Perros de mi corozon

People say you should do what you love, that way it doesn´t feel like work. A tiny or enormous part of this trip, whether I admit it or not, is that I´m in search of something, some way I can help. I´ve flirted with the peace corps by filling out an application (they keep sending me love letters which I´ve ignored), I´ve always wanted to be a teacher but they don´t need english teachers these days, and if altruism paid I´d be a volunteer the rest of my life, but I can´t accept being a consultant for the next 20 years (if I come close to suicide a few times), or 40 years (if I pace myself and retire at the ¨normal¨ age).

Oddly enough, having only been here 6 days, I´m starting to realize what I love. And it´s not people so much as it is animals. The stray dogs here are not what you´d expect. They aren´t snarling, flea-covered beasts, with glossy eyes and patches of missing fur. They are shaggy, beautiful muts who wag their tails or twitch an ear when you approach. They don´t beg, they cleverly and patiently sit outside stores, or make friends with vendors selling nuts or empanadas (you never see a dog by a FRUTAS stand).

These dogs have let me take countless pictures of them. How could I not - they are on every street in every Chilean town. I asked my guide last night, if these dogs belong to someone. No, she said, they are all free and wild but they manage quite well, even in the dessert. The bus driver, Jorge, chimed in ¨Only in Chile do these dogs stay free (interesting that they call it free and not stray). Not in Peru, he says, as he motions his hand toward his mouth with a piece of bread, implying that in Peru, dogs are food. The bus driver follows this gesture with a hearty laugh and goes back to drinking his Orange Crush.

So I started wondering about these dogs. They don´t look starved and they seem to have several partial owners - street vendors, workers who pass them every day on the way to work, and school children, who the dogs seem to especially like for the crumbs in their pockets. They obviously aren´t treated the way dogs are treated in the US. Dogs there are babies, children, members of the family. With their own rooms, down comforters, eating lounges, scheduled hair cuts and manicures, and several doctors visits yearly). Dogs here are free to be dogs. But with freedom comes danger, and these dogs face danger every day in the form of cars, other less friendly dogs, people who are anti-dog, just to name a few.

In my two days in Santiago I passed one dog in particular who, although sleeping, managed to dive into my chest and rip out my heart. He was small, a cattle dog-lab mix perhaps, he had short fur unlike most other dogs, and he always seemed to sleep peacefully next to this one street vendor who sold papers, magazines, and snacks. As I looked closer I noticed a huge gash on the inside of his left leg - red, gaping, and very infected. I wanted to lure him to a vet, or run back to my first aid kit and treat it with neosporin and gauze, or pay the vendor to take him in, but I didn´t do it. Not even after watching him hobble on three legs around the nearby courtyard as school children giggled past carrying their lunches, hoping for a scrap.

I need to do something for these dogs. I´m not sure what it is yet, but I´ll think of something. And when I do, I´ll let you know.