“Freefall”

There comes a moment at almost every clinic we host in Mexico where I finally just freefall.

I let go..…usually for just for a few brief moments.

I let go of the infinite pressures, responsibilities, and implications of the work we have set out to do and I simply fall… effortlessly and completely, into the heart of the mission, the passion, the core of why we do what we do.

Why, in the middle of July, we find ourselves in the Mexican desert, surrounded by a seemingly endless flow of animals who need more than it feels like we can ever possibly give them. Animals that I would do anything to do everything for, and who I will only ever know for that one snapshot in time, that one day, that one moment where we intersect.

Invariably, I’ll find myself leaning a little too far in one direction or the other… teetering recklessly along the classic divide I constantly navigate: wide-eyed optimism on one side, blurry-eyed, skeptical despair and exhaustion on the other – until that moment comes, when my guard is down, but my head is still up, and I lean in a little too far…. and then, just like that, I fall.

This time, in Puerto, I fell right into Chapolina, a golden eyed Weimeraner whose eyes I will never forget. Chapolina was brought to the clinic to be euthanized, the man who brought her did not want her anymore. She was emaciated and covered with thousands and thousands of ticks – in her ears, between her toes, all over her body, surrounding those beautiful eyes…

She was so delicate and frail, like a soft whisper in a loud room she stood there unassumingly, cowering in the hot morning sun, completely unheard. That silence was absolutely deafening to me…until someone finally listened.

A kind woman in the crowd stepped forward and said she would take the dog, she would adopt her. Then another woman waiting in line to be seen said she would help us remove ticks from the dog. Then a young teenage boy stepped forward and said he, too, would help.

And in that moment Chapolina’s life took a sharp turn in the right direction. And that was when I fell. The whirlwind of emotions, sadness funneling into anger swirling into pity at the sight of this dog and the request that she be euthanized and then nearly instantly spinning back into the realm of hope and gratitude as so many people stepped forward to help.

It was OK for me to fall, because I knew Chapolina wouldn’t have to.

It can be disorienting at times to bear witness to the best and worst of human nature and to be surrounded by so much good work, but also so much suffering and need. You can be absolutely deflated and overwhelmed by sadness in one moment and then completely inspired and overwhelmed by happiness in the next.

So I fell. I let myself go. Took a moment to just soak in the scene. The lines of people waiting in the hot sun to get their animals cared for. The skinny dogs. The mangy ones. The pups teetering on the edge of the cement and landing belly up in the dirt. The leashes fashioned out of old seat belts. The barefooted rancher with his eight year old lab mix. The high-heeled mother of five with her seven Chihuahuas. The volunteers, sweating and working and, at times, falling themselves, and somehow finding the wherewithal to smile and carry on. The crusted wounds on the neck of a skinny Shepherd mix. The tattooed covered man slouched against the wall with his pack of dogs slouching right beside him. The bright eyes of a blue eyed Pitty pup sitting in the lap of a teenage girl with braids down to her waist.

We would be able to help them all. Every one. At the end of the clinic 555 animals just like Chapolina would be helped. Vaccinated. Spayed and neutered. Dewormed. Treated for skin disease and ticks. Cared for, however we could.

And that matters.

And that realization is what pads my fall…. every single time.

And, this time there was some extra padding….in the form of a mangey pup with a face so precious it makes me melt each time I see him. Pirata.

Pirata is a typical patient, a typical Mexican dog in many ways. His coat was sparse. His skin covered in excoriations and painful, irritated blotches of inflammation and infection. His demeanour meager. His swagger irresistible.

He lived in a home with over 15 other dogs. His mother was an emaciated, overbred Pit Bull, his father a scarred up Sharpei mix. Pirata was the low man in the pack and was getting attacked repeatedly. He was unwanted. He was skinny. At just 6 months of age his face revealed an absolutely defeated expression that just plain broke my heart.

So, we rescued him. And over the next few days that defeated expression turned into one of tentative hope and trust. And as more time passes, the sadness that once sat just behind those chocolate brown eyes continues to fade. There is still a hesitation in his step, an uncertainty in his submissive approach, but it won’t be there long. His coat is filling in. His sores and scabs are healed up.

His eyes are brighter each day.

Sometimes, it seems, you have to fall before you finally rise.