Today my roommates and I took a walk along the Rio Grande in the mist of a choking 102-degree day. The sun blared hot like an interrogation, the filaments of it incandescent brilliance almost visible in red outlines on my forehead. It was a hot goddamn day.
Our journey took us beneath a massive span of the international bridge that was strung over the Rio in heavy blocks of dull gray cement topped with coiled razor wire. Tiny bird clung to the overpass, each steel girder either a perch or a home to many clay nests that hung like ruddy spigots down to the gravel below. It was here that a small bird must have made a mistaken tumble from its home on high and found itself burdened yet unscathed on the steaming yellow dirt.
It flittered, afraid of our footsteps and scurrying into the grown grass that flanked our path. He merely needed time to plot and build up the strength and gumption to flap his little heart out and return to his adobe abode. My heart is with him. That is not the story of my pet, but it reminds me of him.
My pet is injured; and NO I didn’t do it. It was a funny set of circumstances that brought us together, but am I damn glad that we found each other. Just imagine this scenario; discarded on the top of some rubbish pile, left mutilated and uncared for, a snail making its home on your face. That was the fate of this little guy, until I found out about it anyway.
See, this picture shows his distinctive arm injuries, actually appearing to be missing both arms below the elbows. How long he has suffered this disability I am unsure, but he has seemed to adapt extremely well.
Here is another shot of him sleeping in the little bed I made for him. We are rather new to each other, so most of our time is spent getting comfortable with the company of the other. He seems to appreciate his nickname “Chuey”, but will respond to most any name spoken above a whisper. Aside from that, he seems very intelligent, well mannered and inevitably house trained.
We did have one little incident involving a bit of violence, but at the time I was too busy rescuing his fading body from the top of the trash heap to care too much about my approach. It was folly, but without thinking I tried to pluck him up and assess his condition. He was surely scared, cold and confused. Either way, his substantial weight pulled at my back causing some light pain to still be present, and he did manage to bite me somehow from the side of his mouth. Strangely enough, though it was a very deep bite with blood and gore aplenty, it healed up within an hour of getting him in the car and stopped bleeding nearly the same time I got my little friend into the back seat. Life sure is strange.
Here we are playing a little bit of peek-a-boo in the grass outside the garage. He is very visually acute, but cannot play with balls or other similar toys due to his obvious disfigurement.
So far, he hasn’t eaten a thing, but I’m not too worried, it’s only been a day. I am unsure what types of foods he is interested in, and he only seems to show interest in getting into my wine cabinet whenever I try to feed him. Maybe he is used to a warm dark environment like the cabinet; who knows?
In the first day, I have actually trained him to sort and deposit the recyclable garbage. I’m very proud of him. With recycling comes the feeling of personal responsibility to our planet earth, which I think is an important bit of humbleness to be found in person and pet! Just kidding. I just get sick of putting on my shoes to walk out to the alley every two hours, or whenever it takes the household of six people to fill up another bag of trash. He instinctively has very tough pads on his feet so can travel the tough terrain without wincing like a schoolgirl under the bleachers. Either that or he floats; I don’t care as long as we help each other out.
So far into day one and I think the pet idea was a success. Chuey has made a full and healthy recovery after a long bath and some scrubbing behind the ears. He is brilliant and alive, has a nice gleaming coat and always impresses me with his ability to use his stumps to the best of his ability to function in our complicated environment. I have plans for some creative prosthetics, but in the meantime I think we will find ways to foster his independence and help him feel at home in our little house.
I honestly can’t wait for the holidays; something tells me that this little guy will have something to share with us all.
