Part 3 of 3 Mobile Clinic: New Beginnings

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For hours, the animals come in wave after wave, with whatever lull in owner drop-offs being neatly filled with Harris' contributions: freshly netted street dogs. In the early afternoon, the motos stop dropping off owners with animals in tow, and the strays that normally crowd the street have thinned, some because they're already been captured, and many more because they've seen one of their brethren carted away. The air is sultry and close; the mood becomes almost dozy. The veterinary workers stand up straight and stretch for the first time on hours, feeling the blue scrub shirt adhere wetly with perspiration to their backs. Now is the time to have a drink of the ubiquitous orange Bimbo, sit down and relax and even joke and laugh a little bit.



The most tense part of the winding down of the mobile clinic day is the final disposition of the patients. There always seems to be one or two whose owners left them for 4-5+ hours, and we have no way of contacting him or her. Even more upsetting is the stray dogs: after laboring over an animal for some time, it feels very wrong that there is nothing to do but return them to the street. One captured stray, a barrel-chested male with massive, horny paws, whose broad, square muzzle and black and tan coloring hinted at a Rottweiler ancestry, caught the eye of one of the regional police officers. He took a shine to the benign monster, and after the dog was neutered, brought him home to his new life as a house and guard dog.

Most are not that lucky, however. After the anesthesia has mostly worn off, they are returned to the busy streets. Hot tears stung my eyes as I saw them gingerly walk away, my heart in my throat when they encounter the busy street. Successfully navigating the crossing, they are lost in the traffic and the crowd. I send a silent prayer after them, hoping that they too will find the satisfaction of a meal, the warmth of a kind touch, the comfort of a home.


Photos courtesy of veterinarians Judith Bechtum and Catherine Davidson

Volunteers at Spay/Neuter Clinic in Punchana

Gabriela, Barbara, Lisa, Judith and Catherine

I have been down in Iquitos for four days now. Today was Day 3 of working in the Punchana District where the vets are doing free spays/neuters as well as administering anti-parasite medication. On Monday, I weighed dogs to ensure the correct dosage of the oral anti-parasite medication. The problem is, we don't have a proper scale. However, the vets had rigged up an ingenious "make-do" invention which utilized a small sling and a luggage scale. Getting the dogs into the sling was often challenging; they didn't appreciate being lifted up in the air, and the temperamental scale often made it necessary for us to weigh them more than once. It was hot, sweaty work, bending and stooping and wrestling with the dogs and lifting them up. A large crowd of people gathered to bring their animals and to watch with great interest the goings-0n. After maybe 5 hours of non-stop sweat, and getting peed on and having some brown goo leak from the back end of a matted-fur mutt, I made the unwelcome discovery of just how bad I could smell. I really had no idea.

Yesterday and today I got to play vet tech trainee: the vets showed me how to restrain a dog, raise a vein, do operation prep, open a surgery kit, and clean up an animal afterward. I always fancied myself rather adept at handling dogs, but it is very different when it is not your own animal, and infinitely more difficult when you add frantic, half-wild street dog into the mix. All the volunteers were very patient and kind with my mistakes and questions, and I really enjoyed both the lessons and the work itself.

These women are true workhorses - they labor for 5-6 hours or more with no breaks in the action for anything. Catherine, a Scottish vet volunteer, had her dainty gloved hands buried in various animals for hours at a time, and a couple of times I gave her a cup to sip from as I held it: her grin is so joyful it is blinding, unmarred even by a smudge of blood on the end of her nose. Gabriela, a vet volunteer from Spain, was called upon often to give post-op instructions for owners retrieving their pets, and one is at once struck by her intelligence and great charm - she was an invaluable resource for all us non-Spanish speakers. Watching Gabriela do her sutures was like watching sleight of hand: all speed and precision - with one infintesimal motion, she ties off a stitch so quickly it seems magical. Yesterday Judith worked a great deal in coordinating care; today she did surgeries and seemed happy for the change. "It's the most sane place on earth," she told me with a beatific smile. I could see what she meant - while all around her was noise and chaos, her focus was narrowed to the 2-3" incision in a scruffy dog's abdomen.

Barbara, an ex-pat now living in the UK, also brings serenity to her surgeries. She has a Zen-like calm about her; she looks up rarely, but when she does her fair, flushed face is a portrait of determination and quiet satisfaction of a job done well. Lisa, a Welsh veterinary nurse volunteer, is the glue that holds the whole thing together - it is she who records all the information, figures out dosing, and administers most of the medicines. She also is called upon when problems arise, such as an unruly dog somehow noses open his (locked) cage and goes rushing off, or a biter comes in who needs to be muzzled. She is a consummate professional, but also very cheerful and friendly. Her flaxen cornrows are fascinating to the Peruvians; as she stood and drank one day, one child was brazen enough to flick one of her tiny braids into the air. The surprised expression on her face was pure comic book - it coaxed a laugh out of even the most weary of workers.

They are an inspiring, incredible group of volunteers that CARES is tremendously fortunate to have on board, and it is a true privilege to both see their work and be a small part of it.