(Friday) Thursday evening, Lukie, Beth's youngest dog, suddenly went into a paroxysm of vomiting and howling in an agony that was unearthly to hear. The evidence on the ground showed that she had eaten at least two poisonous frogs; she vacillated between grotesque body spasms with screeching cries and periods of silence with her neck extended and her legs frozen straight out. It was horrible to witness. To mitigate the effects of the poison, Salvador and his partner Regina, the couple who look after the place, went into ER mode, forcing milk down Lukie's throat and keeping her as calm as possible. Beth was not here at the time, and the internet was barely functioning, so I couldn't contact her to get the vet's phone number. Lukie survived the night, and we await the vet as I write this.
Poison frogs. Now I can worry about Brynn developing a taste for amphibians.
I did a little research and the likely culprit is the Marine Toad (Bufo marinus). The symptoms, time of year, and locale match exactly.
(Saturday) The vet injected an antidote -- toad poisoning is not uncommon-- and declared a good prognosis for Lukie. Here she is (L), being welcomed back by the pack:
Happily, Brynn has recovered the use of her hind leg that had been injured in a mishap with another, larger dog. She has also recovered her happy puppy demeanor, and has truly joined the pack here in La Boquita. When Beth is not around, all four dogs tend to lounge on the floor in my small kitchen. They recognized a sucker for doggies when they met me, and I find them wonderful company. I am, after all, here alone, with Brynn, of course, and no other human being to whom I am at all close. I am not lonesome, not yet. But I was remembering hugging my son goodbye on July 2, and realized it has been six weeks since I've hugged anyone like that. I do miss physical contact, and this little pack of dogs wants all the contact I can give them.
Bumpedy-bumping to Diriamba
Bus service to Diriamba is cheap and frequent. albeit there is no schedule. Usually, if I perch on the low wall out front by the road, an old Canadian Bluebird school bus will come rattling along. Some buses are the original yellow but many are painted in green and white or bear the signs of replacement panels in different colors. The bus is normally less than half full when it leaves La Boquita, but it stops for absolutely everyone en route, and detours off the main road to a catholic school in La Trinidad to deliver and collect students. It can get pretty tight.
The trip can be mighty entertaining, especially if someone rises to address the riders to sell something or preach a gospel, as this lady did recently. It was not unlike what my (little) son referred to as "robot talking," when my family prayed grace at the dinner table. She went on for a full half hour in alleluia-mode.
The guy to her left is the porter, who jumps out at every stop to help little old ladies (like me!) and children up the steps into the bus. He also collects fares, and seems able to remember each person to whom he owes change and how much, which he delivers later during the trip. The fare is 16 cordobas, about 60 cents.
By the Clock
Building addresses in Nicaragua are expressed as directions, and can go on forever. In Diriamba, most addresses refer to the town clock tower, e.g. "From the clock, two blocks west and three blocks north, the green building across from the pharmacy." The supermarket where I shop, Palí (incidentally, a subsidiary of [anguished groan] Walmart) is not far from the clock, and its address is Del reloj 1 C al E y 1 C al S (From the clock, 1 block to the East and 1 block to the South). Here is where I hop out of the bus. Some font, eh?
The clock keeps excellent time, by the way. Someday, I shall read the plaque and tell you something about the figure on the pedestal. And here is a look at the large church of St. Sebastian in Diriamba. San Sebastian is a pretty important chap hereabouts, I gather. The school in La Trinidad is in his name, as well as a couple of other small churches I've seen.
Across from the church, a colorful gazebo sort of affair
in the main plaza of Diriamba. One day, I'll investigate
the church for a future report here.
Below, a caponero, or tuk tuk, or tut tut, or moto, as many call them. There are 400 motos in Diriamba alone!
Hugs!
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