I want to spread the word a bit about two charities that are working together here in Cancun to rescue animals and help animals find good adoptive homes. The first is Respeta, Ayuda y Protege, which in English means respect, help and protect (it’s called RAP for short). And the second is called CANDi, which stands for Cats and Dogs International.

The two groups have teamed up recently on a campaign called Project Cancun under which they will be starting a spay and neuter clinic among other things. In the mean time the two groups are busy getting their new facility up and running. And they are also caring for more than 60 dogs they have rescued from the streets of Cancun.

Here are their web sites:

• Respeta, Ayuda y Protege
• Cats and Dogs International
• CANDi Blog: Project Cancun

I will be writing more about these groups and this project in the future. In the mean time please send them lots and lots of money and volunteer to help them if you can.

I just got an email from a blogger who is collecting photographs of people’s favorite places on earth. I think it’s a great project. I submitted a photo of my favorite spot in the Yucatan, but I’m not sure that I have a favorite place on earth. If I do it’s probably my bed on a lazy Saturday morning when the bed is full of cats, but I didn’t want to submit that since no one else would care. Take a look at Your Lovely Places and be sure to send a photo of your favorite spot.

When I was a kid growing up in the U.S. (where it’s normal to neuter pets) I learned that the way to discern a boy dog from a girl dog was by the presence of that crucial symbol of maleness called the “weewee”. If a dog has a weewee it’s a boy. If it doesn’t have a weewee then it’s a girl. And if it’s too furry to be able to see if there’s a weewee then you have to ask the owner “does your dog have a weewee?”.

In Mexico apparently the presence or absence of a weewee is not part of discerning the boyness or girlness of a dog. The deciding factor in Mexico seems to be the presence or absence of “huevos”, testicles, balls, nuts. If a dog has testicles it’s a boy, if it does not it’s a girl. It’s so simple that even the kids figure it out.

My male, neutered dog and I run together almost daily. And almost each time some kid in the street will yell out “hola perrita” expectantly, as we go by. “Perrita” means female dog. It’s the equivalent of bitch in English (and can be used in the derogatory sense as well). And each time one of these little twirps calls my dog “perrita” I get a little mad.

First I get mad because, DUH, I’m running and I am not going to stop so some little kid can pet my dog. I may be a “perrita” myself for my attitude, but that’s tough. I think it’s a sign of how completely social Mexicans are that a little kid here would naturally expect me to to stop running so that my dog could get petted. But OMG if I stopped for every dog-petting occaision I would never get any exercise.

The second reason, the important reason, that I get mad is because my dog is MALE. I’ve been a responsible pet owner and I’ve had Adriana-The-Wonder-Vet cut off Sam’s testicles so he can’t make anymore unwanted street dogs! But here in Mexico it’s so uncommon for a male dog to be neutered that people don’t expect it! And it’s not just the kids that make the mistake but adults too. In fact I’ve had adults tell me that it’s not healthy for me to have neutered my dog and they actually pity him his missing balls!

This drives me crazy. This is a country full of unwanted, starving street dogs. If I drive to the poor areas of Cancun it’s hard not to hit limping starving mangy street dogs, they are on every corner! And still people think that it’s wrong to neuter your dog?!

Here’s an example of the poor street dogs you see in Cancun:

If more people in Mexico would neuter their dogs maybe there would be fewer dogs suffering like this poor guy.

I’ve been tagged by Cancun Canuck to play a little blog game. Here are the rules: when tagged link to the person who tagged you, then post the rules of the game, then list eight random things about yourself. At the end of the post link to eight other people’s blogs.

8 Random Things About Me

1. I can’t sleep with either of my ears exposed to the air. Short haircuts do not work for me because I then have to sleep with a pillow or an arm slung over the exposed ear. If I feel air on my ear I wake up. I’m sure this goes back to the recurring nightmare I had when I was 2 years old about the gorilla that would hide in my closet and then come out when it was dark and bite off my ear. I could get therapy for this, or I could just not wear my hair short.

2. When I was a kid I wanted to be a clown, or a detective, or a spy.

3. Now that I am an adult I want to get a Master’s Degree in Application Usability.

4. I secretly like pictures of cherubs and angels, even though I think they are tacky and I would not be caught dead putting that kind of trash on my walls.

5. Within 5 feet of me right now are: a poster from the Pearl Jam concert which took place on November 7, 1996, a book titled “the zen of css design”, a 17 year old cat whose hobby it has always been to throw up daily and a plastic wind-up penguin who hops (but only when you wind him up).

6. I like to do sit-ups. In fact I like to do at least 100 per day, but that doesn’t happen usually.

7. There is someone that I hate.

8. I just, today, named my most recently acquired street cat “Emma” (she is our 10th cat); Emma being short (in my mind) for Clementine or Clementina (have not decided which).

8 Other People’s Blogs

• Hell’s Half Acre
• Yucatan Living
• My Magic Roundabout
• 1603 Katrina
• Cancun Blog
• Julie Zickefoose
• La Gringa Mas Bella
• Dropped In

Lots of unrelated and discordant thoughts are running through my head. Sorry for sharing the chaos.

First, my friend CancunCanuck has FINALLY started blogging!! It was a good thing waiting (and waiting) to happen. Watch her, she will need only moments to find her “blog voice”, instead of the full year of suffering it takes most bloggers. She is a sensitive and skilled writer with a big heart. (You rock Girl!)

Oh, and one of my cats is driving me nuts. He just wants to go out all the time and he cries sometimes for hours. But each time I let him leave he’s gone for days, and comes back with 3 or 4 ticks on him; not to mention that I have to listen to the husband whine the whole time the cat is gone. So it’s one whiner or the other. Jeez. Get over it guys.

I posted a while ago that I was worried that someone living nearby the condo we bought was a hit man. Well, he was, just like we thought, he got busted, he was forced to move out…so we are no longer watching for bodies falling from the roof. Now someone just needs to get rid of the drug dealer who lives nearby and fills the courtyard with pot smoke 18 times a day.

The condo is coming along. Our renter comes tomorrow to finalize contract language and see the changes. One change being that today we had a stationary gas tank installed on the roof. I hope no one steals it. The stationary gas tank will save our tenant money, since it’s cheaper to fill than the small portable dangerous tanks that most people have in rentals here. And we won’t worry about her blowing herself up hooking and unhooking those portable tanks, the only people messing with the tank will be the guys from the gas company.

And in other news I’ve fallen in love with that orange cat that I took off the street a couple of months ago. My sister agreed to take her, and I could let her go within the family. But I’m about sure that this is one of the best cats ever to walk this planet, so if she doesn’t go to someone in the family, who can continue the love exactly where I leave off, then I won’t let go of this cat.

It’s stunning to think that this amazing lovely creature was starving and alone and dirty living on the street. How could the universe leave her out like that? I can think of some people who might deserve to live under a car in the dirt like that, but not this magic cat.

And that leads me to my motto of the day, and it’s only for today, because it’s mean, and I try not to be mean, mostly. “A friendly cat is better than a catty friend.”

I just spent 2 days and 1 night at a high end spa and retreat center. Don’t be jealous, it was for work. And even though I had a gorgeous room overlooking the Caribbean Sea I stayed up half the night worrying over details of the contract. But still, life could be worse, I mean what better place to toss and turn than in that gorgeous room with that amazing view.

But I think the hardest part was not the business stuff, it was the lack of cats. If that hotel had say 20 cats running around, visiting you in your room, sleeping on your feet, sitting on you when you hang out in the common areas, it would have been perfect for me.

I’m so used to having lots of cats around that I just don’t feel normal sleeping anyplace without a feline friend nearby. In fact I’ll bet that half the reason for my tossing and turning that night was simply the lack of a cat anywhere on the bed. It was just too weird and I couldn’t take it.

But now I’m back home, with a cat under the chair, and one in my office window, and one in my paper recycling basket and two more in the hall, and one more wandering around whining about how he should be allowed to go out. And I’m back to feeling normal. And I think I’ve solved the problems with the retreat center contract too, so all is good.

My dog Sam is something else. I mean it. He definitely not a dog. Not yet anyway.

I suspect this has something to do with the fact that the first year or so of his life was spent as a street dog. Because in his first year of life he didn’t learn normal dog things. He didn’t learn that he’s supposed to LIKE dog food. He didn’t learn what to do when you put a leash on him. He didn’t learn that it’s ok to WANT to go out side the house to pee.

Instead this non-dog of mine thinks that he’s supposed to eat grapes. And mixed-green salad with ranch dressing. And eggs, and garbanzo beans, and soup. And Cheerios. And whatever greasy tacos my husband gives him. And of course, that old stand by, lots and lots of cat food. But dog food? Why ever would he eat that?

And instead of wanting to go outside when it’s time to pee he’d rather hide under the bed or under the coffee table and suffer a full bladder. We literally have to drag him out the door when we suspect it’s time. And if it’s raining out? Oh, then you’d think we were torturing his eternal soul, he’d rather have his bladder bust than have to set foot out in the rain.

As for the leash, well he’s learning quickly that leash means walk (or run) and that means fun, and so he’s learning how to walk on a leash, almost like a real dog.

Now my last dog, she was a REAL dog. She ate dog food and everything. And if SHE ever, for one second, thought that I was maybe possibly going to put on my running shoes then she would tackle me in her excitement to go out for a run.

But Sam, my man, you are not a real dog yet. You have not made the connection between running shoes and going running. It’s not that hard boy. In fact my running shoes are the only shoes I own that have laces, it’s all in the laces boy. Sometime maybe you’ll get there. About when you start liking dog food, right? Right, of course, sure.

I’m happy to say that we found a home for the Golden Retriever street dog who followed us home the other day.

The lady I mentioned previously, who already had a Golden, is the one we chose to take the dog. We were pretty pushy with her and asked to see where she lived, so we could be sure the dog would have a proper yard. At first she thought we were being rude, but then she realized that we were just trying to be careful.

After we nosed around her house, she came to our house and met the dog. We got to see how she treated the dog and we were comfortable that this woman would provide a good home for our new friend. And away they went, straight to the vet.

So now Sam is back to being an only dog. And there’s no more dog slobber on top of his head from the overly friendly Golden who wanted to lick him to death.

This is ridiculous. I don’t even want to say it. I can’t even believe it.

We found this dog, see. Well, actually, she followed us home from our run with Sam yesterday. So it’s really not OUR fault, see. We tried yelling and waving our arms impotently at her. But she just kept following.

She’s pretty. And pretty huge. She a Golden Retriever, likely pure bred, although she might have a spot of Irish Setter in her (given how dumb and how leggy she is). My guess is that she’s about 14 months old. She’s got big paws and clean sharp teeth and way too much energy. And she’s got a heart of gold.

When she started following us the construction workers nearby said that she’d been hanging around for some weeks, and that she was a street dog. But from her demeanor she seems like she must have had people before, and that she’s been lost for some time.

In this city I don’t have much hope of finding a previous owner. (And my husband is of the mind that if they lost her, with no collar and no tags, they shouldn’t get her back.)

When my sweet neighbor across the street saw the dog she immediately called and placed an ad in today’s paper saying the dog was available for adoption. And being that this is one of those dogs that people actually pay money for, we’ve had 5 or 6 calls today.

So hubby has been interrogating each of the callers. Do they live in a nice enough neighborhood (meaning: can they afford to take proper care of her)? Would they want to breed her, or would they get her spayed? Why do they want her? How big is their yard?

One caller has a 4-year old Golden already. And she says she would spay the dog immediately and only wants her for company. So she’s the top candidate on the list at this point. We don’t want to support breeding more animals when the streets of Cancun are full of street dogs.

(Every time one of my friends buys a pet I curse them under my breath, but please don’t tell them that.)

I suppose it could be worse.

I suppose.

Today Sam got hit by a car. He’s ok. He was lucky. It only tumbled him about 50 times. It didn’t smoosh him or squish him or pop any internal organs (that we know of) or any of that fatal crap. But it scared us. And we knew it would happen sometime because he can be unpredictable when you allow him to get off the leash. And the last three days, with all this rain, he’s been trapped inside with no walks. So he was all wound up and very excited to run around like a maniac. Which he did.

So he got tumbled by a car, and now we are on smooshed internal organ watch (no evidence yet) and we are giving him an anti-inflammatory for all his many bruises and we need to keep his road rash clean.

It’s clear the poor dog feels like shit. And my hope is that he does learn that being near cars can make one feel like shit, or worse. I hope he learns that.