Author: Rocco's Relief Foundation

Fiction

La Guitarra

Rocco's Relief Foundation

I wrote this fiction piece for a class I was taking. It’s taken from my experiences here in Atlatlahucan, Morelos. I hope you enjoy it. – Rebecca


The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon as she stepped out onto the dirt road. The heavy zaguán, caught by the wind, slammed shut behind her. Throwing her torn backpack over her shoulder, she looked up at the pale blue sky, and she knew it would be another hot day. “Too damn hot,” she said to no one. The dust kicked up around the weathered, leather boots she had bought at that second-hand shop back in Vermont. The neighbors’ dogs trotted up behind her, hoping for a handout. When she supplied none, they turned and trotted back to the shade of the massive ciruela tree. She had treats, but they weren’t for them. She had a paper bag of raw chicharron in her backpack, but she was saving it.

All the dogs around here knew her. When she moved to Mexico, which seemed a lifetime ago, she wanted to help them all. There were so many dogs that needed help. And in the beginning, she tried. She couldn’t stand the idea that people allowed them to starve, suffer, and die. Their pain and suffering had etched away at her, little by little. “I know it sounds cliché, but my soul dies a little bit with each dog I can’t save,” she told her friends back home. “Ugh, I couldn’t do it,” they always replied.

After twenty minutes or so, she turned the corner and made her way up the main road, rutted with deep gullies from the last rainy season eleven months ago. It was early so there wouldn’t be any traffic. Not that there ever was traffic. On a typical day, farm trucks loaded with day laborers and the occasional ancient dump truck was all she saw. Three groove-billed anis silently watched her from their roost as she stumbled over the volcanic rock that littered the region. She looked up to see the volcano billowing white gases, its slate grey slopes flowing into the tree line of pines and eventually to crops of corn.

That’s when she saw her. She had set out this morning in search of her, and there she was, picking her way across a field of harvested corn. She was even thinner than she remembered, but then she had only seen her once from a distance. It wasn’t surprising as it was clear to anyone that she wasn’t thriving out here on her own. Her white body had deteriorated so much that her skull seemed abnormally large, her eyes exaggerated black marbles, her ribs protruding through her skin. “La Guitarra”. That’s what the neighbors had named her.

A white boxer mix, she had been dumped here with her eight newborn puppies a few months ago by someone in an Audi SUV. The puppies hadn’t survived – parvovirus, intentional poisoning, parasites, or all of the above. None of the neighbors had stepped in to help. But how could they? They were barely surviving themselves.

The dog stopped and stood motionless, finally noticing her, observing. Careful not to make eye contact, the woman sat down on a rock. Blasted from the volcano thousands of years ago, it was now a cold, hard seat. She slid off a boot, emptied the sand, and then reached into her backpack, slowly removing the paper bag and a small slip lead. The paper bag was intentional. The crinkling noise when she opened it got the dog’s attention. Cautiously, the boxer crept across the field, picking up the scent of the pork, her hunger driving her closer.

Still not making eye contact, the woman took a piece of the pork and tossed it towards the dog. The dog, starving though she was, sniffed the piece of pork before swallowing it. Another piece was thrown her way, and this time she didn’t need to sniff. She inhaled it, her tongue licking her snout, signaling she was ready for another. Each time the woman tossed a piece of pork, she did so just a little bit closer to where she sat on the rock. And each time the starving dog inched forward cautiously and then inhaled the meat.

Eventually, the dog was close enough for the woman to touch her, but she didn’t.  She knew better than to force the situation. She had enough pork to build the trust she needed and doled it out in intervals that grew longer and longer. Only when she was sure the dog was ready did she slowly reach for the leash. Holding it loosely in one hand and a piece of pork in the other, she was able to gently slide the loop over the dog’s head when she took the treat.

Preparing herself for the alligator roll that so many street dogs had done before, the woman grasped the leash tightly. But the fight never came. Just an expectant look and a head tilt. The dog was wondering when the next piece of pork was coming. The woman reached out, moving her hand slowly down the dog’s chest and front leg. A tail wag and a tip tap of the front two feet let the woman know that the dog was ready. Ready for the next piece of pork. Ready to go home.

Rescues

Thelma & Louise

Rocco's Relief Foundation

On April 18, 2023, a neighbor stopped by our house looking for me. He had found three tiny puppies, their eyes still closed, abandoned in the dry river bed. Sadly, they appeared to have been disposed of, like garbage, by someone who didn’t want them, like garbage. When my neighbor went to investigate, he found that one of the little puppies was already dead, her skull cracked. The dead puppy’s two sisters lay next to her, alive but not for long if they stayed there in the hot, unrelenting sun. Knowing he didn’t have the means to care for the puppies, he brought them to my house in a plastic bucket.

Less than 24 hours before, I had celebrated the fact that my last two rescues would finally be flying to Canada in May. Since I would be traveling for six weeks at the end of May, I was relieved I wouldn’t have to leave my partner to take care of rescues, and he would just have to concern himself with our six dogs and one cat who thinks he’s a dog. Imagine my surprise and worry when I was being handed two one-week-old puppies the very next day.

That’s the thing about rescue work. It never ends, and it certainly doesn’t care that you have plans. You must make a decision in a split second, and it’s heartbreaking every single time. You see, if you decide to help, you’ve saved that one dog but you may have forfeited your ability to help others. If you decide not to help, you’ve almost surely written the dog’s death sentence or at least condemned them to continue a miserable life. But you can’t help them all; it’s not possible or reasonable.

On this day, as I kissed and snuggled these week-old baby girls, I knew I couldn’t say no. I scooped them up and brought them to the vet for a checkup, having zero knowledge of caring for puppies so small.

And yet, here we are, almost three months later, and Thelma & Louise are thriving! They’ve had all their major vaccines, will be spayed in about 10 days, and may be traveling to Canada by early August.

I could not have successfully gotten Thelma & Louise to this point without the help of my partner, Isa. He has been playing the role of puppy dad while I’ve been in the U.S. helping my sister with her rescue dogs. Six weeks of caring for those two crazy girls PLUS our six dogs and Bill, the dog-like cat, has not been easy, and I am eternally grateful to him.

Enjoy these pictures of “the girls”. I can’t believe how fast this time with them has gone, and I’m forever grateful for the experience. I know I’m capable of handling whatever rescue sends my way.

General

A Quick Update…

Rocco's Relief Foundation

I have finally had some downtime to work on the website and write a quick post. I will do my best to update the website, including the blog. It’s been challenging to find the time between working (I’m an online English teacher), my personal dogs, our rescues, sterilizations, community outreach, and building our house! I’ve also done a bit of traveling here and there to visit family in the U.S.

We have just two rescues in our care right now, but they are the cutest little buttons! Thelma & Louise. The girls have been with us since they were just a few days old. The photo in this post was taken over a month ago, but it’s one of my favorites. They are just so darn cute!!

When I have more time, I will post some updates on all our rescues. I’m proud to say that we have rescued and rehomed 28 dogs and 1 cat (who now lives with us). We have also sterilized 279 dogs and cats with a dream of sterilizing another 200 by the end of 2023. We just need the donations to help us do that!

If you have anything you’d like to see on our website or something you’d like to read about in a blog post, please let me know. I will be answering the questions people ask the most when I add an FAQ section and I’m dabbling with the idea of a podcast. Stay tuned!

Street Dogs

“Why Do You Help Dogs?” 

Rocco's Relief Foundation

People in my small town in Morelos, Mexico, ask me all the time, “Why do you care so much about dogs? Why do you help them?” For those of us who were raised in the United States or Canada, this may seem like a surprising question. Dogs in the U.S. and Canada are treated like children, members of the family. They have fancy breed names; they wear clothes; they go to doggie daycare; they have birthday parties. But here, in the center of Mexico, in an agricultural community about two hours south of Mexico City, many people don’t have the luxury of caring for dogs in this way. Even for those who value canine companionship as much as we do, may simply lack the means to give them what we see as essential. 

The Street Dog Problem

It is not unusual to see street dogs in Mexico. Some are strays; some have owners but are allowed to roam. It’s also not unusual to see healthy street dogs that appear to be thriving while living a vagabond life. While I would love for every dog to have a loving home, I will give a healthy street dog a scratch and move on, always looking for the one that isn’t thriving and won’t survive without intervention.

According to an article from the National Institutes of Health, of the estimated 23 million dogs in Mexico, 70% are street dogs. So for the vast majority of dogs in Mexico, life is far, far different from that of their cousins north of the border. Yes, things are changing and improving, but not fast enough to save thousands of dogs every year who die preventable deaths. They die from starvation. They die from diseases you didn’t even know existed, like a contagious cancer called CTVT, or Canine Transmissible Venereal Tumor. They die from flea and tick-borne illnesses, car strikes, poisonings, and worse. 

Help, Not Judgment

It can be very difficult to see a vulnerable dog who is skin and bones, perhaps thanks to a parasitic infection, and not want to place blame or responsibility on someone — the owner, the community, the people who walk by every day. Why didn’t they do something?

But this mindset ignores the greater issues that exist in countries like Mexico. Issues such as high poverty rates, underfunded public school systems, low job growth, failing infrastructure, violence, and corruption mean a huge segment of the population is just trying to survive. In the state of Morelos, poverty rates exceed 50%, making it the seventh poorest of Mexico’s 32 states. It’s not unusual for residents to live in makeshift houses with dirt floors and no running water or electricity. If someone struggles to provide their children with a safe place to live, regular meals, and clean water, how can we expect them to provide for a dog?

So, Why Do I Help Dogs? 

Because I can. It’s as simple as that. I can’t solve Mexico’s systemic issues and magically raise my community out of poverty. But I can help my community reduce the unwanted animal population by raising money for spay and neuter campaigns. And in reducing these populations, I can help keep my community clean with fewer piles of dog feces, fewer torn-open bags of garbage and fewer dead dogs rotting on the road. I can approach my community with empathy and an open mind, meeting the needs of both my neighbors and the community’s street dogs.

These are the things I can do. This is why I help dogs.