My next door neighbor, Fatima, has a beautiful house and an enormous garden full of pineapples, cashews, plantains, bananas, papayas, mangoes, avocados -- you name it. She is rather well-to-do, and her husband has a California company which keeps him in the States half the time. A trio of large German Shepherds guard the place and are very fierce indeed, until a word from Fatima, and then they become positively adorable.
I have posited once or twice that I would feel safer with a
pastor aleman at the ready, and to my surprise, Maria José turned up with a "mainly" German Shepherd puppy in tow, a skinny thing, with beautiful markings and a mutt face. She asked if I would want to buy her, and I said I would have to think about it. The pup stayed for the weekend, eating up everything in sight and driving Brynn and Susie crazy. I decided I would pass on the dog. It was not the cost - 500 cordobas, of about $17 -- but its dubious breeding. Would it be an impressive, bold guardian when it reached maturity, or just another small-headed long-legged Nica mutt?
Alas, my
empleada's crestfallen look when I informed her of my decision told the tale. She had already paid for the dog, and could not return her to the original owner. Nor could she afford to keep her. I told her that I did not want the added commitment of a third dog, but that the puppy could remain here for the time being. I know what this really means. And yes, she now has a name - Juno -- in tribute to Gabriel's first dog who perished under the wheels of my dad's truck. I'll have a chat with MJ about ever again spending her own money on anything for me that she has not discussed with me beforehand.
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I have voiced my admiration for Maria José numerous times in these pages. She is truly such a capable, hard-working young woman, and her husband has proven himself to be a valuable asset as well -- fixing fans, mending the roof, building the chicken coop. They are both so industrious in their efforts to earn a few pesos here and there. They never complain of their poverty, and it is easy to forget how tough it really is to make ends meet. It also makes for awkward moments, as when Maria José cleans out the refrigerator and asks if she can have the slightly moldy tomatoes or the limp celery. Or when she goes through my waste can and pulls out the empty mustard jar and asks if she may have it. She makes chili vinegar with chilis, onions, and carrots and can sell a jar for 10 cordobas. I am learning not to throw away as thoughtlessly as a lifetime in the States taught me to do.
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I buy
hueso rojo - red bones -- which are sawn up chunks of beef ribs, vertebrae, and so forth, with some meat still attached --to give to the dogs. It costs about 60 cents a pound, and I buy about 15 pounds every two weeks. The thing is--
hueso rojo is normally purchased to make beef broth for soup, for
people, and I buy it for my dogs. The discomfort may be mine alone, and I'm not likely to deny my dogs their treat, but I confess I do feel it.
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You may recall that just before Christmas, I replaced my gardener, who had gotten a job in Managua and had too little time available to do the heavy yard work. This, just after he and his wife had had their first baby. I felt rotten about discharging him, but I really needed a functioning gardener. Well, Byron and Brenda turned up unexpectedly for a visit the other night, with baby Evan Yair. It was so very nice to see them, and catch up. Which took about 30 seconds. Yair is five months old, Byron is still working in Managua, and, well, that's it. They are sweet, and so happy with their baby. I hope Byron can get a phone soon, so he can keep in touch. I'd like to buy some baby things for them. I remember Brenda coming by when she was pregnant, wearing a shirt that was popping its buttons -- clearly not maternity wear. I gave her a couple of my shirts, too big for her, but fine for pregnancy.
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My present gardener, Roger, cut some fence posts to support a fence to keep the dogs out of the veggie garden. These posts were parts of trees, and incredibly, almost immediately sprouted leaves and branches. I am so taken with their determination to survive being cut and de-twigged that I now water the posts to encourage their clear mission to remain growing trees!
Last year, Byron gave me an orchid, unblooming at the time. We attached it to a tree, and all through the dry season, I spritzed it nearly every day. I was afraid it would not survive, but it has surprised me with blooms this week. Welcome May!
