Un Caso de Identidad Equivocada

Por tres o cuatro semanas ahora he querido escríbir una historia en español. Ahora, pienso que tengo una historia perfecta para esto. Esta es una historia que mi profesor de baile me contó. Aunque la historia es triste, tambien es un poco chistosa.

Hace diez semanas, empecé a tomar lecciónes de baile. Durante este periodo de tiempo mi profesor y yo nos hemos vuelto buenos amigos. Entonces, la semana pasada cuando me pareció que él estaba un poco triste, yo supe que algo estaba mal. Generalmente, él está muy feliz y muy locuaz pero ese día él estuvo muy silencioso.

Cuando yo le pregunté que le pasaba, me dijo que no podría hablar sobre esto. Entonces, yo supe en ese momento que algo grave había pasado. Despues de la clase, me dijo que en este momento a sus perros, dos perros, los habían hecho dormir. Yo sabía sobre un perro que él había tenido por 12 años y que estuvo muy enfermo y necesitó hacerlo dormir y entendí porque el perro estuvo sufriendo mucho pero ¿por qué el otro perro?

Parece que el otro perro, una perrita, que tiene sólo 5 años, estaba un poco agresiva con las personas y otros perros. Y el dueño de la casa donde Edu, su padre, y su hermano viven les digo a ellos que necesitan hacer algo con este perrita y ella no podría vivir con ellos más. Porque él no tiene mucho tiempo y la perrita estuvo agresiva todos pensaron que fue mejor para ella hacerla dormir tambien. Entonces, durante mi clase de baile a los dos perros los habían hecho dormir y despues de clase, mi profesor, su hermano, y su profesor (un amigo), iban a enterrar los perros. Entonces, pude entender la razón porque él estuvo triste y silencioso.

Esta semana cuando Edu llegó para mi clase de baile él estuvo normal otra vez. Cuando nosotros estuvimos casi listos para la clase, él me dijo que el viernes pasado algo muy chistoso había pasado con sus perros. ¡¿Chistoso!? ¿Qué? Despues, el empezó a contar la historia sobre el entierro de los perros. Me dijo que él fue al consultorio del veterinario despues de clase, él recogió a dos perros, y despues ellos fueron afuera de la cuidad para enterrar los perros. Estoy segura que fue un experiencia muy triste para todos.

El siguiente día su hermano le dijo que él pensó que él vió a su perro. Pero, no es posible porque el perro esta muerto y debajo de la tierra. "¡No! No es nuestro perro. Tú eres loco." Pero su hermano estuvo seguro, entonces los dos fueron al lugar otra vez donde ellos enterraron los perros y ellos cavaron donde enterraron a los perros y "¡No, no es nuestro perro!" Fue un perro diferente pero casi exactamente igual. Entonces despues, ellos tuvieron que volver a enterrar el perro incorrecto. Pienso que no fue muy divertido porque él me dijo que el perro estuvo oliendo muy mal y el perro estuvo muy rigido, porque él había estado afuera en el sol caliente todo el día. ¡Qué feo!

Entonces, él y su hermano regresaron al consultorio del veterinario otra vez para buscar el perro correcto. ¡Y sí, el perro estuvo allí! Entonces, ellos regresaron con el perro correcto al lugar
donde los otros perros estaban, y ellos enterraron el perro correcto. Entonces, ahora hay tres perros enterrados en tumbas sin nombres en un lugar desconocido para mi.

Despues de todo, esta historia es un poco chistosa. No puedo imaginar comó es posible que alguien pudo enterrar el perro incorrecto pero pasa. Ojalá que no vaya a pasar con ninguno de ustedes.

Well, this is my first attempt at writing a story in Spanish. I'm sure that most you have no clue what I just typed, although I'm sure you at least caught a few numbers and other familiar looking words in there somewhere. But for all of you who have been wondering what in the heck I've been doing the last 10 weeks...Well, here's proof that you can teach an old dog new tricks. (Okay, I couldn't resist on the dog thing...sorry!) And yes, I did write this myself, although like any good writer, I asked my teacher to review it for me and impressively, there were only a few mistakes. Yahoo!

So, now for all of you who would like to know what happened...here's the story translated into a familiar language...


A Case of Mistaken Identity

For three or four weeks now, I have wanted to write a story in Spanish. Now, I think I have a story that is perfect for that. It is a story that my dance teach told me. Although the story is a little sad, it is also a little funny.

Ten weeks ago, I started taking dance lessons. During this period of time my teacher and I have become good friends. So, last week when he looked a little sad I knew that something bad had happened. Generally, he is very happy and very talkative but that day he was very quiet.

When I asked him about what had happened he told me that he couldn't talk about it. So, I knew in that moment that something absolutely terrible had happened. After the class, he told me that his dogs, two dogs, were being put to sleep. I knew about a dog he had had for 12 years who was very sick and needed to be put to sleep and I understood why because the dog was suffering. But why the other dog?

It seems that the other dog, a girl dog, (who is only 5 years old) was a little agressive towards people and other dogs. And the owner of the house where Edu, his father, and his brother live told them that they needed to do something with the dog and that it couldn't live there with them anymore. Because he didn't have much time and the dog was agressive everyone thought it best to put her to sleep as well. So, during my dance class both dogs were being put to sleep and after the class, my teacher, his brother, and his teacher (a friend), were going to bury the dogs. So, I could understand the reason why he would be sad and quiet.

This week, when Edu arrived for my dance class, he was is old self again. When we were almost ready to begin, he told me that last Friday, something funny had happened. Funny?!? What??? Then he began to tell me the story of the burial. He told me that after the class he went to the vet's office, picked up the dogs, and they all went outside the city to bury the dogs. I'm sure it was a very said experience for everyone.

The following day, his brother told him that he thought he saw their dog. But, that's not possible because the dog is dead and is under the ground. "No! No, this isn't our dog. You are crazy." But his brother was sure so the two of them went back to the place where they had buried the dogs and they dug up the dog and "No! This isn't our dog!" It was different dog but it looked exactly like their dog. So then, they had to bury the wrong dog again. I'm sure it wasn't very fun as he told me that the dog was really stinky and was very stiff because it had been out in the hot sun all day long. How gross!

So, he and his brother went back to the vet's office to look for the right dog. And yes! The right dog was there. So, they went back to the place where the other dogs were and buried the correct dog. So now there are three dogs buried in unmarked graves in a location unknown to me.

After everything, this story is a little funny. I can't imagine how anyone could bury the wrong dog but it happened. Hopefully this won't ever happen with any of you.

The Story of Guizi Martínez

I don’t actually know the entire story of Guizi myself but the part that I do know I want to share with you. I have a pretty good imagination and can only imagine the things that this little guy has endured during his life. Being a street dog can’t be as glorious as it sounds. Although living life with no rules, getting to get to eat junk food (including chocolate), having no curfew, and being able to pee wherever you want, whenever you want, does sound a little enticing. It’s that other side of the coin that’s not so hot…the cold nights without a soft bed or blanket to help keep you warm, living in constant fear that the person walking towards you might hit or kick you, the fact that there isn’t always a meal on the next corner, and that just crossing the street can be a life-ending experience, those are the things that break my heart for these pups living on the streets in Arequipa and everywhere else in the world.

At first glance, Guizi looks like he’s a puppy, probably 2 years old or so. Even when I was able to first pet him two weeks ago, I still thought he was a young dog. He’s probably a lab mix, mainly black with a few white spots here and there on his chest and paws. When we first met, I was walking to school and he was curled up in a little ball next to a wall. I could tell something was wrong with his leg by the way he was laying but I wasn’t really sure what was wrong until I stopped to put some dog treats on the ground near him. He stumbled getting up and I could tell that his leg was probably broken and there were definitely at least two very large open wounds. A lot of times I only see dogs once or twice but this was not to be with the little black dog.

After school that day, I did as I always do; I grabbed my backpack, hooked up my iPod, and headed out the door for my apartment. As I got closer to the spot where I had seen the little black dog earlier that morning I began scanning the street and the sidewalks. And what do you know?!? There he was! He was on the opposite side of the street in the shade as it was 1:00 in the afternoon and although the nights are cool here (cold for me), during the day it gets hot when you’re not in the shade. So I crossed the street and gave the little black dog the rest of the treats I had on my person. Lala, the little dog who lives in the house beneath my apartment wasn’t too happy about the status of available treats (completely empty handed) and I tried my best to explain to her in Spanish that there was a little black dog on the streets who needed them more than she. I couldn’t tell if either she didn’t understand me or didn’t really care about the little black dog who didn’t have a home.

The next morning I headed out with a new supply of dog treats and hopes that the little black dog would be in the streets again. As I rounded the corner, I found myself once again scanning the street for the little black dog. As I got closer and I didn’t see him my heart sunk a little as I thought maybe something had happened to him and he would never be waiting again for me on the sidewalk. But then, I saw something…was it a plastic bag, it was so small, no, was it? Yes! It is! It’s the little black dog. Yahoo! As I crossed the street he raised his head but this time he didn’t get up, he just looked at me. So, I put half of the treats I had on the sidewalk next to him and quietly left wishing that I had more but knowing that I might see him later and I wanted to make sure that I had some for him for later. That afternoon he wasn’t there and as my heart was once again sinking I was thinking, “Why didn’t I give him all the cookies?” I said a prayer for him asking God to keep him safe.

For weeks I would see the little black dog in the mornings and afternoons, off and on, more on than off and every time I didn’t see him I would pray that he was safe and was just off in some other part of the city as by now we pretty much had a routine. He knew that every day during the week in the mornings and in the afternoons, there was a little blonde-headed girl who didn’t look like anyone else, who would come and give him treats. I can’t even explain how happy I was the day he saw me before I saw him and he started running towards me even with his hurt leg, tail wagging and all. “He knows me! He likes me!” I thought.

By now, you might be wondering how the little black dog got his name. About two weeks after we first met, the first time he stood up and started wagging his tail when he saw me on the street, I knew this little guy was special and he needed a name. So, I started thinking about it, “Do I name him after the military base that’s located on the street where I found him? What is the name of the base anyway? What about the name of the street? Hum…Rodriquez…Oh! I don’t like Rodriquez…reminds me of ARod…I don’t like him. Hum…How about Guizi? It’s short for Rodriguez. I think it’ll work…Guizi it is!” So now you know how my brain works, and of course I gave you the short version. In reality, it was a much longer conversation that I had with myself.

By now, the wounds on Guizi’s left hind leg had healed but he still couldn’t walk on it. It was about that same time I started asking my teacher for help with Spanish words I would need to know to be able to communicate with the veterinarian. At that point, I could have a good conversation with him about a lot of things but I definitely didn’t want the vet to think that I wanted to put the little dog to sleep instead of neutering him. I’m sure Guizi is going to think that stinks but it’s much better than never waking up again! As the weeks passed and I continued to see my little friend, Guizi, on the street I started to devise plans and talk to people.

I’m not in the States anymore where there are groups who can help people find homes for animals. And apparently here, a street dog is the last thing anyone wants. All I heard is that it’s impossible, that I should give up, or even better “Tú eres loca, chica!” There is apparently one group here who helps animals but I don’t think they want any more dogs or cats because their contact information was missing from their website and they didn’t have their number published in the phonebook. With the help of Renato, we asked several vets if they knew of anyone who could care for a little dog, if only for a few months as I was bound and determined that Guizi would not be living on the streets for much longer, even if I had to fly him back home with me. And no, no one knew of anyone who could except for maybe one girl and the guy said that he thought she might have room for one more dog but that he wasn’t certain.

Things really started heating up on Friday (Halloween, of all days) when Renato and I went down to talk to the vet about getting some help for Guizi and the guy said that if we could find him and stay with him then he’d come in his van and pick us up. Great! Guizi wasn’t there that morning and I wasn’t sure he would be there that afternoon but it was worth a shot. So we took off down the street in search of Guizi and what do you know, the little guy was there just like most days and he got up to say “Hello!” And I thought, “Oh! He’s here! Oh! He’s here! Oh! Holy heck, he’s here! Oh…Holy heck! Now what am I going to do? I don’t have a place for a little dog. My host parents are going to kill me if I bring a dog off the streets into their home. It’s a blessing and a curse all at the same time.” I went into a little store and bought a package of hotdogs and then Renato went to call the vet and left me with Guizi and my thoughts.

We got Guizi into the van without any problems. He’s such a chill dog. “What in the heck am I going to do? Oh well! Something will happen,” I told myself. So after a trip to the vet, then to the x-ray place, then back to the vet, which is when Henry (the dad) got involved, we all were ready to go to the house. Did I just say all of us? Yep! Every one of us, including Guizi, went to the house. Once we got there we put him in the back garden hoping that it would take a little while for the boss the house, Juana, to figure out that he was there. I’m pretty sure there’s not a lot that gets by her, she’s pretty sharp.

Renato and I left for another vet’s office in search of temporary housing and at this point I was thinking I was going to have to put Guizi back on the street for the night. While on the bus across town, I prayed that God would send a home for Guizi and that He would send it now, we couldn’t wait, we needed a home tonight. I knew at best that I had maybe a week against unbelievable odds to find this little guy a home. While we were gone, God and Guizi were both working on Juana because she allowed the little guy to stay in the garden for the night. In the morning, she commented on how calm and well-mannered he was. :o)

The next day, Guizi received his first bath in his entire life I’m quite sure. I ended up soaked but not because of Guizi, Renato was enjoying dumping as much water on me as Guizi. Unfortunately he ended up clean and I ended up exactly the opposite. How is that possible? After the bath, we had an 80th birthday lunch to attend for Henry’s dad. It was an incredible lunch and I enjoyed meeting Henry’s parents…very sweet people. After lunch, we left for the house to retrieve Guizi once again and return to the vet. By this time the vet had agreed to keep him for a week. God had given us some time. While we were at the vet, Henry showed up with his parents saying that they wanted to look at Guizi. Seriously!?! Could it be?!? And…They like him! They want him! Holy heck! An answered prayer! Yahoo!!!

So we all left the vet’s office and headed to Guizi’s new home. I was still in shock and I was also praying that Guizi hadn’t been putting on a show this whole time and was really a Cujo dog instead. I could see it clear as day. Guizi hanging around the house, acting innocent and hurt, then all of the sudden he goes into a tirade and attacks someone. After all, you never know what to expect from a dog who’s lived his life in the streets. At a minimum, generally they’re food aggressive, which Guizi is not. He’s just this really relaxed, chilled out dog, who is incredibly sweet. It’s absolutely amazing.

The vet said that he thinks Guizi is probably seven years old. That’s a long time living on the streets. But no more for Guizi! Now he’s got a house of his own, (literally, he’s got his own dog house), proper dog food, and his very own collar. It’s been a long life for this little guy but the tide has finally turned and things are going his way. I saw him yesterday when we took him for one final x-ray. The vet says it will have to heal on its own because of the location of the fracture. Here they say, “poco a poco”, which means little by little. It’s a phrase I know very well as my teacher says it to me all the time. :o)

While we were at the vet’s office, the vet asked for the name of the little black dog. I replied, “Guizi” and Henry said, “Guizi Martínez, after his momma.” So, there it is, Guizi Martínez. Martin isn’t a very Peruvian sounding name but Martínez is; it is also the name of the street where I live, which I think is a little more than a bit ironic.

And so the people I have to thank for helping Guizi find a home? Henry, for driving us around in the crazy traffic to and from the vet, the x-ray place, and everywhere in between and for also thinking that his parents could use a new family member. A special thanks to Juana, for allowing Guizi to stay his first night in a home. The vet for stepping up and saying they would provide a temporary house for him (which I am so thankful we didn’t need). Special thanks to Henry’s parents for opening their hearts and home to keep a little dog off the streets. And a very special thanks to Renato for all his help and translating skills, his help, like the help of one final person was incredibly generous. And finally, I thank God for finding Guizi a home. I didn’t know how it was going to happen but I had faith that He was in control. He brought me into this little dog’s life all the way from Oklahoma. I truly believe that. Some people are put on this earth to help other humans and I know that God put me here to help our four-legged friends. I am so thankful that He heard my prayers and answered them and that He did it with great speed.

So, that’s the story of Guizi. I forgot to tell you it has a fairytale ending. Yahoo!