Black Dog

I had a dog, a black dog. Did I tell you I had a dog? He died in my arms November 12th.

He was my first dog. Beautifull as the night, and a smooth fur, we called him Puto (as in maPuto, roughly translated from portuguese as "my kid"). I loved petting him. But I also spanked everytime he did something wrong. Don't get me wrong. I also gave him rewards for being nice, like doing his stuff outside and NOT at home. He was only 4 months old, but he grew like wildfire! He ate a lot and ran a lot, so he was in pretty good shape I guess.

On the long weekend of November 10th, 11 and 12th, everybody I know in Mozambique decided to make a trip to Tofo, Inhambane, a beach getaway just a 6 hours drive away. Friday was great (since it was a holliday, the weekend seemed promising). The water was great. Everybody who knows me knows perfectly that I don't last long in the water, but this time I had my revenge. The waves were mine! All mine! I still don't know how I didn't get cooked from being in the (hot) water for so long. I even learned how to surf (thanks for the lesson Tiago. You still need to teach me some more).

Saturday I took a walk alone by the seaside. Beautifull. Nothing but the sand, the surf and the sun. No one but me on that side of the beach . That afternoon I decided to go horse riding. Everybody went along and that made us 6 riders of the apocalypse, grazing through the countryside. The horses weren't that good but it was worth our while.

Before we headed to the horses, we left our dog on the porch with enough food and water so he wouldn't die of thirst. When we arrived, he started wagging his tail and moaning like he hadn't seen us in years. He vomited all over and we found some blood on the floor. That's when it all started...

The following hours were gruesome. He started bleeding even more from his backside. Even if he drank some water, it came back out again from where it came. He couldn't keep anything in his stomach. It must have been something he ate. Something toxic, not a sharp object as we initially thought. He couldn't keep still. As the hours passed he either wanted to be alone or with me and my wife. Everybody petted him. We all loved him even though he was a bit of a nuisance at times. Not even Tiago which Puto loved above many could get him to liven up. His tail was slowing down more and more...

We thought about sleeping and let it pass because we gave him some pills so he wouldn't vomit any more. But he kept bleeding all over the place...

At about 3am, some of our friends convinced us to go to Inhambane and find a doctor or a veterinarian, with no luck. When we returned he was really cold and quiet. We covered him with blankets and petted him for some warmth. We even tried giving him some hot milk.

Sometime at 5am, he gave one last bark like that felt like he was calling us to say goodbye. It threw us over the edge. We all knew he wasn't going to last long. Tears rolled from everyone's faces...

My dog became a metaphor for all that's happened to me and my wife in Mozambique. All the bad luck that struck us since our marriage August 12th had ended. One thing's for sure: black animals do bring bad luck. It ended with him in Tofo, Inhambane.

Till a next post,

JC

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