Welcome Nala

These blog postings are about Cuba, its animals, and its people.  But occasionally something happens worth telling here, even if it doesn't fit the usual topic.  So it is with Nala.

Charlene monitors the websites and emails of dog and cat rescuers, especially one in Miami.  For the most parts the animals needing homes they help don't fit our situation, and anyway with two dogs and six cats, it isn't like we need more pets.  On the contrary, we pay a big price for vet care, grooming, immunizations, and pet food, and Charlene pays an even greater price keeping the house clean and caring for them.  We don't need more animals.

But, a few weeks ago, she saw a picture of a little unfortunate six year old dog who couldn't accompany her owner on a move, and something tugged at her heartstrings.  Her name was Nala, and when she told me about her, I knew Nala was very likely to be added to our menagerie.  I thought that this could be a risky situation, and I knew I couldn't get away with opposing our taking Nala.  Charlene decided to tell her rescuers we'd take her if no one else could be found.

A few days later Charlene told me Nala's rescuers hadn't been successful in finding a home for her, and so we were going to have another resident in our house.  I knew it was going to happen and that I had better make the best of it.  When the rescuers made plans to drive here from Miami on a Sunday, we offered to meet them halfway, as the trip is 250 miles or more one way.  But they were good rescuers and wanted to see Nala's new home before they gave up control of the dog.  Really it's comforting they are so dedicated to the welfare of the animals they place.

So, on December 16th in the late afternoon, a red Toyota pulled into our driveway with Lucille and Vivian in the front seat and Nala in the rear.  The dog seemed a little too long for her legs, suggesting a Daschund in her history, and when you petted her, your hand felt greasy.  Lucille apologized saying her owner should have bathed her before releasing her.  I wondered if she had ever had a bath.

She had an old, dirty collar on her and a good sized rope for a leash.  The collar bore a beat up old tag with her name and a phone number on it.

Lucille and Vivian stayed for an hour or more while we all chatted and watched the interaction between Nala and our dogs and cats.  It soon became clear there wasn't going to be a war, and they may all really like each other.  With a long drive still in front of them, Lucile and Vivian left for home, and we settled down with a new family member.

Nala has a pronounced limp on her right front foot.  We knew about it before we agreed to take her.  Early the morning after her arrival, Nala met Dr. Marty who had been scheduled to spay her.  We had x-rays, and Marty said the limp was due to an early growth plate injury, and there isn't a surgical fix for her limp.  Actually, she is kind of cute as she walks with her head bobbing up and down to lessen the weight she puts on that foot.  Sometimes when she runs, that foot won't even touch the ground for several paces.

Nala has been here 11 days as I write this.  She tears up and down the stairs now after initially not knowing what stairs were for.  She is still curious about the cats, but they clearly are not her enemies.  She was slow to come close to me, but she immediately took to Charlene, following her from room to room as she moves through the house.  Now she sits long periods with me also.  She took over two dog beds—one in our bedroom and one in the living room.

It's still a little surprising to see a reddish-brown dog in the house, for many months we've only had Peachy and Princess—both white.  When she is in the sun, you can see there is a lot of red in her shiny coat.

I knew it wouldn't take long for Nala to become part of the family as she certainly has.  If she were suddenly gone, we'd feel a big loss and an emptiness.

Of course we don’t expect that to happen.  If we have anything to say about it, ours is the last home she'll ever need.

Les Inglis

Supply and Demand 

Obispo Street in Central Havana begins near the Museo de Bellas Artes (fine arts museum) and runs east toward the Bay of Havana, ending at the Plaza de las Armas and San Francisco Square.  It's narrow and congested, so the city made it a pedestrian street.  Sixteenth century cannon are partially buried in the street forming immovable iron sentries through which cars cannot pass.  Cars can cross Calle Obispo at intersections, but they can't drive in it.  For longer than the Castros have run Cuba, Obispo Street has been dedicated to shopping, its entire area filled with people strolling, window shopping, and lugging their purchases.

Most of the shoppers are tourists, as the street runs near several tourist attractions—museums, the ballet, and the Capitolio, among others.  What also makes this primarily a tourist street is that the shops price their goods in CUC's, Cuba's convertible currency.  This money, roughly par with the US dollar, is used for hotels, restaurants, and taxis and is exchangeable with major hard currencies like the dollar, pound, and euro.  What keeps most Cuban citizens out of Obispo Street stores is that unless one works in a tourist related business and can earn tips, one can't get his or her hands on many CUC's.  You're paid in old Cuban pesos (moneda nacional or MN) valued at about 24 pesos to the
CUC.

The real rub is that those stores, handling sanely valued money can buy any merchandise they want, but for those shopping with only MN, only bare necessities are easily found.  So, not only does the Cuban worker live with the knowledge that workers in other parts of the world are paid salaries many times greater than they can earn, but also they can walk down Obispo Street and see the merchandise they can't afford.

There is a small puppy store on Obispo Street, but like those here at home, there is little effort dedicated to good puppy health, and absolutely no interest in the welfare of the animals.  Cuba has no laws for the protection of animals.

There is also a pet supply store where you can buy (with CUC's) dog food, collars, leashes, etc.  Prices there are steep—I saw a plain dog collar for 14 CUC.  Pet food isn't made in Cuba, so if you can find it at all, it will be in CUC stores.

The largest book store in Cuba surely is La Moderna Poesía (modern poetry), which occupies an impressive Art Deco building on a corner of Obispo Street.  When I was studying Spanish, I used to shop at a store with the same name on Calle Ocho (SW 8th Street) in Miami.  Surely that store must have been run by the same family as the one in Havana.  The Miami store had a larger selection of books in Spanish than any other store in the US—including Barnes and Noble.  The variety was so great; I used to bring home half a dozen books from every trip I made to Miami.

A few years ago, I decided to step into Cuba's La Moderna Poesía just to see what it was like.  The first floor was much larger than the Miami store, and yet the books were very scarce.  There were no bookshelves, only large tables.  Books were laid out individually or in low stacks and all were spread out to take up plenty of room, as if the manager wanted to make his book stock look much bigger than it was.  Not finding anything I wanted to buy, I left after a little while, remembering how I couldn't leave the Miami store without making several purchases.

The shopping experience in Havana is a lesson in supply and demand.  Among citizens, low salaries mean low demand and scant supplies.  Among the tourists, however, money isn't a problem (relatively speaking), so supplies are available to meet their demand.  Like all economic laws, this applies to the haves (mostly tourists) and the have nots (most citizens).  The only problem is most of the haves also have passports and homes and a return ticket to their homes in another part of the world.

 

Les Inglis

Compassion

 

Recently Nora sent me an email explaining how she got a little behind in her work.  Here it is with some of my parenthetical clarifications:

Dear Les,

Every evening for the last 15 years I carry or send food to a lady who is now 90.  She and her sister were very good friends of Maria's (Nora's adoptive mother who was a nationally known Cuban singer-songwriter).  They even played four-handed piano together.  The sister died, and I was left in charge of the lady who was then alone.  She is of poor eyesight, but strong minded.  She never forgot the building where she lives was built by her father in 1944.  She had a little wooly dog who died at 16, given to her by Aniplant's adoption program.  She and her sister were members of Aniplant since its founding (in 1987).  On the little dog's dying a few months ago and having such solitude and misery, she began to care for dogs by the day and by the hour—that is to day care them or to foster them.

But the reality is that who regularly attend those dogs are María Julia and myself.  (María Julia is Nora's friend who minds her household and pets when Nora travels or is tied up working.) Those dogs are well attended, and have no problems.  When Pablo was rescued from the streets, we had no place to take him as males can't go to Aniplant's headquarters.  Aló Presidente is the only male (and he doesn't take kindly to other "machos").  Foster care costs at least $3.00 a day, and those who usually do it ask for even more, so we decided to take Pablo to the old lady's place while he convalesces.  But as Pablo needs medical care, day by day, I take him for his treatment even sometimes twice a day.

Tuesday, on coming back from feeding the lady and playing with Pablo, who is very nice, I slipped on exiting the bus. It was dark and raining, and I broke my ankle. Now María Julia is attending him, as I can't until next Tuesday when I get a cast.  Then I think I can help.  I'll tell you.

Nora

This little vignette tells me a few things:

1.     Getting from one place to another in Cuba can be hazardous.

2.     In Cuba your best social safety net is your friends.

3.     It's tough to get old in any land, and it's certainly no picnic in Cuba.

4.     A dog in need is lucky if he falls under the protection of a compassionate person.

In Pablo's case, he has attracted the help of three compassionate women—Amanda the American who found him and will adopt him, Nora who cannot ignore a needy animal, and the 90 year old lady who is fostering him.

That word, compassion, needs some comment.  This story shows that true compassion is indivsible.  You can't be compassionate for one and not another.  It would be impossible to have real compassion for animals without some of it for people too.  Nora's email clearly demonstrates the scope of her compassion.  It isn't enough she has 12 dogs in her home, but she has 10 more at Aniplant's headquarters, runs an animal protection organization, and has time for a daily caregiver's visit with the old lady and Pablo.  María Julia has 8 dogs in her home as well.

True love can happen anywhere.

 

Les

Aniplant's Humane Heroes

Jeanette Ryder was a Wisconsin lady who married a doctor and moved to Cuba at the beginning of the twentieth century.  She was a compassionate woman who took pity on any suffering living being.  By 1906 she had formed the Banda de Piedad (band of pity or compassion), a group dedicated to alleviating the suffering of orphans homeless animals and accident victims.

She had the support of the government and with that and her own money and donations, the Banda de Piedad grew in importance in the Havana area and soon operated ambulances to pick up accident victims.  The group grew, and its good works made Havana a better place to live.  She died in 1931, but her charity lived on into the 1950's.

In 1957 The Cuban government issued commemorative stamps to honor Jeanette Ryder.  A 4 centavo stamp bearing the picture of a little boy and his dog and a 12 centavo stamp bearing the picture of Jeanette were printed side by side in sheets of 100 stamps, and arrangements were made with stamp collectors to mail a stamped envelope from Havana on the first of issue of the new stamps.  First day covers are coveted by collectors, and the envelopes often bear special markings having to do with the commemoration.

I can't recall how, but Charlene's computer work for TAP got her name on a stamp collector's website and linked her to an interest in Jeanette Ryder.  Since then we have been shown and acquired stamps, first day covers, the original postal order that established the commemorative issue, a pamphlet in Spanish and English giving historical information about Jeanette and Banda de Piedad, and even an original 10 x 10 stamp sheet of Ryder stamps.

A few years ago we decided that on behalf of Aniplant, TAP would produce The Jeanette Ryder Award to honor special people who have aided Aniplant in its humane work for animals.  The award is mounted in a picture frame displaying a pair of the stamps, a copy of the pamphlet, and a first day cover, along with plaques showing the name of the recipient.  The frame is fitted with glass on front and back so both sides of the pamphlet can be seen and read and so that all of the cancelations on both sides of the first day cover are visible.  Julie London, a Sarasota artist produced the awards.

The first Jeanette Ryder Award was given to Dr. Andrew Rowan, Chief International Officer of the Humane Society of the United States, and CEO of Humane Society International.  Dr. Rowan has been generous with his advice, support, and good wishes, and his Award was given to him on March 4, 2012, the date of the 25th anniversary of Aniplant's founding.

The second Jeanette Ryder Award was given in April, 2012 to Dr. Dick White, DVM of Dick White Referrals in England.  Dr. White has done charitable work for animals for many years, particularly in China and now in Cuba.  He has funded the establishment of a veterinary clinic in the Aniplant headquarters on Principe Street in Central Havana.  He is also conducting educational seminars for training Cuban vets.

Congratulations to both Dr. Rowan and Dr. White.  They surely deserve recognition as humane leaders in the vein of Jeanette Ryder, the Banda de Piedad, and of Aniplant itself.

Les Inglis

Writer's Block and Loving Animals

I wonder if all writers don't occasionally face writer's block.  I know I certainly do.  After nearly three years of weekly posting to this blog, I sometimes stare at a piece of paper and feel I have nothing to write.  Cuba and protecting its animals offers many opportunities upon which to expound, but sometimes in the midst of such richness I come up blank.

So it was last week when, after long consideration, I decided to write about "politically correct" language and how it even affects animal rightists.  I touched on scientists, the women's liberation movement, and race relations before getting to the language strictures propounded by animal rightists.  In particular I argued for thinking of my dogs and cats as little people—as if they were my children.  To me, the term, "pet," is an honorific denoting love and respect—much more so than the PC term, "companion animal."

I was glad to overcome my writer's block with this topic when I received a comment from my good Cuban friend, Maylin.  Maylin is a well-educated Cuban woman who, among other accomplishments, is a member of the Board of Directors of Aniplant.  She lives in the Havana suburbs.  She speaks Spanish and English fluently and is an excellent sequential interpreter.

Maylin's skill was the reason Nora suggested her as an interpreter for my keynote address last March at Aniplant's 25th anniversary celebration.  I can handle a short speech in Spanish well enough to avoid driving the audience out of the room, but I certainly wanted to do better than that for my talk at the anniversary.  Enter Maylin, who sat next to me at the head table, shared a microphone, and rendered my English words into correct, fluid Spanish.  She has also many times translated correspondence to help Nora, who does not speak English.

My blog on PC language had stimulated Maylin to tell me a story from her own past.  She began with her agreement that calling her pets "chicos" was a term of love and respect—much like the feelings she has for her son.  She went on to tell of her encounter with some young English speaking girls who clearly didn't respect animals.

But here it is in her words:

 

            DEAR LES:

 

            I have always referred to my dogs as "my chicos" which is something like my kids—not exactly             but you know, more or less.  People immediately ask me with a hint of sorrow, "Oh, you don't           have kids." That makes me sooo angry!!!  And I answer back clearly:  I have a son, a beloved          one...Meaning one human son, but I also have four legged kids, or chicos, they are MY DOGS!

 

            I have an anecdote I always remember.  One cloudy day I was on one of my neighborhood             errands injecting Ivomec into some poor dogs with mange that I had been treating and some             young girls, very nicely dressed, were staring at me as if I was an Extra Terrestrial. One of them     asked me why I did that, and I explained briefly.  Then the other, the fanciest one, spoke to her       friend IN ENGLISH thinking I was not able to understand, saying "poor thing, she could be crazy    because she certainly is old"

 

            It happens that they were English students at the University and thought themselves the real             queens of England.  Then I looked in the eyes of the one who spoke and said in perfect English:            It is a pity how ashamed of you dear William Shakespeare would be if...he had the opportunity to    hear your words and know your thoughts!  Certainly you should read him more to learn what the   word HUMANITY means.  If you prefer a more modern writer, I suggest another William, but this            time it is William Somerset Maugham because critics say that his novels and short stories are the           very soul of human kindness.

 

            I turned my back on them, and resumed my dog task.  I think they were speechless.

 

            Well, dear friend thanks always for your blogs.  Give my love to Charlene.

 

            MAYLIN