On the day before Christmas Eve, an acquaintance contacted me in distress about a fluffy dog seen on Golden Grove Lane.
Seemingly dumped, the creature, potentially white, was black with muck and had a bad ear wound. She had tried unsuccessfully to catch the dog, with intentions of cleaning the wound and/or going to a veterinarian.
About half an hour later I received a call from a woman with an accent (which turned out to be Canadian). She, too, was calling me about the dog on Golden Grove Lane.
I told her I would go to the site to look for the dog, and asked her to meet me there.
Upon arrival, I saw the dog standing on the banks of the canal running under the bridge just a little distance beyond the LaTour Farm. He (I discovered the gender later) appeared to be eating something in the mud. As I got out of my vehicle and moved towards him, he stumbled away, running in a haphazard, almost drunken manner onto the road, in the path of fast-moving cars whose drivers were most likely speeding to their next Christmas lime or shopping destination – oblivious to the suffering creature.
In the minute or less that I turned away to get something from my vehicle, the dog disappeared mysteriously. Shortly after, the second caller turned up with her husband. Being animal lovers they were very concerned about the state of the animal."
We agreed to keep in touch, should either of us see him again.
Back at home, about an hour later, I received a call from someone I knew.
“Elspeth, there is this dirty, fluffy dog on...”
“I know. Golden Grove Road,” I responded.
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We met at the top of the street where I live and she followed me in her vehicle. As I drove past the entrance to LaTour’s farm, she beeped her horn, alerting me to stop. In my rearview mirror, I could make out what looked like a dirty mop, camouflaged with the earth at the roadside. It was the dog. The deep wound on his ear was abuzz with bright green flies and crawling with maggots. His fur, black from muck, was matted into large, hard, black clumps. He was limp, his chest heaving from strained breathing. I bundled him in a towel and placed him in the crate at the back of my vehicle. The almost unbearable stench filled the interior, as did the buzzing flies until I rolled the windows down and the breeze brought relief.
At the Tobago Animal Hospital, Dr Denoon was shocked to feel skin and bones under the fur and placed the dog like a limp rag doll on the scale. The reading of 7.5 kg was a clear documentation of what must have been ages of undernourishment.
While I will never know where the dog was before our encountering him, from experience with multiple cases of neglect and abuse, I assume that he was kept locked in a small kennel, unfed and unattended to over time. When last had he been stroked? Who could touch such hard-matted clumps of fur and do nothing about it? Who could encounter such dirt and odour without wanting to relieve the animal with a bath?
It crossed my
