In England, dogs are
esteemed members of the family – not quite on the same pegging as a
wife or a first son, but certainly on the same rung as a grandparent,
and way above uncles and aunts. As shocking and incomprehensible as
it might sound to English ears: in Ecuador people are valued more
highly than dogs.
I love dogs as much as
the next man. You might even call me a dog person. But the more I
think about it, the more I think Ecuadorians are right.
It's not that
Ecuadorians don't like dogs, because they do. In fact, I think I've
seen more dogs in Ecuador than in the UK – although this is
probably because most of them live out on the streets. I just think
South Americans have a more sensible attitude towards animals than the British. After all, they're just dogs.
Whymper the mountain dog... who left us to die on the slopes of Chimborazo |
When I think of the
treatments, therapies, operations and medicines friends' dogs have
received in England I actually feel slightly disgusted. This probably
sounds a bit Geldof-esque (in the worst possible way), but I've
driven to remote Andean and jungle communities where people are dying
because they can't afford antibiotics or the taxi fare to the
nearest hospital.
Two years ago I visited a vet in Surrey who had just installed a hyrdro-therapy
pool for dogs. He's known as the bionic vet because he fits
prosthetic legs to dogs who've lost limbs to cancer. Two months ago I visited a remote village 3,500 metres above sea-level where a woman
was suffering her second bout of tuberculosis in a year, having
already lost her husband (and any means of financial support) to the
same illness. If it wasn't for the NGO I was with, she would also
have died leaving an orphaned child in a village full of alcoholics.
I asked the bionic vet
if spending tens of thousands of pounds treating a dog was not
obscene and he told me it was just personal choice. Some people buy
Ferraris, others like to fit prosthetic hips on their
genetically-faulty designer dogs. “It's their money,” he said.
“They should be able to spend it however they like.” I agree...
to an extent... because isn't buying a Ferrari also obscene?
But this brings me onto
the flip-side of the coin. The perro callejero (street dog).
I realised I'd been in
Ayampe (a coastal town in Ecuador) for too long when I was first name
terms with six of the street dogs in town. What a pack we were! There
was little Salchicha, the scaredy-cat sausage dog. There was Zuca the
playful labrador puppy who ate three chickens one morning and Jose
had to pay $30 for the loss. There was Oso, a sort of Jack-Russell,
who hunts crabs on the beach – El Cangrejero they call him. Then
there's Wiley! What a royal shit he is.
Wiley was the leader of
the street dogs, so called because he looked like a coyote. He was a
bully and made a sport of kicking Oso's head in. Lucy and I dubbed
him Wanker, because he was always behaving like a complete wanker. He
used to chase the poor, old donkey up and down the beach, barking at
it and biting its tail. At night he would corner the donkey and bark
until well into the madrugada. He was also known as rapey-dog because
of his predilection for bikini-clad, blonde backpackers. He literally
would not take no for an answer.
Like most street dogs
Wiley got a nasty skin infection, he had a parasite in his
head. Some bikini-clad, blonde backpacker took pity on him and packed
him off to the vet at her expense. When she went on her way Wiley
was left out on the streets once again.
Cure and release is a
common theme. In Ayampe an American hotel owner once paid for a vet
to treat all the street dogs in town. A generous act? In my opinion, it would have been better to put them all down. Dogs
aren't bred to live without humans. Within a month all of their
conditions had returned and we were back to square one.
In Quito the situation
is even worse. Street dogs howl and bark all night. They forage for
food and rip bins apart, which in turn encourages rats. Occasionally
they bite children. They are always getting themselves run over –
dead or wounded street dogs are a common sight on the roadsides in
Ecuador and it's never nice to see.
But I don't want to
paint too black a picture.
Of course, I've met
some real crackers in South America. For example, Jacinto the ginger
beach bum in Mancora was a beauty. And then there was Whymper the
Alsatian who lived at the mountain lodge of Chimborazo. He followed
Lucy and I on a hike to 5,000 metres... then we got lost on the
slopes of the volcano and he swiftly abandoned us. He looked a rather
sheepish when we returned sun-burnt and pissed-off four hours later.
I should also probably give a name-check to Canela, Emila's pampered
poodle who dances an Irish jig on her hind legs whenever she gets
excited. And of course there's Randy Russett, Canela's sweetheart
street dog who lives over the road.
Dogs are Everywhere, as Jarvis Cocker would say.
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