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

What the heck is that?



2005, the first encounter with a Hermit Crab

One beautiful star-lit evening, we were enjoying a glass of wine on the beach with family members. I heard a strangled yelp from my spouse.  Something large and round, about the size of my fist, was cruising along the sand. When exposed to the camera's flash, it turned out to be a large hermit crab, out looking for a tasty late-night dinner. Pretty cool creature. And so began my fascination with hermit crabs.

It's a fascination that has become an obsession, an obsession sparked by a casual comment of a guest at a nearby rental property. Apparently, once the minuscule hermit crab babies leave the ocean to live on land, they are constantly on the lookout for new shells. They are unable to grow their own shells and must find progressively larger shells that have been discarded or washed up on the beach.  

Water, some cat food - and they will come!

She suggested that I leave a variety of shells in one location for the crabs to choose from, and they might switch for something bigger or better. We did that and very shortly discovered that the word was out in the hermit crab world, finding a dozen or so crabs checking out the shells on a nightly basis. From then on, every shelling foray onto the beach was based on finding only perfect shells for hermit crabs, adding them to the Crab-i-tat. (Yes, I have named the location where I stockpile shells, drinking water and occasionally food for the hermit crabs.)

The best shells for hermit crabs

The best shells for crab houses are the ones that hermit crabs will have a hard time resisting. The 'crème de la crème' of hermit crab shells have a smooth mother-of-pearl interior, nice heft, perfect coil to the right (who knew a hermit crab could tell left from right?) The mother-of-pearl is easy on the soft abdominal skin, while the thickness of the shell insulates the crab from predators and temperature extremes. The shells must be intact, with no holes, as the crab needs to carry water inside the shell to maintain its health.

Broken, holed, plastic bottle caps, trade-ins.

The worst shells are the ones that a crab will cast off, in a heartbeat. These shells are uncomfortable because they are thin-walled and do not offer much protection from the elements, or perhaps the coil of the shell is awkward for the crab to maneuver, or has a rough interior, or there are holes in the shell. I have had a variety of weird things left behind as a hermit crab castoff - the funniest being a broken bottle neck with a metal screw-on cap still attached. In the crab's world, it's a bit like trading in a rusty, broken-down camper-van for the new top-of-the-line bus-style RV.

Went walk-about from our house to our friends, 10 lots north

After a few months of supplying crab houses, I started marking the shells that I supplied with red, purple, blue or orange nail polish so that I could keep track of "my" hermit crabs.  We have had various neighbours, including friends who live 10 lots north of our house, tell us that they saw one of the marked large hermit crabs on their property. Ten lots may not sound like much, but when you are the size of an orange - crawling that distance with your house on your back is a pretty big adventure.

Two hermit crabs stealing a quick snack from our cats' kibble

Fortunately, the cats don't bother the hermit crabs because they are no fun to harass - merely snapping back into their shells with a loud clack when poked by a furry paw. My little Mexican cat, Chica, delights in slapping the crabs (like mini hockey pucks) along the patio in the evenings. Occasionally, a crab or two will wander into our house looking for cat food or a refreshing bath in the cats' water dish. This does not sit well with our two spoiled felines.

The embarrassing part of this whole fascination is that I can no longer keep up with shells from beach combing. We have in excess of 300 crabs visiting the Crab-a-tat regularly. I now have a local shell supplier who makes house calls once a month to restock my supplies, and various friends have dropped off donations of shells that they have found!

It's a little out of hand, but what the heck, it's a harmless obsession.

Hasta pronto, Lynda and Lawrie

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Isla Mujeres Mystery Series

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Death in the Vineyards Mysteries

The Adventures of Thomas and Sparky