MANGE AND TVT !

Having settled Yashoda into Rani Park in Kathmandu, I would visit her every other day or so. She was in good hands now in the care of DREAMS, as were the other cows and calves who had come to settle there. Walking the streets in these cities, overcrowded with people, dogs and cows, one is going to come across problems. And I did not have to go very far to find the next set of “problems…”.

Just outside the newly formed cow sanctuary, were a group of the saddest looking dogs I had ever seen. Hairless, depressed, itchy, run down, and full of TVT’s. What’s a TVT? You may ask. It is a transmittable venereal tumor. In other words, a sexually transmitted disease, that leaves a giant tumor looking growth on the dogs’ organs. The females look as though the uterus has fallen out, and the dogs just look like they have a horribly enlarged, mangled, gnarly penis. It can do all sorts of horrible things inside the body as well as outside, but, the good news is, it is highly treatable.

So, by now, my remaining time was running short in Nepal and I was anxious to return to Mother India …I can only stay away so long. What to do? I had met a lovely woman on previous visits who was doing local work in her village. It was worth a call to get information from her as to which vets might I be close to, and get at least started on this. Well, the rain of miracles continued. Kate came out to meet me at the site, and, shocked as I was to see all these dogs, quietly commented … “Wait a minute, I took a dog from this area some weeks ago with the same problem.”

We now had an actual case of “Before” and “After.”

She turned out to be so lovely Kate did not have the heart to bring her back, and was not aware of the extent of the problem in the area. We did a quick survey, took photos, and quickly got one male I had been searching for into the vet’s office. Kate agreed to keep him for follow up care.

I knew this wasn’t enough, and knew it was not fair to burden one person with such an enormous project, and who would pay for all this…?  So, I contacted some lovely people I had met in Pokhara on a previous visit who had an organization called HART; Himalayan Animal Rescue Trust. They do amazing work in Pokhara and the outlying villages, and I thought it was worth a shot to bring this to their attention.

One email got a quick reply, of sure, we can help with the funding. Kate Clendon, of Kopan Community Animal Care, then agreed to continue the treatments of these dogs.

“My” work had never been so easy!

There were local people who had shown great interest in seeing these dogs improve. They were incredulous when we showed them “before and after” photos, and wanted to see success in the condition of their community dogs. And there was, and so it is!

To see the transformations in these dogs health, lives, and spirit is a joy to behold.   

                                   Next

YASHODA, Nepal Revisited

Yashoda

Time in Nepal used to be an obligatory period of drudgery and dislike. I could stay in that state of mind, and react to all the frenzy of the tourist scene, the rudeness of the locals who have seen too many rude tourists passing through, or I could try to escape this mindset and replace it with one of productivity and ease.

I ended up staying in some lovely Tibetan Buddhist monasteries, and an Anni gompa (nunnery) with great joy and satisfaction. The Anni gompa was close enough to Kathmandu that I could make visits to the city as often as I liked, and make good use of my time there.

Kathmandu is full of bedbugs and mange! The dogs suffer terribly from the mange, while the tourists silently accept the bedbugs. It is painful to watch pained, pink skinned hairless dogs scratching and scratching. With all this scratching, they often create secondary infections by tearing the skin, and bacteria quickly settles in. Ivermectin for the mange, and an appropriate antibiotic for the secondary skin infection. With at least two months there, I could easily follow a specific group and have them treated thoroughly. And it was done.

In these travels, I came to have my heart touched by an old sad cow. Old, no longer able to produce milk, she had been turned out, onto the streets to fend for herself. I first noticed her in Durbar square, close to the old hippie scene, Freak street. She caught my eye as she was quite large, clearly old, and seemingly pregnant??? She had a huge swollen belly … but not. I saw her from her left side, she was impossible to miss, and as I walked around her, and saw the right side, I could only gasp. She was skeletal. It was the strangest sight I had seen in a cow; half bloated, and half skeletal.

I called all the animal rescue groups in Kathmandu, there are many, and none wanted to help her. So, daily, I started to feed her, and tried to get a medical opinion as to what was going on here. My concerns were ingestion of too many plastic bags, which the cows cannot pass. Plastic bags that still have a bit of food in them, become part of the daily diet. These street cows eat everything, there is not enough proper food available for them.  Cardboard boxes, licking posters glued onto walls, plastic bags, and the odd bit of rotting vegetables in the swept up garbage is the daily diet for the street cow. It’s all they can find. They are forced to become scavengers for food, and do not do well. Occasionally a kind soul will offer a few scraps of food, but it is not enough to sustain them.

So, what to do? Finally a veterinary doctor came out, and determined it was not ingestion of plastic bags that caused this, but more likely overproduction of milk, causing a collapse of the internal lining of the stomach, or all four stomachs as in the case of cows. So basically, the stomach has nothing to hold it up, and kind of shifts like a giant hernia. What causes this, is very possibly hormone injections which will increase the production of milk to an unhealthy level to the cow, but a financially profitable level for the farmer. Prognosis is not good. He suggested surgery at an exorbitant, foreigners rate, but no place to keep her for recovery, and no guarantee that she would survive the surgery. NOT an option.

I continued daily feedings, and although I was growing to love her, she repeatedly showed me her bit of an anti-social side, with turning her head away, and her “why are you bothering me while I am napping”, glances. I loved her all the more for her independence, her strong character, and her clear displays of like and dislikes.   The locals started to take notice, and started to help in her care and feedings. It was nice, and she seemed to settle in comfortably and she found her favorite spots for resting throughout the day and night.

And one day the local police came up to me…

“What are you doing? We have seen you here daily.”

“I come to feed her.”

“Do you work for an NGO (non-for-profit)”

“No.”

“How long are you here?”

“Two months.”

“Let’s come inside and talk.”

I get more questioning from more than one officer,  with repeated notice that tourists are supposed to be tourists.

“I’m touring the streets and dogs and cows are on the streets… How can I not see them…?”

I leave, thinking, good god, they want to harass me for doing something kind…? And am I about to be deported ... Thailand here I come?

I’m followed by one of the officers, he comes up to me and says lets go in here, the Kumari house, courtyard, and we can talk. Shit, now what, I can’t help but think. Another officer follows him.

“We are simple farmers, we come from the villages, and we also care for this cow.”

“We think what you are doing is wonderful, and we want to help.”


I was in shock. Happy shock, but shock. 

The bottom line was that the superiors, local officials would not let her stay in Durbar Square, and after I would leave, there would not be enough food for her anyway. So she had to be moved, but they would personally help me with her transport if needed, and they would give me time to place her elsewhere.

The search for a new location began in earnest …. It took me to the Hare Krishna Temple close to Budhanilkanta, [Krishna -  cows -  I tried to convince them of their duty to take care of abandoned cows - ],  to a self styled orphanage in a small village run by a French monk I met at a Farmer’s Market, and to any and every grazing space I could find between Kathmandu and her outer rings….! The Hare Krishna’s came close, after much negotiation, with yes, and no, and yes, but … It was just taking too long to get a definitive answer. We left that as a possibility to be explored in my next visit, to be continued later.

Then I found it! The perfect spot appeared to me. Pashupatinath is the largest Hindi temple, complex in Kathmandu. As foreigners, we are allowed to enter only certain areas of the complex, and only we pay the exorbitant entry fee to maintain the holy separatists. [A side note, there is easy open, FREE access from the back side. Watch the school children, they cut through this way everyday, follow them and, you’re in!] Next to Pashupatinath is a tourist bus park, and next to the tourist bus park, is a HUGE, fully enclosed forested park, and I mean huge, and totally unused. The tourists, in their acts of accruing good karma, regularly bring boxes of food, for the monkeys. Why not for the cows as well, I could not help but think.

Next step in the chain of miracles, I finally got a call from an organization, called DREAMS. They did not yet have a space, but were new, with high hopes and big plans. We talked. Why not move Yashoda in the Rani park area, next to Pashupatinath; who would even notice one more cow wandering in the forest. Food was bountiful, and fruits could be easily supplemented by the “holy pilgrims” with their pre-determined acts of kindness on their way to the holy temples. We all agreed it was a good plan.

The move took place, and it was simple. In the early hours we hired a truck and moved her in. She would follow me anywhere at this point, even up a ramp into the truck, and down the ramp into her new home. Yashoda being Yashoda, she had her own mind set, and made a couple of attempts at exploring the outer roads. She escaped from the one and only gate. She would quickly be found, brought back, and in few days settled in to the realization that this was her new home, and it was good. Dreams had daily volunteers coming, spending much of the day there, and added several sick and injured cows and calves. We built several shelter style tents, to protect them from the sun, and rain, and give them a nice bed to sleep in at night. In the day, they were free to wander and graze in this vast open secure, and bountiful forest.

Life being what it is, we cannot stay in one place. The shelter saw its good times and bad. Cows and calves that looked like they were recovering, only to suddenly become very sick and die, to others who continue to thrive. Yashoda had a good six months. She was well fed, free, formed friendships and experienced love. The winter, although they had blankets and shelter, was too hard on her aging body. She did not survive the cold, and left the body in January.

It was difficult for me to hear this. 

I had since been long back in India, and all reports were that Yashodha was doing well. My own health had been challenged at this time, and there would have been nothing I could do anyway as far as going to her and helping her myself.

Spiritually, philosophically, one is reminded over and over of the impermanent state of the universe and our daily lives. Life includes everything, not just the “good” or the “bad”, but all of it. It can be joy, a feeling of bliss, a feeling of success, but it’s also pain and sadness, anger, confusion, and fear. To truly be alive is to admit that we cannot protect ourselves from any of it. So, we can embrace life in its totality, without fear, and make the choice to love, or to numb ourselves from life. Thank you Yashoda, and Dreams, for teaching me this lesson again, and letting me love you, and letting me embrace the sadness of your no longer being here.

                       

                    ... and as Krishna plays his flute, we continue the dance ...

IT TOOK A POKE

I had recently returned from yet another mandatory exile in Nepal, albeit this time it was a fruitful adventure, with the start of a new goshala and a small community dog care program, and the pleasure of teaching English to Tibetan nuns who were new to Nepal. Back home now my priority was to make my usual “checks” on who was still around, and in what condition would I find them. As usual, it was varied. The ones who had ongoing problems, would look battered but ready for new care, others looked marginally well, and others looked perfectly fine. And some of course, would be missing to the ongoing battlefields of the streets.

Mating season had started, it takes time to get them all under “family planning,” and the battle scars of the males were showing. It’s usually a tear to the neck, and often a bite hold on the leg to show the final supremacy of  the “Top Dog”, and alpha male. At the end of a long, first, hot day, I came upon a dog at the far end of Ram Jhula. He was propped against a wall, his breath was shallow, and he had OLD bandages on his neck and head. And he had a horrible, smelly maggotted leg.  I was tired, and not happy to see this so late in the day. I stroked him, tried to give him some water, offered food, but he was pretty unresponsive. Shit, I thought. Someone had started care, but not followed through and now this dog is slowly dying. It looked too late, and it was too late in the day to take him anywhere or to get an IV drip started on him. My own fatigue had set in, and sadly, I walked away.

I stopped in the middle of the road about six feet further down to let some motorbikes pass, and stood there for a moment, exhausted. I got a poke. At the back of my leg, I got a strong jab and looked down. It was him. He had managed to get up, follow me, and give me a sign. He wanted to live. I have to admit I had not recognized him, there are many orange and white street dogs in this area, but he remembered me and wanted help. I picked him up and carried him to a side walkway and had to decide what to do with him. All I could do for that night was change his bandages, marginally disinfect the wounds, and bandage his leg. I got some electrolytes into him, and put him in a safe spot, covered for the night.

The next morning more proper care would begin. He had a “home” on the ghats, and was accepted by the other dogs and people who live there, so this is where we would keep him for his care. Antibiotics, IV drips, vitamins, and two to three checks throughout the day and night were all we could do for him. The Babas watched. Some helped, some remained aloof, and some said I was putting medicines into a dead dog.  But they were used to seeing me here, and accepted.

He may still have looked dead to the world, but in a few days he marginally improved. By day five he was able to lift his head, take a bit of water, and look me in the eye. His leg still looked bad, and we were not sure if he would keep the leg, but we were hopeful and encouraged by his obvious improvements.

Day Six

The Doctor and I stayed the usual hour with him in the morning, and I relaxed a bit, and stayed on, just enjoying his company, offering my love, and enjoying the beauty of the Ganga and her endless flow. Two Babas came and we even laughed a bit at how the word was going around that I was putting medicines into a “dead” dog. We smiled, and relaxed, and Spotty sat up for the first time in days. I patted him, moved on and looked after a few more dogs. It was about 11.00 a.m.

Don’t read the rest if you want a happy ending

Around 1.00 I sat down and had a cup of chai. It was my intention to go see him again later in the day, but I heard a call, in my heart. I walked as quickly as I could, but I was still at least ten minutes away.

He was not there. The Babas were all looking at me afraid to speak, and finally one pointed. There was a man, a sweeper, in the Ganga taking a bath. Not the usual Ganga dip of joy, but a bath of different intentions, a bath one takes to wash away one’s stains. He was a sweeper, and it was his job to keep the ghat clean. He had dragged and tossed my dog into the Ganga. It had all happened maybe ten minutes earlier.  Dog’s are considered “dirty” in India, and as such, generally untouchable. He had to wash himself.

He came to me with folded palms and looked me in the eyes. He tried to claim the dog was dead; … I knew the dog was not dead…  It was his job to keep the ghat clean … A translator came and a scene quickly ensued. Everyone understood the gravity of the act and the man was afraid. He did not want my curse upon him. Somehow I spoke to him calmly and plainly. He kept asking me what I wanted him to do, what can he now do???

I made it clear I wished to never see him at this ghat again. He is never to defile the dog’s memory with his presence and the reminder of his horrific act.
Part two, he was now, every day for the rest of this life, to feed a dog. A street dog; he was to look him in the eyes and offer him food. Every day, for the rest of this life.

I have never seen him on the ghat since that day. He has kept the first promise it seems. I can only hope he has kept part two, and that somehow his heart has been touched, by looking into the eyes of a dog.

For some days I could not go to the ghat, it was too painful. Sixteen days after his death I offered food and prayers on his behalf to his companions and friends at the ghat. That day the dogs, the Babas and the beggars ate well, and I prayed.

Sister of the Tiger

Billiaria

Sister of Tiger ...What is her name I asked Sitaram Babaji. He pauses, and looks into the air for a moment, comes back to earth, and replies Billiaria. (Billie - r- ia).
I knew Billi was cat, but I asked him the meaning anyway, and he said, "sister of Tiger".

It was a beautiful name for her. She was actually a pastel tiger striped dog, more of the exotic white tiger than the golden and black. She was a pale cocoa color, with intense black and grey stripes across
her entire body and face. Her mother was a red dog, and father, unknown. There are no striped males in the area, and no other striped dogs in her litter, so her unique coloring was a mystery, and we all
knew she was special.

Not only did she have strong physical markings, but she was strong of character, and quickly made herself the alpha female of the pack as she grew. Her mother acceded her the role of dominant female with little struggle. Her two sisters were no match for her, and they also gave her full reign as leader of the pack. It was clear, Billiaria was top dog. There were no challengers.

She lived life with passion, intensity and gusto, and she always smiled. She also loved with gusto. I make it a point to not shower any of the dogs with undue affection, and no special treatment for one over the other. They have their own rules and group dynamics, and one should not interfere or show favoritism. So, although I showed her no special favors over the other pack members, she somehow adored me. It was impossible to not notice. I would be greated with leaping bounds of joy and body slams, followed with wild runs and breathy pants. If I tried to walk down her road unnoticed, she would always come darting out of hiding if she spotted me, overjoyed to see me, and pretend there was no slight on my part.

The greeting consisted of bouncing onto me, tail wags with the velocity of a cracked whip, and smiles from ear to ear. How could I not love her?

Her life was good. Sleeping inside Babajis room at night, sheltered and secure. Running along the sacred Ganges each morning, hurdling the boulders and splashing in the waters waves. Napping on the
sand in the afternoon, exploring the forests terrain at dawn and dusk, and holding enough company of humans and dogs to keep life interesting. There was food, open skies, companionship, and the freedom to run wild, and strong. Her life was untroubled, and she grew and thrived into a powerhouse of existance. Shakti, full on.

The call came as a shock. Billiaria is not well, she has not eaten for a few days. The Dr. could not come immediately, and by the next day she was gone, dead to her physical body. She was found in the rocks at the shore of GangaMa, wedged between two boulders. Cause of death, unknown.

She was admired by many. and noticed by all, with her beauty and the vibrancy of her life force. To imagine that life in that form as extinguished is hard to fathom.

May you reincarnate well, and soon, beloved Billiaria.

Kalu of Tapovan

Kalu


Where's Kalu?
The police officer on duty straightened up, looked left, then right, and with all seriousness replied, Kalu has not reported for duty today!

It was cold, he was not well, and I was concerned.

The story of Kalu .... A black and brown hound cross, he had in his early years been the unnofficial police dog at Tapovan chok. Well liked and cared for, until a combination of a road accident and the main officer taking on his care being relocated, changed his circumstances. Fortune smiled on Kalu at that point in his life, and he was taken in by a local woman living with two foreigners. She passed herself off as a sadhu, and a bit of a witch, and claimed to have great healing powers, which later proved to be rather dubious, but more on that later. Kalu was now somewhat lame, and a few years old, but the sorceress and her foreign supporters took on his care. His new home was only a few hundred meters away fom the police station. In a way, his new life had the best of both worlds. A warm home, with lots of company, good food, and daily outings that allowed him to report, on his own innitiative, for duty. Kalu was a rarity for an Indian dog, in that he preferred the company of men, and there he sat. He took his job seriously, not that his activities were specifically prescribed, but he reported on a daily basis, and gave watch over Badrinath Road. Watching the passersby, the traffic, the activities of his fellow workers the police officers, the drama of Indian village life unfolded before his eyes. Kalu knew everyone, and they knew Kalu.

He was well fed in his new home, but the few roti and biscuits that the officers tossed him meant more to him than the Pedigree Pal offered in his house. Evening time he would be rounded up by the sorceress and brought back inside. Another couple of dogs for company, a few cats, and lots of visits from foreigners with their pats and caresses for Kalu, and he had it pretty good.
Life went on like this for some years... But nothing in the world of illusions lasts forever, and the happy home was about to crumble. One foreigner moved out, and the house of relationships based on convenience and need fell apart. Squabbles, recriminations and hurt feelings, and each went their own way. Left in the wake were Kalu, his dog companion Maisy, and more than a few cats. Promises of 'I'll never leave the dogs behind' by the sadhu/sorceress were not kept. All were left behind after living a life of comfort and trust, to fend on their own.
The cats were the first to deteriorate, and the first to go. They were exquisite. Maisy was next, after lasting the better part of the winter, she succumbed, most likely to having injested poison from the streets.

Kalu made his way back to the Police Station, and he made himself happy there. He was not as appreciated as before, but still he was content and had a strong sense of loyalty and satisfaction. This was after all, in his mind and heart, his rightful place. The food was slim, and the bedding was bare; he made his sleeping quarters across the street, in yet another of the unnoficial dumping grounds of India. In the rubble he slept, unmindful of broken glass, stones, garbage, and whatever jetsom made it to the trash that day. He'd bury himself in the pile of whatever, and sleep late into the morning, until the sun had fully emerged.

Quickly losing weight, and being battered by other male dogs his juniors in years but superiors in strength, Kalu didn't look so good. I started feeding him of course, and bandaging his wounds, but it wasn't enough. A temporary respite in a very nearby ashram didn't last long. I found permission for him to stay there, and he did like this spacious home, but he was soon unwelcome, as his condition and beauty deteriorated with age and battle scars of the street. So, once again, he was back on the street, to where else, the Police station.

A new problem now set in, his back legs started to deteriorate. First a bit of dragging, to not being able to hold himself up, and he declined. A few accupunture treatments from a volunteer veterinarian did not help. But still, he peddled himself forward every morning to the front of the Police station, his home, and his place of reporting. When I arrived that winter morning, and Kalu had not 'reported for duty' I knew I had to make a change, and he would not like it. He was independent, strong willed, and did not want to leave his home. But I had to. I put him in my home, and although he cared for me, it was not his home, his work. He was not happy. For many reasons, I had to find him something else.

At this point in time, earlier said ashram (see earlier post) had accumulated a new group of dogs. Once again, dumped by local well wishers who could not keep them, found them, etc., and hoped for the best by placing them in a setting of spiritual bliss ...

maybe

Now fully paraplegic, Kalu had been joined in my home by another paraplegic dog, Lili. Lili was a gorgeous border collie cross, a victim of a road accident, who now scooted about on her two front legs as she effortlessly lifted her back end and walked on her hands, as it were. A very handy makeshift home had been made in a garden of the ashram, and it now seemed to belong to the dogs, literally. Squatters rights! I had been feeding these dogs and arranging for their medical care one by one, and a devoted animal lover within the ashram shared in their care. Life was bliss ...

So I added the new residents, Kalu and Lili. Lili adapted very quickly to her new home, and is an adorable site in the garden. Kalu, although in a much better and healthier environment, bears a bit of a grudge towards me for displacing him from his beloved police station, and forcing what he believed to be an early retirement. Sorry, Kalu, I could not watch you die on the street, unneccessarily. A part of him adjusted to the life of ease, cleanliness, good meals, fresh air, and a view of the Ganga, but he never fully forgot his work, and his job in Tapovan. Had I opened the garden gate, I know he would have dragged himself with every bit of strength he had left in him, to his beloved police station. In his being, Kalu was always prepared to report for duty.


FINAL NOTE ... Kalu passed away, mid January, 2012. He lived in the ashram with its adventures, ease, discord, and love, for one full year.

A Day in the Life

A day in the life ... Here are a few quick stories and photos of a typical days outing with animal care and meetings with friends . . .

Danni



Danni was another one of those dogs, who somehow just shows up ..
This picture , as many others, does not really show how bad off she appeared. Skeletal, bad skin, infections, and a head that just seemed too big for her body to hold up. And oh yes, a nursing mother. People who were ususally stoic to these kinds of scenes were shocked at her condition. Many people wanted to help her, but she remained elusive, and only sometimes coming out into public sight.
She was initially a bit shy and wary, but eventually gained trust and regularly came for food and affection. One day she actually took me to her home, to show me her pups, and her human family. Yes, she had a family and they were doing their best, but her condition was not good. Over time, with skin treatments, deworming, very good food, she blossomed. She had a gorgeous character, and a bit of a sense of humor. Danni like to hide from upper vantage points and watch me look for her. When I found her, she would not come, but would jump up and down in the air, wagging her big shaggy head from side to side. It was a comical and endearing sight.
The puppies were gorgeous, black and tan, clearly offspring of the neighboring Doberman Romeo. Very little about them looked like the delightfully shaggy haired Danni, except for one... Black and tan like her father, but with a few ruffs of hair encircling her ankles, wrists, and a little shaggy mustache, and oh yes, she had the Danni dance! I came up one morning with food, and Danni did her bouncing dance, and to our great amusement, shaggy daughter mimiced this performance, with joy and smiles. We all laughed. It was all I could do to resist grabbing her up in my arms and carrying her away. But this is impossible, and in the back of my mind, was making silent plans as to how I could at some future point convince the family to let me have Danni. I was that fond of her.

The puppies were eventually placed, but they kept the male, and with Danni looking her best, I did not have to come every day. So I would come up casually, no worries in my mind regarding these two, no sense of need or urgency. And then it hit me. The fear and sadness in the grandmothers eyes.
Danni?
She just shook her head and looked to the rest of the family members for help.
Bagh, bagh ...
Tiger? I asked incredulously.
Tiger.
They took me to the spot up the hill. It was what else, a garbage dumping ground were many animals would go looking for food. The jeep drivers confirmed the report. My lovely Danni had been dragged off by a tiger.

Life of a street dog in India. Life and death of a street dog in India.


Baba and Bubbly



Baba, Bubbly, and all

There are streets that are lined with beggars, Babas, and dogs. They keep each other company, form social circles, and communities of survival. Many people walk along these rows distributing bits of food, as they so feel moved. When I first arrived, I thought this was a depressing site, and with a bit of aversion, would make my way around this road, bypassing these sights. Until I became accustomed to the reality of these conditions, and made regular walks, with conversations and offerings, and found friendships and joys, notwithstanding the difficulties of these lives. There is often a charm to these outcasts and misfits, with whom I find I am regularly at ease. There are many ways to live a life, and hardships and joys come in many forms. This Baba was one of my favorites. Not only did he care for animals, but he had a strong character and his own charm and humor. He has since moved on, but while he was here, with his dogs, we made friends.
He had many dogs around him, and was quite good at understanding their behaviors, and at offering his care, sharing as much as he could. The offerings of 3RS Parleji biscuits seems to be unending in these rows of being, and the dogs get their shares from the babas. The newest edition, he named Bubbly. I thought it was a bit optomistic, considering her condition in those early days, but ok.
Surprisingly, after medicines and good food, Bubbly thrived. She grew into a beauty, and is still alive and very well as I write. She is extraordinarily intelligent, and she charms the local roadside residents daily.
Hari OM Bubbly and Baba


SPOTTY



Ay, ya, yai. What is this small black and white Border Collie style puppy doing with a leg rubbed raw, red , and the size of a baseball bat?! It was quite an unbelievable site. Daily bandaging, antibiotics, good food, etc. ... she improved. She was wonderful about having her dressing changed. Her bad habit was, however, that she liked to lie under the parked auto rickshaws at the roadside where she had made her home, and I often worried that the accident would repeat itself. She was energetic, lively, curious, and all the things a good puppy should be.

I wish I could say all ends well, but although the leg was nearly fully recovered after some weeks, her ability to cross the roads did not improve. With puppy abandon, she darted out onto the street and was killed, I was told.

She lived on the side of the road, and there are no crossing rules for dogs and beautiful Border Collie style puppies, and others.

Ashram Pups 2011



The neverending ashram pups ... new edition, 2011. One by one, a new wave of pups were tossed into the ashram. Make that, sometimes, two by two, three by three, etc...
Unfortunately, this seasons crop came with its own illnesses. Namely, parvo virus. It spread quickly, of course, and nature took its course. With no rhyme or reason as to who would, should survive, based on strength, general health, age, etc. eight survived. The remaining eight were a happy, and strong lot of varied size, shape and color. From our lovely almost laborador, Julie, to the sweet natured beagle looking cross Tommie, to her no relation brother Bairo, later known as Motu. A big golden bear of a dog, who loved to eat and wag his tail and play all day, and eat and wag his tail and play all day.
They all lived quite contentedly, and the seldom used garden, which was first taken over as a hospital ward while the treatments were going on, automatically became their home. They were in. And although there were a few grumbles about dogs in the garden, no one had quite enough clout or heart to be the one to throw them out. As they grew, the confines of the garden became too small for many of them, and they started their natural explorations. This had its own set of casualties, on the roads, with vehicles that speed by and have no time to stop for dogs. Three were lost this way, and reverentially buried on sacred ground. More came to take their place, and for the most part they happily coexist, with squabbles, and power dynamics, but all in all, a good life, better than most.

2011 The PO Pups

The Post Office Pups

There they were, a new edition to the year of 2011. Six gorgeous golden puppies, each one more healthy looking than the next. Some all gold, and some a chocolate gold with soft black muzzle markings. It was impossible to not pick them up and cuddle these small but hefty beings of innocence and trust. It was their first move. Where they came from I was never told and will never know. They were about six weeks old, and placed in a semi-safe semi-private location, the local Post Office. While this may not sound terribly private, or particularly safe, considering the logistics of the building, it had its advantages. One, it had a couple of enclosures in the outer entrance way, where they could curl up and hide, if need be, and two, it was enclosed, from cold and rain, and three, it was just public enough that they could be seen should some well wisher find them irrisistable and be moved to carry one away, and in the world of wishful thinking, take them and provide a home.
Fourth, it was fairly well known that I would sooner rather than later, take notice of them, and take care of them. Mama was new to the area as far as being an outside\street dog, and was most likely a female family pet, who now that she had become pregnant, was put out on her own to take care of herself and her pups. So far she had done a very good job, the puppies were brilliant in their good health and comfort.
The local postmaster turned out to be a very kindly man, who although would not activey acknowledge them, made no comments of complaints of their presence, and made no efforts to have them removed, So, for now they would be safe. The auto rickshaws park up in front of the Post Office entrance, and the drivers genrally had a good time counting puppies and watching their progress. And yes, it was an auto driver who eventually admitted to placing them there, although admitting no relationship of ownership to the mother dog. Still, it was an effort in a world of limited opportunities to provide care for these beings, even with the not unreasonable hope that someone else (me) would give them care.
So, they came, they played, they ate, and for a time they thrived. Mama could come and go, the local garbage dump was just across the street, and if the food I brought was not to her liking, there was always the opportunity to explore and scavange.
Another unexpected bonus to this location, was the semi-permanent addition of a wandering Baba who made the enclaved entrance to the PO his home as well. He stored his belongings in a corner, unrolled his bed bag in the evening, and slept there until morning, before opening hours. So, a Baba, bed and blankets, and six lovely puppies and one mama to keep each other all warm in the cold nights. Morning feedings were now not just for the pups, but for Baba as well, who let me know just how he liked his morning tea and biscuits. Why not? And oh yes, Baba likes his drink as well, so morning time often included several empty bottles of spirits scattered about, which I trust were for medicinal purposes in the cold of the night. Why not?
The not so good parts. The puppies were all girls, so no one would be taking them, no matter how adorable they were. The road the Post Office is on is busy, full on with trucks, autos and motorbikes. And the garbage dump with its full aroma of inviting delicacies was across this street. No matter how much food they would be given, and it was more than ample, the lure of expanded horizons was only a matter of time as they grew and became more mobile and adventurous.
It did not take long for the first accident. The largest, the heftiest, Bertha. The most beautiful and the most advanced was now lame, and frightened as I approached one afternoon. Instead of running out in front of her smaller sisters to greet me, she was cowering, in a corner shaking and in pain. With medical treatment and some days of rest, she seemed to improve; until one morning I came and she was gone. No one knew anything of her disappearance, and she was not seen again. Then there were five. Shortly after that there were four. This time the shop keepers saw it, instant contact with a passing truck, instant death. Yet they were moved, and touched, and with a trace of a tear in his eye the ususally stoic shopkeeper asked if I could not move them somewhere else. The local children who were part of the family of the shop keepers next door would regularly play with them, and enjoy their company, but they too wanted them moved. People were putting their hopes on their survival, and we all knew it was pretty unlikely.

So, on the lookout for yet another hiding place. It had to have safety, access, and no other dogs who already claimed this as their territory. In the middle of the village stood a seemingly abandoned ashram, up the road a bit. Many people walked pass every day, all day, and dogs did go through, but it did not look like anyone lived there. The layout gave a pleasant surprise, as on the top floor was a huge open courtyard, fully enclosed, and secure. Very secure, once I put them in there. How would I get them out. Well, the obvious. I would have to scale the wall several times a day in and out. SO the puppies were moved. Mama could come in and out by utilizing a ramp I set up for her, and the puppies were enclosed. I would take them out to run in the garden in the morning and afternoon, and put them back in at evening time. It worked well for a while, it was just time consuming. The school children saw all this of course, and one morning there were two new additions, Kali and her daughter Kali, courtesy of the school children. They eventually left on their own, to where I do not know, but they were beautifuland gentle and sweet, and I wished them God's grace.
A change was brewing in the ashram setup ... suddenly I was finding the puppies all put out on the outside, and a security guard sleeping on the ground floor at lunch time. Hm, the word is out, squatters have moved in. They may be the four legged kind, but still, squatters. I kept my cool, and just waited him out each day, and when he left, the puppies would go back in, safely tucked away for the night, and in the mornings, I would find them all back out. They were growing, it was ok, they would have to learn their way on the street sooner rather than later anyway. So in a bit more time, the seemingly inevitable, two more disappeared. One was reportedly hit by a motor bike, and the other unknown. The two remaining now were clearly afraid to enter the ashram grounds, so it appeared they were now being forcibley, and aggressively removed. They relocated across the street, and did well for some time; and then there was one. A family has taken her in, but where and for how long, is hard to say.

The life of a street dog.

BACK IN INDIA ...

Meanwhile, before my time in exile, here are a few of the street dogs in India, and their conditions and stories before I left ...







This is Mama, also called Grandma, as she is the mother and grandmother of many of the dogs of Beach Baba. Surprising all of us, including the local vet, Grandma had another litter of pups. We did not think it was possible, but then, there you are; Incredible India.

The pups were not born at a good time, they were born at the end of the monsoon, and we had seen the greatest rain since nearly 50 years. The beaches, the ghats, the roads were flooded. The pups and Mama had to moved up land several times. When they were returned to Babas cave on the Beach, the sand was dirty, and filled with mud and sand flies. The puppies had to endure very difficult conditions, and skin and parasite problems took their toll.

Still, a few survived, and looked like they would be ok. Baba is ever grateful, and calls these dogs his "children."







Here's a photo taken during a feed and clean. The pups were dewormed, treated for skin eruptions, fed, and happily sent on their way for a day of more play.

All looked good, as good as it can be, and they had a care-taker while I was away.
Soon, the sad news came. Mama/Grandma was gone. She had been ill for one day, with howling and hiding, and the next day she was dead. Three of the pups were also sick, with burns around their muzzles. As I write this, I don't know how many, if any have survived.

Baba was doing his best to care for them, and their loss would be greatly felt by him.

As I write these stories, I realize they are not all full of what we would call happiness. It's not that I go looking for the sad stories or sad endings, it's that this is the reality of the life of a street dog. It is short, it is unpredictable, and it is full of peril.

The few that experience moments of comfort, companionship, and love, are the rarities.

And perhaps we must each do our part to bring a bit of kindness into the world.

Nepali Detour

kATHMANDU?

Yes, Kathmandu. India visa regulations now want one to leave every six months ... until one gets a new visa, or something like that. Anyway, it's India, and things change.

While in Kathmandu, pining for India, I am getting a better sense of the street dogs here, and the conditions of big city life, vs small city life of a street dog.
Also, I am getting a better sense of big city life of a Nepali, vs small city life , of a Nepali. There are similarities.

This morning while taking an early stroll near Durbar square, I saw the usual cases of mange and neglect. One very sweet gray and black scraggly dog who sat quivering at a busy walking intersection with one paw raised and two runny eyes. He kept looking back and forth, seemingly questioning his surroundings and his sight. I concure.

I had no medicines with me, and had to move on, but will return the next day and hope I see him again. Walking on, half looking at the sweaters being sold on the streets I came upon a sight I couldn't ignore. A small orange colored puppy was silently curled up at a woman's feet, as she sat on her wicker stool overseeing her goods. She was not bothered by the dog, nor was she bothered by the young man who had taken her cigarette lighter, raised the flame, and set it under the dogs ear.

"What!" I stopped him, of course, and all he did was laugh. It was not a nervous laugh, just a laugh, that he had been caught. My yelling caused a stir and created a crowd, but his actions did not. To this there was indifference. Anyway, I tried my best to register some form of remorse from him, but I can't say there was any success in that. Nor any concern from the bystanders; just a few minutes of amusement for them of an irate foreigner, "losing it" over one small orange colored puppy.

What did puppy do through all this ... he slept, and finally awoke when it was all over, completely unaware of the drama going on around him, and over him.
Lucky.

A week or so earlier, I came upon another sad dog with a serious injury, but hopefully a happy ending. I was in Thamel, the tourist trap of Kathmandu. and saw a black dog with a half a head of meat and maggots weaving through the crowds. All the dog wanted to do was take a rest, and try to shake off his pain. He had a horrible wound on his head, it looked as through the skin had been ripped off his left side. The maggots had gotten hold and were feasting on the rotting flesh. I spotted him, lost him, and found him again when I heard a high pitched yelp as he had been kicked by a doorman at one of the hotels. He moved on, and was kicked again by the next shopkeeper. No one wanted him near their premises.

I'm not loud, and I'm not violent by nature, but I was right in the face of the last "kicker" yelling that the dog needs help, not abuse. No reaction. I kept on, and then there was a smirk, another laugh, another kick, and my voice was more raised. This brought out a local man who wanted to know what was going on. Turned out he was also looking for the dog since the day before, and wanted to help him. We joined forces and started to look for the dog, who had moved on from the last kick. Soon, a local vendor was trying to help find him. He knew the dog from the streets, and wanted to help.

We found him, I looped a nylon belt around him, and small miracles came on. Hallelujah. Several people showed up, each wanting to help, some of whom had been looking for him for several days. A fabulous English couple, Andrea and Daz, jumped in. The Nepali man, Jared, arranged for a taxi, and off we went, to KAT Center. Kathmandu Animal Treatment Center.


The taxi driver asked that we open all the windows. He really did smell that bad.


He's being treated, and I visit him and the other dogs there nearly every day.




I'm happy to be of some help while I am here, but desperately miss the ones back in India. The animal care giver staying in my home says the dogs in and around the house are fine, but I'm afraid many of the other reports while I am away are not so kind.

Before, After, and some Updates

Keeti and Kali

Keeti and Kali (in one of the many illustrious manifestations of the great Goddess) are two of the most well known dogs to me. Two regulars of the Ram Juhla ghats, these “Baba” dogs have as stable an environment as one can hope for on the streets. Their turf is clearly theirs, undisputed, and to some degree, rather comfortable. They have the beauty of the Ganga at their feet, and usually enough food from surplus of the Baba’s meals, and leftovers from the pilgrims passing through.

Keeti has had chronic skin problems, with the condition worsening every summer, and now Kali has picked up a bit of the same problem. As the problems come up, they are treated. Left untreated, they would suffer badly from irritation, and secondary infections.

Keeti, Before

Both are lovely, friendly dogs. Kali is about 2 1/2, and Keeti is going on at least 4 years of age. This kind of “longevity” is not seen so much with street dogs. Had either of these dogs been they left on their own and without intervention when illnesses or injuries have come up, they would have perished.

Keeti, after with Kali

Blackie, Bubbly, and Bobo

Blackie was the first to arrive at the home in the Clean Himalaya Recycling center. Once again, a dog who just showed up one day. She was maybe six months when she arrived, clean, clever, and very beautiful. It was hard to imagine where she had come from. She was exceptionally friendly with good manners, and good health. With very good company and plentiful food available to her, she stayed. That was almost two years ago.

Joining her just over a year ago, were Bubbly and Bobo. The family had agreed to take in another dog, a male, but was easily convinced that brother and sister should not be separated. So along came Bubbly and Bobo.

These two were born on the Swarg Ashram side of Ram Juhla, to a dog who had had far too many litters. This was a litter of nine, and these two pups were the only survivors. Mama did her best, but it was wintertime with quite a bit of rain and cold that winter, and the other puppies did not survive. Happily for Big Mama, this was her final litter. Her health has recovered, and she now thrives.

Blackie accepted the puppies as new pack mates immediately. She is such a lovely dog, it would have been hard to imagine otherwise. The similarity in color scheme could not be missed, and at first the pups were assumed by passersby to be Blackie’s children. Not so, and they have now outgrown her to where it is obvious they are entirely of a different breed. All three are happy, well mannered, friendly dogs.

Big Mama is still in Swarg Ashram, enthusiastically finding food all for herself, and with no other offspring to worry about. She can be seen on a daily basis roaming from one chai stall to another, for her morning, afternoon, and evening biscuits.

Often paired with her is another black dog, a female. I don’t know if this is a daughter from an earlier litter, but they have a happy, if somewhat strange alliance. Both are quite dominant in temperament, and both really like their food. Yet they sleep side by side, and have the same timings for the chai visits and their biscuits and tea, with no apparent rows over food.

Julie, Bice, Kali, Kali, etc … of Tapovan Baba

This “Kali” was the first of the Tapovan Baba’s dogs that I knew of who stayed, and survived. His home is right on the main road, and treacherous for gangly puppies who are roaming the streets not yet aware of the dangers of cars and motorbikes.

Kali is going on 1 1/2. Healthy as a new pup, she looked good. Then, the inevitable parasites and amoebas took hold, and she rapidly deteriorated. With the proper medication, she survived and is doing well. This is probably the number one killer of street puppies. Shortly after Kali arrived, another Kali, clearly a littermate showed up on the intersecting road. She was on her own, without even a Baba to give her scraps of food. It was difficult to see one pup with a person, in a home, and the other just a few yards away, on her own scrounging the sewers and gutters for scraps of food. Of course, I soon started feeding her, and when she started to look better that Baba’s Kali, I had to start feeding his dog as well. I encouraged him to try to care for the second Kali. He tried, but it turned out the two Kali's did not like each other so much.

Kali number two is now Chai Kali, and stays near a chai stall and a family just a hundred meters down the road. Kali number one is still with Baba, and has had a few new members added to the pack. They all understand that their turf only goes so far, and then they are in Chai Kali’s land, and if they enter, it is at their own risk!

I’m not sure when the rivalry between the two Kali’s started, but it went so far as to involve last winter’s coats. They were still young and without a good natural coat that first winter, so I gave them coats. Somehow Baba preferred Chai Kali’s coat to his Kali’s coat, (although they were the same style, just different color patterns), and he tried to switch them. Disaster; Chai Kali wanted her coat, and fought bitterly with her sister over her rights to her coat. As soon as I made the switch back, and each dog was in her original coat, peace ensued, until the next round. Some time after that, Chai Kali permanently moved herself into the chai shop down the road. Now, as long as they remain in their respective territories, harmony exists. There are nights however, when one can hear endless and seemingly fierce rounds of barking and snarling going on from their area, all night. It’s probably a past life thing.

Bice came along when the two Kali's still lived with Baba. It looked like he was just looking for more trouble getting another dog, but without some kind of human intervention, these dogs have a hard time just surviving. She was an adorable puppy, a sweet caramel colored blond, with a pale nose and soft expressive eyes, presenting a striking contrast with the two Kalis.

She has one of those faces that always looks like it is smiling, and she just doesn’t take “no” for an answer. Highly food motivated, this girl likes to eat. If being nice is what she needs to do to get food, she will go to every length imaginable to “be nice.” Roll over, smile, bat her eyes, cuddle up against you … she has a full retinue of mannerisms and tricks, and they work. Despite all the thin, hungry looking dogs in Rishikesh, Bice has somehow always looked robust, and very well fed, and she always smiles.

Another “Julie” showed up about six months ago. An adorable little black fur ball with lots of spunk and determination. I recognized her as a pup from a litter across the river, and couldn’t imagine how she crossed the bridge on her own and came so far up the road. I took her back to her mother and littermates, and she and they were not happy. What to do? I found one taker for giving her a home, but it didn’t work out, and unbeknownst to me, he gave her to the Baba! So there she was, now not far from my home, and here she stays.

She was always full of character and zest, and in my eyes had all the earmarks of a “survivor.” Then, while I was away she developed an illness. She is fully vaccinated, and yet, showed disturbing signs of distemper. Congestion, lack of appetite, mucous in the eyes and nasal passages, and I was worried. She had not gone into the stages of “tremors” and I hoped the medical treatment would be in time. I took her in so she could receive her medications regularly, and she improved. The symptoms receded, yet her “spark” had not fully returned. The last few days however, she appears to be regaining her spirit, and presumably, her strength. She was playfully nipping at my hands, and giving me a flirtatious play-bow. While passing Baba’s home the other day, he and Julie were happily engaged in play. Neither one of them saw that I saw them, each smiling at the other.

Tatianna

Tati, of Tapovan, is by all appearances a beautiful smooth-coat collie. She has the looks, the intelligence, the sensitivity, and the elegant athleticism of the breed. Another one of these pups, who just “showed up” one day, her striking looks immediately caught my eye, and I hoped she would stay. She did, and was unofficially “adopted” as a personal pet by another animal care giver, and thrived.

That was, of course, until the all too common occurrence of a road accident occurred. It looked like a motorbike collision, and her leg was badly torn up, and broken. With such an athletic dog, recovery could be a disaster, as she naturally would want to continue to be mobile and active. Yes, despite the pain, the break, the raw open wounds, Tati wanted to run and play, as always. It turned out the best thing to do was to in effect, “over bandage” the leg. To make it big and somewhat bulky, in a way as a reminder to Tati that something was going on down there. The pain she could apparently ignore, but a big bulky bandage stuck to her limb acted as a reminder to keep her leg up and off the ground. Still, she manages quite well on three legs, and her activities seem to be in no way hindered. She is in week four of her recovery, and we hope for the best. She is an angel when it comes time to change the bandage. She lies down on her side, lifts her leg, and lets the cleaning and dressing go on. I usually change the bandage at night now, and if it has been a long and busy day for her, she will often go to sleep during the dressing.

Teddy

Named “Teddy” by one of his foreign admirers, there’s not much one needs to do for this very real “survivor”. Although he looks cute and cuddly, and at times can be, don’t let this boys looks fool you. He is fearless. Most dogs can read his dominance right away, and they all slowly and gingerly mince around him, trying their best not to provoke Teddy’s fierce side. Teddy has a large area that he covers, and he struts his roads with complete confidence. If you happen to have food with you that Teddy wants, give it up, it’s his.

It’s not that he is aggressive, he just is a very dominant dog, and he is meant to survive.

I have seen him in fights with other dogs, and he has won them all, quickly. One afternoon however, about a year ago, I saw Teddy at a distance, stumbling and staggering. I couldn’t believe what I saw when I came near. Teddy’s eyes were closed shut, swollen and encrusted with mucous, and he had wounds on the top of his head, and a huge gash underneath his throat. No dog could grasp his entire head in their mouth. This had to be an attack by a leopard, who would have had Teddy’s head in their jaws. How he could possibly have escaped such a grasp, I could not imagine, and yet, somehow he had. But the injuries were so severe, plus he was in effect fully blinded, staggering in the forest on his own; how could he possibly survive? He would not let me come too near, and had I persisted I could have driven him onto the road, where he would be in peril of being hit by cars or trucks, So as he ran further into the forest, I took a deep breath, and thought this is the last I will see of Teddy.

Not so; not so many days later he was back. Bruised and a bit bloodied, but healing at a rather miraculous pace. He survived, and still thrives.

Jimmy

Jimmy is another dog there is very little I need to do for. Other than treatment for a few fleas, he manages on his own, very well. He lives in the heart of old Rishikesh, in one of the more poor areas of the city, far from the tourist trails of Laxman or Ram Juhla. While Teddy manages on his own through pure power and dominance, Jimmy manages, and rather well, with his heart. He hops up to you, gazes right into your eyes with his soulful stare, and gives you a hug.

He is well fed, a favorite in his neighborhood, and has a smile and a gentle embrace for everyone who walks by. He is a beauty.

I don’t know what happened to his front leg, but it in no way diminishes him, or the size of his heart. He is quite indifferent to the shape of that limb.

Auntie, and Two Pups

Down the road from Jimmy is another little black dog I never thought would make it. I met her not so long ago, in the winter. She was emaciated, pregnant, and hobbling on three legs. She was with another small black female who looked a lot like her, who already had two scrawny pups with her. The older dog was possibly her mother, or perhaps a half sister. She is no longer to be seen, and I’m not sure if both pups are the first two pups, or one of little moms pups, and one from the older dog. Anyway, we’ve reconnected, and they are now getting treatment for parasites, and treatment for mange for the little brown puppy. Little black dog’s limp is very much improved, and they will be helped more regularly now.

But this state, of hunger and disease, and eventually wasting away, is a common one. It is sadly, a rarity that it is discovered, and helped.