dogging my dreams

I am a foster dad. 

A doggy daddy, at least.  Temporarily.

Almost three years ago, I briefly fostered a dog (dog days of summer) who was recovering from spay surgery.  Her name was Tamara.

I wish I could say it was one of my most memorable Mexican experiences.  It wasn't. 

Not that there was anything bad about the experience.  I just could not remember having done it.  Until the latest dog showed up at my place.

My landlady and a mutual friend are driving forces behind Pro Animal Melaque -- a local group formed to rescue dogs and cats from the street and to find suitable homes for them.  On Sunday afternoon they showed up my place with a dog in tow.

They had been telling me about this dog for a few weeks.  Even going so far as to play the "he might have some golden retriever card in him."  They were certain if I met him, I would fall in love with him.

His name is Gomez.  No one s quite certain of his story.  We know he had been living on the street for a bit -- bumming food from restaurant customers and causing tourists to fall in love with him because of his pitiful condition.

So, when Christine and Anne showed up with a dog on a lead, I knew who it would be.

But I was wrong about this being a mere opportunity to meet another dog living the life of Oliver Twist.  An entirely different request was in the offing.

The shelter is currently the home to several puppies -- with another batch on the way.  And even though we do not know how old Gomez is, he is an old dog.  He really dislikes puppies.

That is where I came into the picture.  I have a large dogless garden.  Why not let Steve foster Gomez for a week or so while the puppies are spayed, neutered, and doled out to homes far more welcoming to cute puppies than to tired, old dogs? 

Of course, I said "yes."  The work of the shelter is important, and if I can relieve some stress, it should be my pleasure.

And how has it gone? 

Not incredibly well.  Gomez and Steve have not bonded.  And that may be for the better.  After all, this is a short-term visit.

What has not worked well is that Gomez has taken every opportunity to get back to the shelter -- including squeezing through gate grills that must hurt his hips.
 

I crated him last night to keep him from getting through the gate to the laguna.  The mama crocodile would find him a rather nourishing meal.  He was not happy.  Barking and scratching at his carrier for most of the night. 

Today I head to Manzanillo to finally attend to my dental problem.  I am still not certain what I will do with poor, old Gomez.  But I am certain a solution will come along.

I have learned one lesson, though.  As much as I want a golden retriever puppy, I may not be ready for the job.