritic, black dog snoozing in the sunshine under a rickety red table: dreaming.  His feet twitch, and his eyelids flutter as he relives his younger years.

He dreams of racing with his neighbourhood pals along the white sand beaches, dashing into the rolling surf to retrieve a floating coconut, tussling with his friends over possession of a stick.  

Summer camp for pooches

On hot summer days, there were always plenty of neighbours who would play with him.  

The humans liked to wade in the warm ocean, splashing and laughing – willing to toss a stick for him to retrieve, again and again. 

Tiny but tough!

Sometimes, when he was younger, he would roam the nearby neighbourhoods looking for a girlfriend or two. As he tramped up and down the streets, he occasionally met up with other male dogs who didn’t want him trespassing on their territory.  

Scuffles ensued, and one or the other of the dogs would suffer a tattered ear or a bitten neck. No matter. He’d shake it off and head back home to lick his wounds. 

"Maybe I can find a treat here ..."

Occasionally, when he explored the island, he would nose out a tasty treat near a taco stand, something dropped by a customer, or perhaps left in an unsecured garbage can. Even following food vendors could be like winning a lottery. As the vendors stopped to sell their goodies, tidbits might escape and fall to the ground. Bonus! He wasn’t starving, but different foods were always a welcome change from the normal dry dog kibble provided by his humans.

Stay out of my territory!

He was so much luckier, he thought, than the rooftop dogs, the ones that were confined to the upper level of a house, unable to run free.  

He loved to torment them by strutting past, tail in the air: look at me.  I’m walking in your neighbourhood.  I’m checking your garbage cans for treats.  And I’m romancing your ladies.  

The rooftop dogs would bark and growl in frustration, unable to reach him, unable to teach him a lesson about trespassing.  

Tony Garcia photo credit

This was the best game ever! Even better than chasing cats and iguanas.  

Although he thought that riding on a moto-scooter, like a few of his luckier friends were allowed to do, would be the very best adventure.  

He would stand nice and tall with his paws on the handlebars, and pretend he was steering the motorbike.  Awesome.

Then he was dreaming of another late-night adventure a few years ago when a strange boat landed on the beach in front of his house. A group of twenty people scrambled off, tossing aside unwanted clothing and food items.  

Cuban refugee boat - shade for a friend

Early in the morning, several Navy Marines and the municipal police arrived to check the boat. Someone mentioned Cuban refugees.  

He had no idea what that meant but he and his friends thought that Christmas had arrived, as they nosed around in the castoffs for soggy crackers and discarded packaged foods. Living near the beach was always interesting.

Home Sweet Home

As he snoozed in the sunshine, a noisy group of tourists stopped in front of his resting place, exclaiming over the beautiful shells and trinkets that his humans had for sale.  

Yawning, he stretched and slowly ambled out from under the table. 

Ah well, I might as well get up and be friendly, wag my tail a time or two.  Maybe I can earn my kibble by convincing the tourists to buy a few more shells. 

Apologies to the pooch and his people for fictionalizing his life. He was an interesting-looking dog that we wanted to write about.

Hasta Luego

Lawrie, Lynda, Sparky, and Thomas the Cat

Isla Mujeres Mystery Series

Or

Death in the Vineyards Mysteries

Or

The Adventures of Thomas and Sparky