Meet Chiquita

Meet Chiquita, the tiniest member of our family. Chiquita hails from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Her story is an interesting one, though I wish she could tell me the tales of her life before. We rescued Chiquita through a friend who works in conjunction with a PV veterinarian to rescue street dogs and find them homes here in Canada. When we were told there was a dog available for adoption, we jumped on it. When I saw her photo, the one they took of her the day they found her in dire medical need on the streets of Puerto Vallarta, I fell in love. I didn't see her ragged exterior. All I saw was her sweet soul through her eyes. I wept.

The vet estimated her age to be between 2-5 years old when they took her in and began treating her distemper and the tick burrowed next to her eye socket, among other things. When she finally arrived in Canada after nearly two months of treatment, we brought her home and surrounded her with love. We were surprised to find that she didn't know anything about living in a home or being a dog. She didn't bark, she didn't play, she didn't chew treats or bones, and she didn't know how to get up on the couch or bed. She seemed content to burrow into the throw on our couch and nap all day, only stirring to take in pets and praises. She was skinny and frail, and you could see right through her fur to her skin. But we didn't need any more from her than she was able to give. We could see the relief in her eyes, could feel the gratitude for our love, and that was enough.

I'll never forget the first time she 'barked'. I heard the strange squeak, and at first, I didn't even consider that it came out of her tiny frame. When I realized that it was her attempt at a bark, I was amazed. Up until then, I had assumed she just wasn't able to. Survival rates for distemper are low, and even with the care she received in Mexico, they prepared us for the possibility she wouldn't live a long life. There was no way to know how long she'd been suffering with it or the extent of her neurological damage. One thing was certain, whatever damage had been sustained was permanent, they told us. Her tiny jaw would jerk open and close on its own accord, whether she was sleeping or awake. It never rested. When visiting the veterinarian here in Canada, he asked me how often she had seizures. She hadn't had any, I told him. He was shocked. He explained that in all his years as a vet, he had never seen a dog survive distemper, even with early treatment. The vet said all the dogs he'd treated or even heard about from his colleagues eventually died from recurring seizures. He called our Chiquita a little miracle.

Then we got Toby, our covid-lockdown rescue mutt. He was just a puppy, and Chiquita was naturally jealous. Toby wanted to play, and he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Eventually, Chiquita gave in. We couldn't believe her transformation. She became a different dog than the one we'd cared for the previous two years. She ran and played and stole all Toby's chew bones for herself. She got the zoomies up and down our living room furniture. She barked in unison with her new pup friend. She became a bone-ified dog. Our hearts were so full of gratitude that we were able to give her a real home.

Last summer, I was looking at her cute little face and I noticed something out of the ordinary. She wasn't moving. Blinking, I looked again, then closer. Nothing. No muscle spasms. I thought I must be wrong; the veterinarians had told us that her nerve damage was permanent. I watched her closely over the next few days, and I can't tell you how, but her twitch was gone. Just like that. She’s never had the spasms since.

We estimate her to be over eight years old now. It’s humbling to know we've been able to give her a good life, despite what horrors she endured her first years on the streets of Puerto Vallarta. She is still terrified of brooms, which I imagine from being shooed off many a front step by broom-wielding occupants. I’ve been to Mexico many times, and there is a piece of my heart there, always. I love the people, the culture, and the food, just to name a few great things about it. I’ve not travelled there without falling in love with a street dog or two. I couldn’t help myself. I had always dreamed of bringing one of the unfortunate creatures home with me. I’m that bleeding heart you see sneaking some of my street tacos to the dogs under the table. Giving them a scratch behind the ears like a person looking to catch fleas. I haven’t been able to travel there in some time, but my Chiquita is like having a little piece of Mexico, right here. And, well dammit, we’re the lucky ones to have her.

Leah Marguerite