Toot Toot

We live on an island, and the nearest bridge to the mainland is an old single lane swing bridge which pivots in the center to let large boats pass.  The inconvenience of waiting many minutes for the gates to lower, the bridge to open, and for a slow sail boat to approach and pass through is phlegmatically accepted by island residents as just another vestige of island life.  So is the additional delay of letting long lines of waiting cars on both sides of the bridge to dissipate.  To pass the time, I sometimes count the cars in line after the bridge restores passage to automobiles.  The largest of these counts stands at 25 cars each way.

Unfortunately, our island's having a roadway running along the beach makes it a favorite route for tourists who like to gaze at the sea, admire sunsets, and ogle the many houses being built or remodeled.  These strangers aren't schooled in bridge etiquette in spite of well worded signs that dictate that the file of cars going off the island goes first, and then the on-island flow goes next—all without alternating individual cars from opposite sides.  If these instructions are followed, delays can be minimized, but—alas—tourists aren't familiar with the rules and don't read the signs.

Somehow a wrong-headed sense of politeness takes over, and the driver of about the third car in line thinks it would be nice if a few cars of the opposing stream could get across.  Thus a hap-hazard alternating is established which drives local residents nuts.  Yesterday I was third in the line of off-island traffic.  The first in line was a tourist who had waited ten minutes for the bridge to open facing, not ten feet away, the sign explaining the rules.  The gates opened and he decided to wait in a silly, Alphonse and Gaston "after you" gesture to the first car on the other side of the bridge.  A polite toot-toot on my horn got him to cross the bridge before the horde on the other side could get moving.

Then, to my consternation, it became evident that the second car—the one in front of me—was also a tourist.  A cordial toot-toot again didn't move him.  Not wanting to wait for the whole line of cars to come on the island out of turn, I pushed the car ahead of me across the bridge on the sheer strength of my horn.  Thereafter, even the tourists got it, and all cars crossed the bridge in two long single files as requested by the signs.

I'm not normally an impatient driver, but our single lane bridge tries the manners of all local residents.  Impatience doesn't usually get you to your destination any sooner in 21st century Florida traffic.  So I'm not really proud I used my horn to get bridge traffic to move in an orderly fashion yesterday.  I must learn to tolerate out-of-state rubber-neckers who drive the key looking from side to side and pointing at the water while ignoring traffic signs.

These blogs are about Cuba and its animals, and clearly the above has little to do with those themes.  But I was reflecting on the meaning attached to a polite toot-toot of a car horn, and I recalled how very different the meaning can be in Cuba.  If you hear a little toot-toot while crossing a street in Havana, be afraid, be very afraid.  For in Cuba, "toot-toot" means, "you are in my right of way, and if you don't get out of the way, I'll hit you."  I've seen this command caution to pedestrians and bikers many times while riding in Cuban taxis.  The drivers are deadly serious, and pedestrians who don't heed them are in deadly peril.

Spanish and English have a few words that are identical in spelling, but have completely different meanings.  Those words are called "false cognates."  Well, the "toot-toot" of a Cuban auto horn is a false cognate with the same sound in Florida. Here it is a gentle nudging, and there it is a command with potentially fatal consequences.

Les Inglis

Snapshots from the Caribbean

I have a large collection of photos I took during various trips to Cuba.  And I have a smaller batch of photos Charlene took during her trip there in April 2012.  On searching through all these photos, I realized that she and I have different ways of looking at the world.

It wasn't really a surprise for in all the years I've known her she has demonstrated an almost extreme orientation toward animals.  Extremely compassionate, that is.  My own history shows some compassion and humane interest, but it can hardly be called "extreme."  She is, but I am not, ready to parody Barry Goldwater to say, "Extremism in the defense of animals is no vice."

How does this manifest itself in my picture collection?  We both take pictures of dogs and cats, but she concentrates on animals much more than I do.  She snaps street animals and pet animals—sick ones and healthy ones, cases of mange and good shiny coats of fur.

My own photographic efforts betray my intense tourist's interest in being in a foreign country.  I record architecture I like and street scenes, monuments and especially Cuba's old cars, and people in public scenes and small groups of friends.  You can find animals in my pictures, but to nowhere near the extent they appear in Charlene's collection.

Is this really important?  Well, probably not, but any marriage is a long process of getting to know your spouse, and the photos clearly show me her lifetime of dedication to animals.  Mine, on the other hand, are the photos of a traveler in a very unusual, long isolated, historically important part of the world.  The animals are there in my pics too, but not with the same emphasis or frequency as in Charlene's.

I think also that our respective photo collections suggest something significant in my own make-up.  I suspect that subconsciously I am reluctant to document animals who show the ravages of homelessness, lack of medical care, and starvation.  I resist taking some pictures perhaps to avoid broadcasting unwelcome images of suffering.  It's kind of a karma thing.  Still, the central purpose of my trips to Cuba is to reduce animal suffering, and I'm sure we've made progress in that area.

The Humane Society of the US tells us that massive spay-neuter campaigns are the only effective long-term solution to reducing homeless animal populations.  On some of my later trips to Cuba, I have felt there were perhaps fewer animals on the streets than in earlier years.  Just wishful thinking?  I can't prove it as no one can take a census of the animals in a city of 2 million people.  But I think several years of large numbers of animals being sterilized by Aniplant have helped the situation noticeably.

Just this week I found another clue.  Havana's homeless dogs are rounded up by prisoners into trucks and taken to Arroyo where they are kept for a few days and then poisoned.  It sounds barbaric, and it is, but five years ago they were processing 15,000 dogs a year, and today the rate is down to 5,000 a year. That's 10,000 slow, agonizing animal deaths a year saved.

No, we can't count the animals in the streets, but really neither can we count the large numbars of suffering dogs who aren't there because of Aniplant's spay-neuter campaigns.

That's the number we are working to increase.

Les Inglis

Baggage Blues

In the waiting lounge in Miami's airport, Cubans and Americans going to Cuba gather   early in the morning to await opening the check-in desks.  Standing in the center of the lounge is a roll of blue plastic film about four feet wide next to a rotary platform.  I've been in hundreds of airports, but this is the only plastic film dispenser I've seen in a check-in area.

A traveler approached the dispenser with two bags, and the attendant placed one on the turntable and started a motor.  The film wound off the roll onto the bag as it turned around and around.  Each layer of plastic clung to the previous one until a tough, think plastic shell developed like a cocoon of a silkworm.  Then his second bag was encapsulated and the traveler paid the attendant.

I watched several people wrap their bags this way, and later, as I progressed through the check-in line, I wondered what was so valuable that it justified the blue plastic treatment.  I felt a little ashamed of my naked bags, but they contained nothing anyone would want to steal.  After getting my boarding pass, we went through security where X rays and sniffing machines checked us and our baggage for weapons, explosives, illegal drugs, and a bunch of items I can only guess at.  I wondered what the blue plastic people did if they had to open a suitcase.  I guessed they had gone through a search prior to the encapsulation process.

When I go to Cuba, I carry a suitcase full of out-of-date veterinary medicines.  There are never any controlled substances, and out-of-date stuff has no commercial value, so generally there's no objection. But a suitcase full of medicines can be pretty heavy, and I always have to pay an excess baggage charge.  I've been charged as much as two dollars a pound for weight over my 44 pound limit plus $20 per piece of checked baggage.  Even though my baggage has no commercial value, the airlines charge me like it is pure gold.  Curiously, while I routinely pay excess charges going to Cuba, they don't seem to charge me for excess on the return to the US.

After the X rays and sniffs, we are separated from our checked baggage, and I don't see any more blue plastic until I pass through Cuban Immigration in Havana.  In the large room where checked baggage appears, we wait for 10 to 15 minutes for the first bags to appear on the carousel.  Often only one flight is unloading, but the amount of baggage is incredible.  In addition to bags, there are hundreds of packages, cartons of consumer products, even large flat screen TV's and kitchen appliances—all inside blue plastic film wraps.

With the first bag, people crowd around the carousels so you have little hope of spotting your bags until some other travelers find theirs and leave.  Well, what did I expect; this isn't England where people cue up to take their turns in an orderly fashion.  This is a bunch of Americans and Cubans in a hurry to get home or to their hotels.  Finally, the mystery of the blue wrap is solved.  These are mostly people on family visits, and they all have gifts and purchases for relatives living in Cuba.  The carousel is a sea of blue plastic, and people are snatching bags from the carousel and loading pushcarts.  They all look like they have been on the shopping spree of a lifetime.

The plastic is to prevent theft by the airport baggage handlers.

I've never lost a thing in a checked bag, and I have no idea how much such theft occurs, but the suspicion that it does occur sells a lot of plastic.  Maybe that's what the handlers were doing in the 15 minutes it took for the first bags to appear.

Les Inglis

Man's Best Friend

My friend, Davis Hawn, has a dog named Booster.  He's a Labrador Retriever and weighs close to 100 pounds.  Davis has other dogs too, but Booster was his first dog and surely is the most remarkable.

Years ago, when Davis went to retrieve his truck from an impound lot, he found a scared, hungry little dog quivering in the truck.  He took the pup home and decided to call him Booster.  That was the beginning of a beautiful relationship that has lasted until this day.  Both Davis and Booster's lives changed substantially for the better as each dedicated himself to the other.

Davis needed a service dog to help him with PTSD, and he began training Booster to do tasks like open doors, flip light switches, and retrieve items from the refrigerator.  He also learned to obey a variety tasks at Davis' voice commands.

Some extreme animal rights people don't approve of training animals and putting them to work, but the case of service dogs, helping human companions seems to me to be a job for which dogs have naturally evolved.  Years ago, one misguided acquaintance wouldn't neuter her dog because "they deserve to have a good sex life".  Pretty silly, I think.  Fortunately for Booster, Davis had a more realistic and enlightened concept of a good relationship between a man and his dog.

Davis' quest for the right relationship with Booster led him to Bergin University in California where he learned to train service dogs.  He persisted at Bergin until he graduated with a Master's Degree last year.  Today he is funding scholarships for young students to attend Bergin.  Included among his scholarship recipients are two young friends from Cuba.

Now I should explain that Davis is a frequent traveler to many parts of the world.  Booster often goes with Davis on his foreign trips, so he also is well traveled.  He's been to Cuba and South East Asia as well as on cruise ships.  Lucky for Booster that by law, service dogs can travel in the passenger cabin of airliners.  (The picture shows Booster with a group of Thai young people.)   I first saw Booster in Orlando at an HSUS Expo convention for animal shelter operators.  He was easy to spot as only a handful of dogs came to Expo that year.

Davis needs little encouragement to put Booster through his paces.  The dog won't eat until given permission from Davis.  He carried his toy through all three days of the convention.  Davis always has time to show off Booster's skills to reporters, and, as a result, he has been featured in newspapers and magazines, and once he was featured in the Bahamas Air seat pocket magazine.

Since Booster entered Davis' life, Davis added several other dogs to his family.  Fidelity, a rescue from the streets of Havana, was the subject of one of my earlier blogs.  Al Anon, another yellow lab, is Booster's son and has been trained to do most of the tasks Booster can do.

This week, Davis and Booster have begun a new phase of their bond.  Booster began to show problems when chewing, and then a lump was discovered on the top of his skull.  Davis had him to the best vets, and it appears the lump involves the skull itself and occupies some space inside the brain cavity.  He's had cath scans and pathology tests, and all the results aren't in yet as I write this.

Booster's future is uncertain as I write this.  Davis is committed to knowing all he can about Booster's condition and prognosis.  What he knows now is the growth is a squamous cell carcinoma, and more test results are due in a few days.  Whatever fate befalls Booster, he has had a remarkable life from the time Davis found a shivering puppy in an old truck all the way through to today.

Booster and Davis's story demonstrates certainly that dogs are man's best friend, and Davis and his dog are fine examples of the bond that weds our two species together.

Les Inglis

Abandoned

If you have a dog or a cat you don't want any longer, it's a shame to put him down.  Wouldn't it be much better to take him out in the country and leave him where he can hunt on his own?

Yeah, sure!

I don't know where that harebrained idea ever began, but I do know too many people believe it.  We learned dogs and cats can't really live on their own out in the country when we bought a farm on the Ohio River about 50 miles downriver from Cincinnati, Ohio.  Almost before our signatures were dry on the real estate documents, we started to see abandoned dogs—nearly a parade of them—following the road in front of our farmhouse.

Annie, a beautiful young beagle was the first to find us as we worked on remodeling the old farmhouse.  She came up out of the riverbank and stayed near us as we worked.  We had little for her to eat, but we gave her what we had.  She was obviously hungry.  That day, she looked resigned as we got into our Jeep and drove off to our house in the city.  Four days later was the Labor Day holiday, and we were back at work on the old house.  This time we brought food along in case she was still around.  Before we'd gotten our tools out of the Jeep, Annie showed up and wouldn't leave our sides.

This time we gave her all she wanted to eat, and she lay peacefully on the front porch as I worked just inside the front door.  Of course she didn't have a name then.  So I came up with "Annie" from a story I read in 7th grade about another beagle titled, The Voice of Bugle Ann.  The afternoon progressed, and we came to the time to pack up our tools and go home.  Annie wasn't going to let us get away again, so when we got to the car, we saw   she had jumped into the Jeep over a doorsill about two feet above the ground.  (She was never again able to make that jump into the Jeep.)  Annie went home with us to our house in the city and became a member of the family.  She stayed with us until she died many years later at age 17.

Annie may not have been abandoned in the strict sense.  She may have fallen out of a farmer's truck, but she was all alone, trying to find something to eat and completely friendless—a terrifying situation.  Our family grew as Roscoe a terrier, Boy a German shepherd, Yo-yo a fox hound, and Spotty a bird dog came along and chose to stay.  We didn't see many of the other dogs that passed by, but some found our vegetable garden, where they chewed on pumpkins and squash to get something edible in their stomachs—leaving clear evidence of just how hungry they were.

Before the farm, I didn't think I wanted any more pets, but we had sixteen several years later when we moved to Florida.  I hate to think of what would have happened to those beautiful animals if we hadn't taken them in.  Surely some were purposely abandoned, perhaps all of them. Abandonment has to be the ultimate betrayal.

The first dog I saw in Cuba was almost certainly abandoned.  Christina, my traveling companion from HSUS and I waited near the area more than an hour for the lady who was supposed to meet us.  We were in a crowded area outside the Customs and Immigration areas where people found cabs or met their rides.  A thin little Chihuahua sort of dog came staggering along in the street right next to the curb.  He seemed to be very weak, and I don't think he had the strength to climb the curb to the safety of the waiting area where we sat watching him.  I tried to buy something for him to eat at a snack stand, but there were too many people around it and only one harried attendant, whose attention I could not summon.  By the time I got back to where we sat, the little dog had moved on out of view.

Later, talking with Nora, I mentioned the episode, and she told me it's a common sight at the airport.  If a family gets permission to leave Cuba for the US, they usually won't be coming back.  Often they can't find anyone to take their dog, so they go to the airport with their dog, and they say their goodbyes, and leave the dog outside as they go in to check their bags.  Dogs like this sometimes stay around the airport for a few weeks until they die or—in rare instances— someone takes them home.

Dogs have evolved to be symbiotic with mankind.  For thousands of years they have given us security, love, companionship, and help in hunting for food.  They deserve a secure place in our families, not abandonment.

Les Inglis

Diplomacy

Havana's grandest street, the Avenida de los Presidentes terminates at the Malecon, not far from my hotel.  That seaside interchange is a nest of curving streets surrounding a large circular monument of Calixto Garcia, a Cuban general who fought in all three of Cuba's wars for independence from Spain.  If you walk east along the Malecon, perhaps a mile, you come to the iconic Hotel Nacional.  Halfway between these two landmarks is another notable building, The United States Interests Section (USINT).  It's a 1950's, not particularly attractive, rectangular box about 8 stories high located between the east and westbound lanes of the Malecon.

What a strange name.  Section of what?  Therein lies the tale.  It is actually a section of the Swiss Embassy to Cuba, and it is devoted to the diplomatic relations between the US and Cuba—two countries which ostensibly have no diplomatic relations.

It seems the Swiss often take a role in relations between two countries which have reached an impasse in their relations and have withdrawn their ambassadors and closed their embassies.  So this non-embassy embassy without an ambassador run by the Swiss but housing an American chargé d'affaires is there to manage whatever comes up between the Cubans and the Yankees.  And, as you might expect, there are a lot of matters to manage.

If a Cuban wants to travel to the US, he has to obtain a visa to permit his entry into the country.  Until recently he also needed an exit permit from Cuba.  The US visa would come from USINT.  A complicating factor is that Cuban citizens are not permitted to contact USINT.  First the prospective Cuban traveler must gather together an invitation from someone in the US, airline reservations, a Cuban exit permit, and a US visa application—and then he  must wait for an invitation to an interview at USINT.

If every hurdle is successfully jumped, permission for a visit to the US will come at last.  This whole business of permitting travel would be a fertile field for the two countries to work out a simpler, faster system, but that assumes the two are willing to work out anything.  Little evidence for that willingness exists.  Conversely the USINT building sitting there in the face of a mile of Malecon drivers was used to provoke the Cuban government.  One day there appeared all along the top floor of the building a lighted sign with moving letters spelling out pro-US and anti-Cuban propaganda.

Cubans are not ones to accept an affront stoically, so they picked up the gauntlet and began developing a little park just east of USINT and also between the east and westbound lanes of the Malecon.  Their development was 50 flagpoles several stories tall.  They hoisted 50 black flags, each with a single white star. These effectively blocked the view of the lighted moving taunting machine.  They added in a few billboards calling George W. Bush an assassin, and apparently won the exchange.  At least the lighted sign came down.

My dictionary defines "diplomatic" as "skill in dealing with others; a tactful person."  These two neighbors need people with that skill.  When you the proximity of the two countries it's clear there will always be a need for diplomacy here, but in its place, we have public displays of contempt.  No one knows when we'll see signs of a thawing, but I'm sure many people on both sides of the Florida Straits will welcome it when it comes.

Les Inglis

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