A Little Blonde Fish in a Sea of Humans

Then you blow your nose and your snot is black its a good sign the air quality is sub-par. After nearly dying trying to run around the walls of the Medina, I found myself coughing violently between hits of my inhaler in a near panic attack just trying to breathe. All I can think about is that is it time to go. 

I have one last task for my time in Marrakech. This is to see the city by night because apparently it “comes alive”. Well, that is one way of putting it. The entire Medina was worse than the London Underground during rush hour, ON the train. There I was smashed between people moving at a crawl while the man next to me weirdly rubbed his hand on my thigh. Picture my impressed face. Desperate to escape the man I found myself behind a woman with someone actually pressed up against my back. I didn’t even want to know, so I didn’t look to see if it was a man or woman, I desperately searched the sea of humans for any gap of space. To my dismay there wasn’t one to be found. It took nearly 30 minutes to go the 500 metres to the square (thanks to google maps I new how much further I would have to just be a little blonde fish in a sea of fabric and men. 

The square was something else. During the day there is a whole area of red ground with power spots built into the ground but nothing other then some ladies doing henna, by night there are restaurants. Set up sometime in the early evening transforming the square into a smoke filled yet enchanting scene. 

With piles of fresh produce and seafood near the chef, a man greets you first in French, then English then Spanish, his job is to convince you to eat at his stand. “Special deal just for you my beautiful blonde friend because I like you very much” “You look too skinny you need to eat here ma’am, always sporting you are, slow down have some food” “Please ma’am why do you not want eat here” - the last one was a pizza place so I responded with, because I’m deathly allergic to gluten, but thank you for the offer sir. Now normally I’m such a foodie I would be all over that, but the lack of running water, general hygiene & alcohol (which I like to think would kill the bad bugs in my tummy) screamed no at me. I see tourists “washing” their hands in these buckets of stagnant water, there is no soap, then proceeding to eat with their hands. Just the thought of it made my stomach roll. There is no way my precious Canadian stomach would survive that. The bathroom facilities at my hostel were not nice enough to chance being sick. If I had a private bathroom I may have considered it.

After two hours in the Medina by night my screaming headache from the pollution forced me to return to my hostel, it’s not like one is going to tie one on drinking mint tea… 

The Red City

Shifting my gaze between my google maps and the window of the bus I couldn’t help but notice how pretty all the lights looked. I’m not sure what I was expecting. After a quick chat with my bus driver I determined which stop would be the best for me and when we arrived I disembarked and started following the little blue dots. The overwhelming stench of urine and the absolute filth of the road I turned on made me question the blue dots as I found myself on a footpath behind a series of mandarin orange venders, whom it appears merely toss the rinds, bad fruit and rubbish onto this path. There are so many motorcycles polluting the air, plus the smell of rotten fruit, mixed with urine and the fact the ground was wet made me want to vomit. It was a humid twenty degrees, and I found myself questioning if the fruit vendors could possibly be used to that stench. I decided to get off the footpath and walk on the road as soon as I found a gap in the vendor stands. 

This made for its own adventure with so many motorcycles, mopeds, bicycles and cars driving hap-hazardously in both directions on what really seems to be a one way street. I managed to escape the cars and enter the walls of the Medina where to my surprise motorcycles and mopeds still drive like madmen through. I get the feeling humans do not have the right of way in this country. I may be seriously injured at some point in a collision with a moped. 

Not sure I was ready to brave the streets of Marrakech by night I tucked myself into bed with a movie. 

I sit here now late afternoon two days into my adventure of the red city. I managed to find the nice part of town where I reckon most of the tourists with money stay, there is a Chilli’s ffs. However, we very much enjoyed wandering the olive tree lined streets. There were these random derelict buildings that seemed to be hollowed out in the mix and this one that had the most stunning tile mosaics inside. I found myself trying to get a better view of them through the over grown garden and over the high fence, never quite getting to see enough. 

Nearly back at my hostel with my dinner to enjoy roof top, I hear the unmistakeable cries of a terrified dog. Not an angry or aggressive sound, a truly scared sound. I turn around and find a man trying to get a dog out from under a car with a stick. I had to stop and explain to these people that this dog was terrified, possibly hurt. Definitely scared. I squatted down near where she was hiding between the front grill and the tire, I then proceeded to take out some chorizo that I had bought for dinner. This brought another very small pup over who stole it right out from under her feet. So I pulled out another piece and slowly coaxed her out of her hiding spot. She was very gently taking pieces right out of my hand and letting me pet her, the pup was all over all the things with her dirty little paws and heaps of kisses. After the two of them ate my entire package of chorizo and my cheese I found myself trying to call all the local animal shelters. It is Saturday and I am out of luck. It killed me to leave them but they also wouldn’t follow me. This is when for the first time since I squatted near the car my attention broke from them, I realized over fifty men were staring at me. What a sight I must have been showing love and affection for these two pups. In a tank top with my long blonde hair. I can only hope that maybe they will show them the same kindness. My bag is now well stocked with cat & dog food as well as some treats. Stray dogs are rare in this city, cats seem to rule the streets. Both break my heart it seems, particularly the tiny little sick looking kittens. And I don't even like cats...

Portugal, An Adventure In Wine

I couldn’t help but laugh as we literally ran into the store two minutes before they closed. The lady told us they were closing soon, a fact we were already aware of when we realized that we only had ten minutes to get to the store that was three minutes away. 

I considered trying to sort out how many bottles of wine had been consumed since my bestie and her man arrived to meet me in Lisbon, but I am uncertain I can correctly calculate that data. There were definitely only three boxes of wine consumed totalling thirteen litres, a bottle of Ginja (a sour cherry liquor they practically give away for free here). Those of you that know me, must already know we clearly made sangria. A giant salad bowl of sangria to be exact. After all we had to do something with all that wine. Really the whole idea was because one of the “famous” bottles we opened was so gross there was nothing else we could do with it. 

Oh and there was that bottle of rosé port. Which we later learned they have only started recently making to try to get the “younger generation” ie. not us, into drinking port since it has fallen very much out of fashion. Not that you would know that here, there is literally port EVERYWHERE. Personally I’m not a huge fan, however, I did find a 30 year old tawny I quite liked. $$$. 

We decided last second in the Pingo Doce that we needed to have bubbles for our breakfast the next morning, come the next morning there I am laughing hysterically as I realize the bubbles we have bought were red! So that accounts for our one and only bottle of red brut. As for the normal brut I think we did much better here than in France as we only had two bottles. We did go to an espumante house, and learned that Portugal in fact has an entire region of sparkling wine. 

This brings us to the Douro Valley.

We me and the bestie, notorious penny pinchers now after years of travelling the world, spend an absurd amount of money to sleep in a wine barrel. It actually turned out to be literally the best money we have ever spent as the entire experience was beyond luxury. The best part was we got to try whatever we wanted from their portfolio! Landing us a fantastic bottle of rose (also the most expensive wine we bought) to have with our picnic dinner in our room. See I told you were we cheap, I mean frugal. 

The little researcher that she is, the bestie found us a second great restaurant for lunch, and for the second time the octopus did not disappoint. Washed down with a glass of rosé (our most reasonable decision of the entire trip, only ordering a glass that is). 

As it turns out it is actually rather difficult to rock up to a “quinta” and just do a tasting. This time of the year isn’t exactly tourist season, which you would think would make it easier, however most places didn’t do only tastings, you had to book a tour and they generally try to force port down your throat as well. We had very little interest in trying port, we were there for the wine! 

The views however, did not disappoint. Literal mountains of vines, all in their fall coloured glory. Some leaves still holding on to green while others ranged from orange, to rust, to deep red. You couldn’t help but stare off into the distance and just be in this magical landscape. In the Douro they still pick grapes by hand because the hillsides are so steep they can’t use machinery. There is also still a large number of wineries stomping the grapes in these massive granite baths, for lack of a better term. 

Of the unknown number of bottles we consumed there was most definitely three that we didn’t care for. Surprisingly these were not the cheapest of the wines but what seemed to be the most popular, or best value, or the most advertised. Which can only mean our palates are much different than those of the Portuguese. We did discover our new favourite grape though, Touriga Nacional.  

The last bottle we had was a Pinot Noir from the Lisboa Region. It was hands down the best red we had. There was also something so nice about drinking something we are so familiar with. Especially for me, as I love my Pinots. I am keen to get my hands on some more Pinots from the region to try, however I no longer have a drinking buddy which means it is time for the climbing to resume. 

Climb On

Feeling like a legend, full of energy, just dying to climb, I rock paper scissored with Sarah for the onsite rights of our first climb that day. I knew whoever lead first would inevitably get all the on-sites that day.  I won the first round, but she wanted to go best of three... I still won. And, with my nerves buzzing I loaded up my harness, 6 draws on each side, top rope anchor, personal anchor, bailout ‘biner, ATC, and finally I put my chalk bag around my waist. I find gearing up almost a ritual. The way I tie one end of my rope to the tarp before I flake it out, how I load up my harness, the double checking and counting. Most of it truly is unnecessary but in a sport like rock climbing the last thing you want to do is make a silly mistake. In this sport those mistakes can cost you your life. 

Ready to start climbing I say to Sarah “Pollo Fiesto?” Which literally means chicken party. I don’t really know the whole story behind it but I guess check your partner sounded a lot like chicken party in El Salvador. Believe me there are no chickens partying anywhere, but this is to make sure we both did our part properly. Again redundant yet necessary, such is the sport.

Everything was good so I had no other choice but to say “climbing”, wait for the confirmation of “climb on” before reaching up and starting my ascent. It’s a funny thing when climbing, even though I knew I could climb the route, and that my belayer knew what they were doing I still found myself with Elvis leg. For you non-climbers aka Mema this means my leg was shaking. My nerves were still running high because this was not a route I wanted to fall on, easy granite slab with lots of ledges. It was also on rock I had never climbed on, I found myself unsure if I could trust holds and checking to make sure they weren't going to pull off in my hands. On top of that I had never actually been lead belayed by this person who had my life in their hands. I consider myself a VERY good belayer. I pay attention, I never leave too much slack out and I spend the entire time the climber is on the wall assuming they are going to fall, so if it does happen I am ready. Before I knew it I was at the anchor, onsite accomplished. 

I find it funny how “walking” up a route isn’t nearly as satisfying as projecting a route. Maybe that’s just me. I want to climb something so hard I barely make it. I would rather spend my day working through one route, and finally getting my redpoint, than easily climbing a dozen. There is no gratification in easy climbing. This humbles me, and again I find myself filled with respect for the first guy that took me climbing outside for the first time. Because before I became a good belayer, well … squirrel.

My Little Lost Bear

I find myself completely over come with gratitude. After having spent the last day and half diligently trying not to think too much about Tompers being lost, and hoping for the best. I managed to locate him on the lost property page of the Dublin Airport. I nearly cried. Yet again the people of Ireland amaze me with their thoughtfulness and honesty. I was rather concerned that someone may have found him and thought he was too cute and took him home, but it turns out he was just being a silly little bear and was still at the gate I had departed. 

I think it needs to be shared that this is not the first time I have lost the little rascal. I like to pretend I’m a good mom but the little guy has escaped me more than a few times. 

I lost him once before in Ireland as a matter of fact, in Letterkenny, the little rascal slept in and hid in the bedsheets, I didn’t realize he was missing until I went to take a photo at a landmark. I immediately called the hotel and told them I left my little guy in the room and that I would be back to collect him the next day if they wouldn’t mind babysitting him. Kyle told me I should probably tell them it is a teddy bear not a small child. We had a good laugh when I picked him up the next day from the front desk.

He also jumped behind a bed in San Ignacio, Belize last year. I didn’t realize he was missing until we arrived at our next place. I was sick with worry until the guy working at the hostel got back to me and told me he was there, which was a very stressful 32 hours. When I arrived at the hotel he told me he had some bad news, and I nearly lost it! He then realized I did not find this funny and quickly told me Tompers was fine… Someone else had taken the bed and I had previously slept in would have to sleep in a different one. I had visions of him being eaten by one of the hostel dogs.

I have left him at home more times than I can count, and I’ve nearly forgotten him leaving places only to run back in to get him. 

The irony of the whole story is the bear himself is called a “Lost Little Bear” and he sits in a box with his hands over his eyes sad because his owner left him at a train station….  Well it turns out this lost little bear seems to always find his way home with a little bit of help from some humans. 

Here we go again!

As I run my fingertip over my hands, I find a small sense of pride in the rough callused parts, the little tiny blood spots hiding just under my finger tips, my black thumb nail, the entire patches of skin missing from flappers, and today the raw skin on my pinky thanks to that undercling hand wedge that even though I tried a million times I still couldn’t do the move required to get me through the 10c crux. Let’s not get into the cuts, scrapes and bruises on the rest of my body. In the last 14 months climbing has completely changed my life. My priorities have changed. I found myself packing for this trip in a crag bag, packing two pairs of climbing shoes, with Bryan (my 60m Rope), Goldilocks & Barney (the cams), all my draws, personal anchor, top rope anchor, extra carabiners, chalk bag, harness, ATCs, and liquid chalk. My crag bag is 40L and designed to be a carry on, as you can probably imagine this didn’t leave much space. Not that I care. All I want to do is climb every day for the next seven months. Poor mema she thinks I’m a geologist.

I’m Europe bound yet again and this time the goodbyes were harder than ever. Saying goodbye to my little ball of fur and knowing there is a very good chance he won’t be there when I get home brings tears to my eyes even while I write this. Just thinking about him makes me well up instantly. How can such a little ball of fur own so much of my heart. It’s unfair to expect him to still be there when I return. I found myself so many nights over this last week telling him it was okay if he wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. But every morning he was there to greet me with his front paws on the side of my bed and oh so very excited I was getting up. Always full of love and excited to see me every time he forgot I was in the room and found me again. Love like that is hard to find. I’m not sure I will even be able to proof read this section. I’m crying like a baby drinking chardonnay on an airplane. Poor Margaret (the MacBook) doesn’t need tears on her.

I think it’s safe to say these endless travels will be coming to an end. As soon as I find a place that feels right. Okay so maybe not that soon, there is still so much of the world to see & climb. So don't get too excited mom! I really need to get better at taking photographs. 

Long Over Due

This probably isn’t as exciting for you as it is for me, however I am typing this entry out on my brand new MacBook. Yes, it is rose gold. What other colour would it be? 

It’s that time of the year where I realize I need to book my next flights and I also realized I was terrible about keeping you up to date on my adventures. I just sort of dropped off and never finished what I started. But I should mention this new keyboard feels pretty nice under my finger tips and there will be more to come for sure. 

Life is short and the world is large... 

Believe it or not I am flying back to Ireland!

It is impossible to carry change without pockets

In hindsight thinking that it might be a VERY good idea to turn around and walk back into Honduras, 

(a country which at this time had literally just gone through the inauguration for a president that apparently nobody voted for, or liked and the death count during their "peaceful protests" was a number no one could say for certain. Last I had read when cancelling my climbing adventure outside the capital city Tegucigalpa (don't worry I still have absolutely no idea how to pronounce that, but it is so fun to try, go ahead try it out loud right now at least four times, remember they speak Spanish in Honduras) 35 people had been killed in the streets, but this was a number being reported by the country who had also claimed a mere 7 people had been killed in total since this election. Anyway enough about Honduras politics I just get a bit emotional about it because well, I really just wanted to be one of the few people who braved entering this mysterious country. I have since found out from people who are actually from Honduras they aren't exactly all that welcoming to foreigners.)

would have actually been the most ridiculous thing to do. That being said, it does not change how I felt. In all my travels over the past five years of going it alone most of the time, I have rarely had that feeling that something could and possibly would go very wrong if I didn't get myself out of that situation imminently. I actually felt more concerned than when I was dropped off twenty some-odd kilometres outside Guatemala City, or that time I walked in the dark past termini station in Rome. I have kept myself out of trouble all these years by following my spidey-senses as I like to call them. Sometimes I listen to Tompers, but his ideas are always terribly boring, and usually involve not going out in the first place. Lazy bear.

What was this situation you are probably wondering, believe it or not it was the entry into the Nicaragua. I had already been stamped out of Honduras and there for in no mans land, however the bus company I was with had taken my passport from me after I had gotten it stamped. This was meant to expedite our entry into Nicaragua as the bus assistant had also already collected the boarder fees from everyone on the bus in advance of the arrival at the boarder. Now you should probably know I'm that girl that carries her passport in her hand through airport security because I don't like the idea of it going through an box where I can no longer see it and it is not in my possession. This is my weird irrational travel fear. 

So there I am now being asked to come outside of the building with this man so he can ask me some questions. Obviously this has something to do with me being Canadian and not from Central America like everyone else on the bus that day. He has a photocopy of my passport (which is still not in my possession) and a blank sheet of paper. After asking me if I would prefer English or Spanish for the second time he starts asking me all of the questions that are on those boarder entry customs sheets. Which might I add I already filled out properly and gave to the bus assistant with my money for the boarder entry. 

It's very odd but at this point I have now been asked if I am single or married so many times I'm tempted to lie and say yes I am married would that allow me to enter your country. Then this man is on about my job. What do I do for a living. I explain I am unemployed and do not have a job. This is not a sufficient answer clearly so he asks me again. I tell him I'm a server, he does not understand. I tell him I work in a restaurant, still nothing. I say just put that I am in hospitality, ohh you work at the hospital. Sure I say why not. No I am not a doctor. 

"How much cash do you have on you right now?" 

"I beg your pardon"

"How much cash, American dollars do you have"

"No sé"

"How much?"

"I don't know like thirty dollars maybe in change in multiple different countries currencies, cause change is like leeches and it just clings to you and you can never seem to spend it, I'm pretty sure it's worthless though, and it's in my backpack not on my person. I don't have a habit of carrying a bunch of change in my non existent pockets" maybe I'm getting just a little bit frustrated at this point, but seriously.

"Do you have a credit card, you're American right you all have them"

"Actually as you can see by the photocopy of my CANADIAN passport I am in fact a Canadian, and frankly I do not think it is any of your business"

"What is on your credit card?"

"Pardon me?"

"What is on your credit card?"

"I don't know like a $5 booking fee for the hostel I'm staying at in Managua tonight if I get there"

"No. What is limit, how much can you charge to your card"

"I don't understand why that is important"

"How much?"

"Like $2000" At this point I'm pretty sure this guy is going to rob me. Why are we outside the building around the back where no one can see me except some homeless guy that has been following me around asking me for money, he also does not realize that I can not carry money in the pockets I don't have. 

Somewhere Between The Swings & The Motorcycle Display

What a whirl wind it has been and to now find out I'm actually running out of time the stress of what to do with my last few weeks has set in. I'm not sure why I have had so much trouble keeping up with this. I guess its the lack of drinking. Haha

Let's see, where to start...

I was amazingly fortunate with the help of Tinder to find myself people to climb with literally as soon as I had arrived in "The City". This turned into a climbing on Saturday, drinking Saturday night, and waking up wishing I was dead on Sunday. However, I got an amazing tour of the city and got to experience places I otherwise would not have ventured to. Oh and I should note this only happened the first weekend, being adults we only repeating the climbing & eating portion. There are a few bubbles within the insanity that makes up Guatemala City. One of these is Zona 14 which was where my climbing friend lived practically on the top floor of this jaw dropping view apartment. Looking out the window in the correct direction you would have no idea you were in the dirty poverty stricken capital of Guatemala. After an AMAZING gluten free dinner and a couple bottles of Argentinian wine we made out way "downtown". This means we ended up in this super hipster district known as Zona 4 or is it Zona 10, I'm not entirely sure where the Zona lines are. The brilliant decision to drink whiskey by the mini bottle caught up with all of us somewhere between the swings and the motorcycle display. I never ate any traditional Guatemala food, but this climbing friend definitely knew his way around all the good restaurants in Guatemala and we had some amazing meals.

One of the other guys I connected with, who is in the American Airforce which I'm not holding against him as he is actually Panamanian & Asian. I ended up staying with him on my last weekend in the city in the crazy bubble he lives in known as Zone 16. When we were out climbing on the Sunday he introduced me to a friend who had a friend with an empty room at her place in Santa Tecla aka the new San Salvador. So just like that I was hooked up with the climbing crew in El Sal.

Originally I was going to stay just a couple nights, I ended up staying two weeks. Prince Felipe was my best friend and we went on tones of "walkies" in the guard controlled neighbourhood. The bed & belay as we have decided is what it truly was, was just what I needed. Two weeks with a furry friend to recover from the past five weeks of non-stop. My gracious host took me climbing on Saturdays and on adventures on Sundays. I even got to go on an adventure through the very dodgy capital city. Who the hell in their right mind would live there anyway. What a disaster. It was actually heart breaking to see what years of war, earthquakes, corrupt government & drug fuelled violence with virtually no "good guys" does to a city.

I also got to spend a good amount of time at the bouldering gym there which is amazing. The owners are great, and its this super cool covered outdoor space. I got the humbling experience of watching the top climber in Central America. It never ceases to amaze me the stuff people can hold on to. Definitely feeling inspired to work hard and climb hard as I head into the land of no climbing...

Just Your Average Monday?

Slowly I am awoken from my sleep, it is pitch black... It takes me a few seconds to register that the music I was enjoying in my dream is still playing... A few seconds later I realize that it actually isn't music at all but at least fifty some-odd dogs howling in this beautiful harmony. Then the tone deaf ones join in and it just becomes a whole lot of racket. I check my watch 0030. I do some quick math and think well at least I must have got a solid four and half, maybe even five hours of sleep. The dogs continue their joyful ruckus while I toss and turn for the next two hours. Last time I checked my watch it was 0215 all was silent and I must have finally fallen back into my dreams. 

What the hell was that... I wake with a start, something is definitely in the room and it is not Lisa-Clare she is fast asleep on top of my stomach. Useless cat, I realize, and maybe even it is more that I hope it is Timothy.  I remind myself how cute and adorable his fuzzy little grey face and that he isn't going to hurt me. 

I think mice are rather nice,

Their tails are long, their faces small,

They haven't any chins at all.

Their ears are pink, their teeth are white,

They run about the house at night.

They nibble things they shouldn't touch,

And no one seems to like them much,

But, I think mice are rather nice.

-Rose Fyleman

I learned this poem back in the speech arts & drama days and recite it to myself as I still have it committed to memory. Mice don't carry diseases, right? In the next room I hear the other cat Mouzer... well I mean I tell myself it's the other cat but it could be the rats... 

The other room is home to mass amounts of dog food. I locked Mouzer in there because it seems he did not feel the need to chase mice or rats at all when he could hide on one of chairs on this side of the casita. It is 0330 and the dogs have started up their song again. 

I must have fallen back asleep because there is a cat at my face trying to get under the covers. Without having to look at my watch I know it is 0500. The coldest time of the day. The dogs are still sound asleep and this pesky cat is clawing at the sheet next to my face occasionally clawing me until I lift the blankets so she can curl up near my stomach and dig her claws in there. Now the big debate, do I just wake up or try to get thirty more minutes of sleep. I'm exhausted like. 

My alarm is set for 0600 I don't know why. At 0530 the dogs are awake, yapping away loud as can be. I think to myself I really should "close" that window at night so they aren't so loud in the morning, like it would make a difference. I know it won't because it was closed my first couple nights here before I cleaned off the window sill. I also remind myself the reason the window is open is because the entire casita smells like a litter box despite my best efforts. In fact it is starting to stink less which worries me that I am just used to it and maybe I also smell like a litter box? 

Grumbling that I should have got to bed earlier I climb out of my nice warm bed to put the kettle on. I have fruit already expertly butchered with an un-serrated dinner knife (my biggest personal feat to date butchering that pineapple with a dull dinner knife) and plain yogurt in the fridge but its so cold I put on some oatmeal. I managed to find some gluten free oats but it turns out more like gruel and I can't help thinking to myself, "please, sir, I want some more". Granted I found some Nesquik in the cupboards and it is rather delicious in the gruel with some banana. 

It takes almost as long for the water to boil as for me to go through my morning routine but I'm so tired after brushing my teeth I crawl back into the warmth of my bed and listen to the dogs barking their cute little heads off. Eventually the kettle starts whistling and I tell Tompers today is going to be at least a two coffee kind of day as I rescue him from Lisa-Clare's claws. Every time I turn my back she is all over the poor guy. Like why doesn't she attack Timothy like she is intent on doing to poor defenceless Tompers.

The guys are feeding the dogs now and the barking becomes mixed with the "big-meanies" stealing food from the slow eaters in a mix of yelps and aggressive barks. Breaks my heart and I want to go out there and set them straight! How rude like, at lunch time I will rescue the poor picked on skinny ones from their crates and give them an extra bowl of food and some of the fancy treats I brought.

I dress myself in the same dirty pooh covered clothes and make my way down to the clinica for 0700. It is freezing out but I know shortly I'll be running around a mountain with dogs on a lead and it will be too warm. I try to remember not to touch my pants. They are disgusting like. The first time I washed them I couldn't believe the colour of the water I had soaked them in and after a liberal dousing of soap, thorough scrubbing, and a half dozen rinses the water coming off them was still muddy. This was two days after a washing and they looked worse than before. Poopy paw prints everywhere mixed with dust prints and these weird seed things. I don't even know how to begin to explain them, but they LOVE my lulu's.

On my way down I stop and say hi to the two dogs in their own little pen, the one's name is Toño. I give him his thyroid medication on the weekend in a hot dog. I didn't realize he could even walk cause the first time I threw the hot dog at him he didn't move to catch it and I had to retrieve it and try again. I throw like a girl but come on buddy! Apparently when he came to AWARE he couldn't walk and has lost thirty some odd pounds. Maybe it was sixty, don't quote me. His pen make is this wiggly little fella that took a few days before he was excited to see me in the mornings. Then I walk past the huskies, always taking an extra second for Rifka with the two different coloured eyes and the fluffiest coat in the world. Little did I know then on my second to last day me and two other people would have to hold her down and try and change her bandage on the stitches on her front paw while she tried to eat me. In fact after I helped the vet drug her for the stitches she turned on me, even tried to eat me when I tried to get her out for the epic fail of bandage changing. Maybe I just looked extra delicious that day in the sweater I borrowed from Xenii. Anyway, on the other side of their area is a pen full of girls, they are so adorable as they stare down at me from above and softly bark a little hello to me as I say Buenos Dias chicas on my way by. I believe this area was originally meant to be a quarantine area paid for by a donor, however over population turned it into two pens.

As I start up the hill to the clinic "huskers" (as I have named him, don't tell Xenii. They don't really like us volunteers renaming all the dogs), a beauty of a husky with one bad leg and something happened to her ear so its got this super cute fluffy fringe, see me first and starts the bark-a-thon at the clinic area that doesn't stop until I've said hello to everyone. When "the girls" were in the front pens they would literally be climbing on top of each other trying to lick my hand through the fence. By this time all the pups inside the clinica would be going mad like.

You sort of have to brace yourself for the smell when you open the door to the clinic, which the dogs have turned into their personal bathroom over night. In fact some of those dogs even come in from outside in the middle of the day and go on the floor. *face palm* All those dogs also create a fair amount of warmth so you get enveloped in this warm humid stench. There is literally pooh everywhere so if you aren't careful you step in it which causes your foot to slide and for a moment you think oh my god if I fall on this floor I'm going to be covered in excrement. Minnie & Mouse the little black puppies I call poopy-puppy-paws are literally covered in pooh, again, and I just bathed them yesterday. Espanta the psychopath is barking her head off and frothing at the mouth. She kicks her front paw when she barks and has splattered her poop literally all over her crate. I do a quick survey of who hasn't made a disaster of their crates, they will be rewarded by being the first ones I take out after their breakfast.

I realize Loki, the little toy poodle with fleas and the best disposition, has been standing with his filthy paws on my leg for want of attention and Mohawk, who originally I called "Lord of the Flies" but now call Piggly-Wiggly I'm sure you can imagine what that guy looks like, is rubbing his face all over my leg, wiggling his bum. I reach down and pet the little hair that he has, tell little Lokes how nice it is to be greeted like this in the morning. I always have a few treats in my back pocket and give them each a piece.

Then I begin the task of taking out the dogs, none of them seem to get along so its one at a time down to grassy area at the bottom of the hill 100 meters or so from the clinic to do their business. My first two weeks there we had twenty three dogs in the clinic, then I moved "the girls" and made a puppy pen out front freeing up a lot of the crates in the clinic. Some of the dogs got to go back to their original homes as they were only in the clinic with war wounds from fighting with other dogs which had healed. Most of these were inflicted by Espanta one night when their was a full moon, which is why she always sleeps in the clinica now. The day all the movement happenedI felt such a sense of accomplishment. We had virtually cleaned the clinic out and I did a thorough scrub down of all the now vacant crates and pens. I was so thrilled. 

Then the puppies arrived, someone threw them in a dumpster. The poor little dears. Two girls and Pip-Squeak half the size of his sisters and all cute as puppies are. Little Pip makes the cutest sound when he barks, its more a squeak than a bark really. The next day as Liz was leaving there was the little princess tied with some sort of nylon string to one of the posts in the driveway. Liz pulled a 15 centimetre worm from her bum before carrying her down to the clinic. *vomit* The next day these people brought in a momma dog who was abandoned and had not managed to keep any of her pups alive. Then the dog fight with Rifka and bam just like that the clinica is full again. Makes one wonder what we would have done if the clinica had not just been emptied into outside pens.

It typically takes me until 0930 to get the clinica all sorted out with the help of a paid employee who cleans most of their crates while I am walking them. I make my way back up to the casita for the third possibly fourth coffee of the day and to wash the floor. Somehow it is a disaster everyday. By 1000 I'm back down by the clinica to take the front pens for their walk. The girls and I had our routine so I knew I only needed to put a couple of them on lead for the adventure down the mountain to their play pen where we would hang out and I would get slobbered all over and climbed on for fifteen minutes or so before making our way back up the mountain. 

Being nearly lunch time which is when they let "The Killers" out as I fondly call the big meanies that will attack any dog that is out of its crate, and one day attacked poor Fiona & Chubs (I call them my ferocious beasts, they are cute as buttons with these crazy blue eyes and wouldn't hurt a fly, also the only dogs on the property that will sit for a treat)  as we came up the hill to the driveway because I was not aware they were out at 3pm. Poor Fi got out of her collar and chased back down the trail we had just came up while I tried to rescue Chubs from the other two dogs yelling my head off and trying to stay between them (you know exactly what you aren't supposed to do). Poor Chubs was so distraught about where Fi might be and we ran around the mountain twice trying to find her. She had made her way back to the Clinica thankfully uninjured. I felt so bad I got them special treats and spent a few minutes making sure they were in fact okay. But anyway back to my day... I had to get my skinny little bullied pups fed. Greta became my favourite of all the dogs, and I'm trying my best to convince my Spanish teacher to adopt her. She has the most beautiful soul and eats her food slowly and wants pets and extra attention from me as well. I never have to put her on a lead to take her out and feed her she just comes out and sits and waits for me to put her bowl of food down. The meanies in her crate will dominate her when I return her so I bring a couple handfuls of food to distract them from her at least while returning her to their pen. Same story with the pup from pen 7 except she is a little ball of energy and I have to put her on a lead and carry her back to her pen because she refuses to walk back there on her own accord. I don't blame her, the big dogs in her crate are jerks.

After lunch I make my way back down to the clinica for "the changing of the guards" the meanies left to run free for an hour over lunch go back in their pen and the free-run clinica dogs are let out and I start all over again taking the dogs out only after lunch we go for a walk in the woods. The better behaved the dog the longer the walk. I highly doubt they ever realized this. I would run the big dogs to get out as much energy as possible and also to see how fast we could do the quarter mile route on the mountain. My record was just under three minutes. 

At 1530 the paid employee would come to the clinica to feed the dogs and I'd be done for the day. Even though I had eaten lunch at 1200 I find myself famished as I put together dinner. By 1700 I'm either just sitting down to eat or half way through cooking when Xenii shows up for our evening chat, usually about all the birds and Alfred Hitchcock. I figured out just a couple days ago this is when "The Killers" get put away for the night. The sun is well setting by 1800 and its too dark to wash dishes outside so I climb into bed with a book and Tompers and read until 1900 at which time I turn out the lights and find myself in complete darkness. Sleep comes quickly, until the song starts in my dream... and it starts all over again.