Another Beast of the Tropical Wild

Nearly every morning, the dogs all line up on the porch to receive a treat of little hot dog pieces. I started doing it as a way to help Brynn become part of the gang, and it is such a pleasure to see them wait so patiently as I go down the line, one after the other, doling out little pink bits. One morning this week, Roxie, the Rottweiler, showed up as usual, but was unable to eat due to spines impaling her tongue and muzzle. At first I thought she'd chewed a cactus plant, of which there are many about. I found Roxie's muddy pawprints on my bedsheets, and when I pulled the sheets off the mattress, a stray spine ended up in my little finger. This was like no cactus spine I'd ever seen.

I asked Salvador to examine Roxie's mouth. He did, and then looked around the compound for a possible source of the stiff, multicolored spines. He found it, up a tree—a Mexican dwarf hairy porcupine.

When I looked it up online, I found many photos of people holding these apparently gentle creatures with admittedly wicked defenses and long prehensile tails. Their spines are not as long as their North American cousins' but are similarly engineered to have barbs that make extraction a very difficult and painful proposition. Even with tweezers, Salvador could not remove the dozen or so spines in Roxie's mouth.

Silvio, the itinerant motorcycle vet, was called, and when he showed up that afternoon, he anesthetized Roxie, laying her out on the dining table and removing the spines. Within hours, she was her old self, and very hungry, though not permitted food until the next day. The Mexican porcupine fared less happily. After reading about the creature, I hoped Salvador would find a way to relocate the poor little thing, but the machete had already done its work. I've been here four months, and we've had poisonous toads, venomous snake, porcupine spines... I have yet to encounter a scorpion, though they are common here. And don't forget chikungunya and those ever lovin' mosquitoes.

Footnote to last weekend's flurry of activity with Bobby:

Bobby caught this moment when everyone joins in to help beach an incoming panga, as well as a sad-visaged tyke in the fish market.

Sunday, after an early morning visit to the Casares fish market, we drove to Masaya, the town that poet Rubén Darío called "the city of flowers," widely regarded as a haven for artisans and craftsmen, and home to a large mercado frequented by tourists. These kids are performing as a couple traditional characters for tourist change. Just out of view, two very loud drummers.

When we reached the market, we were guided to a parking spot by one of the ubiquitous street entrepreneurs—factota, if you will —who will keep an eye on your car, find somebody to wash it or pop out a dent while you shop, do your laundry (kidding!), direct you to a restaurant or a booth within the mercado. Bobby and I really just wanted to stroll and enjoy the sights, and we fended off various "helpers" along the way. We also bumped into our car watcher a few times, at some distance from the actual car. But he turned out to be a help when we wanted to visit a tapiceria, a place where they make the rope tapestries — creating pictures of villages, or people, birds, or fruits, by stitching together flat portions of coiled rope into colorful wall art and rugs. Bob remembered a tapiz I had brought back for our mother years ago, and hoped to buy one for himself.

Joseph, our car watcher, sent us off on a fruitless search on foot, after which we returned and found a good sandwich cafe with air conditioning, Cafe Nani. As we were finishing our lunch, who pops up but Joseph, dismayed that we had not found the tapiceria. He suggested we collect the car, and he would direct us to another, too far for walking. So we did, and we ended up a a couple of other places that turned out not to be tapicerias. We did, finally, find the spot, and Bobby managed to find a very beautiful village scene in gorgeous saturated colors. And, just around the corner, a hammock studio, with exquisite hamacas strung up on the porch. The master explained the process of teams who crochet the side panels, weave or knit the body, tie off the sections and attach them to the wooden spreaders on either end. Ten people in all, and about 60 hours of labor for each hammock. Well, both Bobby and I decided to purchase one, at about $75 apiece. A good day's business for them, too. Why we neglected to photograph both the tapiceria and the hammock place is a mystery. Apologies. We dropped off Joseph back in town before we set off for home, with a nice tip for his efforts.

Here is Bobby's tapiz, with Heidi:
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