Little Moon By Ben Gavarre

Little Moon

By Ben Gavarre

 

 

My name is Moon. They found me in a tire. The tire was my home, my bed, my refuge.

      I never knew my father; I remember my mother very well because she protected us, gave us food, and taught us how to take our first steps.

I remember my siblings a lot. They were always angry because I was the best of all. I learned to walk before anyone else, to look for edible insects before anyone else… and also to eat almost all the leftovers that a cheesy-scented woman occasionally brought to my mom.

At first, we lived together in a small, abandoned room on an ugly, gray lot near a large avenue. My mother breastfed us patiently. We were three siblings, three very close puppies, our bodies pressed together as we fell asleep in our beautiful mother's lap.

She was small and strong. She was indomitable and almost always affectionate.  She kept us well fed and sheltered. She was so generous that she gave us all the food they gave us and nudged us with her little nose so we could learn to walk.

*

The weeks passed, and all we did was grow and fend for ourselves.

By now, almost all of us had chosen a private place for our urgent needs. We had fiercely marked them as our respective territories. Mine was at the farthest part, almost at the bottom of the vacant lot. It was the ideal place for a young lady like me to pee without anyone seeing me.

Suddenly, my two brothers and I were running around alone. My mother would get nervous and bark angrily at us to keep us from straying too far. I, as I was always the last one "home," would be the target of my very angry mother's bites and barks.

  As the days passed, the three little brothers and sisters were beginning to grow. My mother did everything for us, and we never lacked food or clean water.

      Everything seemed fine; we were very happy, and perhaps we didn't even realize it. We grew up peacefully despite our poor life.

One bad day, however, some men arrived who seemed very angry. They roughly grabbed my mother by the neck and threw her into the back of a white pickup truck. My brothers and I were very scared. We didn't understand what was happening. We tried to escape, but the men were very angry and wanted to take us somewhere.

I managed to hide under some rocks and stayed there for hours. When I finally came out of my hiding place, I couldn't see my brothers or my mother anymore. The men in the white pickup truck had taken them.

I didn't want to stay there. I didn't feel safe.

 I managed to squeeze through some barbed wire surrounding the property and ended up on the noisy avenue that had always intrigued me so much.

*

I walked nervously through the noisy streets, filled with aggressive cars. People looked at me, surprised that I was so alone and free on the street. They talked to me, called me as if they'd known me before. A young man in rubber shoes made many gestures, spoke to me as if I were completely stupid, and held his onion-scented hands close to my nose. Then he tried to grab me, but I ran as fast as I could and ducked into a flower bed near the corner of the large, noisy avenue.

Almost at the corner of the planter box, next to a large, dry tree, was the enormous tire that would be my home for the next few days. It was like those big truck tires; it smelled a little old, and it was already so worn that large holes had formed on the sides, allowing you to look through them without being seen. It was the ideal hiding place. My two brothers, me, and probably my mom would have easily fit inside.

I felt like crying when I thought of them, but I quickly held them back because I had other worries to deal with instead of being sad. I was hungry, thirsty, and cold. I was tired and very sleepy, but I kept my eyes wide open, alert in case things got worse.

From the holes in my tire, I spied on everyone walking down the street. I could see them, I could hear them, but above all, I could smell them with my enormous nose.

They seemed to be in a hurry.  Some smelled like mint and made tick-tock-tock-tock noises. Others smelled like butter and made flip-flop-flip-flop sounds. There were some that were tiki-tiki-tiki-ing and smelled like the perfume of lemons and oranges. The ones that made me most nervous were those who smelled like pure sour sweat and ran very fast as if someone was chasing them.

Most of these walkers scared me. Some were elegant, sad, worried, or in a very bad mood. I watched them, I could tell if they had good or bad intentions. From then on, I learned to distinguish between those who were trustworthy humans and those who were definitely evil and willing to do anything to catch me and trap me. I lived in fear, always awake, alert, and couldn't afford to be unprepared in a cruel world full of dangers.

 And unfortunately, I wasn't wrong, because one bad morning, suddenly, a shiny plastic ball rolled right into the middle of the yard where my tire was, and soon after, two children jumped into my tiny yard and, upon grabbing their ball, discovered me, even though I tried hard to make myself small and invisible inside my hiding place.

*

For a while, my thirst, my hunger, and my fear were solved. The two children liked me because they took me to a huge, old house. They gave me water, milk, crackers, ham, and canned soup. They took me upstairs and put me in a dirty room full of old things. They locked me in a large plastic cage with a metal-grid door and a handle at the top. It was like a large suitcase, and inside were old blankets that smelled of cat urine.

Despite having imprisoned me, the children were very affectionate with me when they let me out.  They held me with such trust and kept petting me and talking to me softly, very softly. They looked me straight in the eyes and smiled at me as if they were in love. I tried to bite them, but they continued being affectionate and sang to me, hugged me, smiled at me, kissed me, and wouldn't leave me alone. Whenever they decided to, they would open the door of my cage and take me out to feed me. They gave me cheese, tortillas, eggs, beans, oatmeal... They gave me so much food that I thought they were trying to fatten me up and then eat me.

They spent most of their time downstairs in the house, where they never sat still. They talked loudly and played with their ball, chased each other, or jumped on the beds and couches. When they came to check on me, they would try to pick me up again, kiss me, and pet me. They continued talking to me in their high-pitched voices, speaking softly to me, and calling me many names.  They called me Doll, Laika, Lala, Candy, Frufrú. I didn't like their names, and I didn't like the constant attempts by those two chubby children to grab me, carry me, and pet me. I was terrified that they were going to eat me, and I became even more afraid when a very tall, loud woman arrived and began scolding the children. The grumpy woman "couldn't believe her children's unforgivable behavior." She said many terrible things in a very short time: "She had completely lost trust in them," "they had shamelessly deceived her," "they would undoubtedly receive an exemplary punishment," "their father was going to find out," "they were irresponsible because they exposed everyone in that house to terrible diseases, nauseating plagues, lice, fleas, scabies, and, in short, a host of calamities and filth" ... and many more words that I don't remember now but that surely ended in "ades."  In short: she asked them to get rid of me immediately. “I was nothing but a pile of dirt and responsibilities, no one was going to take care of me when I stopped being a novelty, when the irresponsible kids went to school and left all the work and problems to her,” she told the screaming woman who threatened to kick me out.

*

The chubby kids took me to a gigantic park in the middle of the city's main avenues. They put me in a cage that smelled of cat urine, but fortunately they removed the door and also left me a large bag full of kibble and water. They cried a lot; they told me, "Please take care of yourself." They were very sad, but they left.

*

I got into my cage, and from the first seconds I knew something wasn't right. I felt watched, but there was nothing but trees, wet ground, and more wet ground. It was a place almost hidden in the middle of the park. I felt watched again, and I wasn't wrong: a huge, furry, gray cat stared at me as if it were going to eat me. I growled at the top of my lungs. I thought, foolishly, that it would run away from my powerful attack, but I couldn't scare it away. It approached my house and continued watching me with increasing intensity.  I was sure the evil cat wanted to take my cage, or eat my kibble.

I became very nervous, trembling with fear but also with rage that it was trying to take away my few possessions.

I somehow found a lot of strength and lunged at it, kicking and biting it. From the depths of my little body, I barked at it like I'd never barked before, with a vigorous sound, the most powerful on earth and beyond. That's what I thought then.

The evil cat also attacked me, biting and scratching me. The fight was intense, but it lasted much less than what I was reliving in my head afterward. The truth is, I won. I was able to defend myself and my home.

I never heard anything about the evil cat. The last thing I remember is that it ran away, jumped up a tree, and disappeared. I never saw it again.

*

Many days passed.  The kibble had been gone for a while. I was hungry and cold. I wasn't thirsty because it was the rainy season, and I could drink the water trapped in the puddles. My hunger never went away, but at least I could eat one or two worms that remained in the ground when it rained hard.

My cage was still my hiding place. The chubby children chose a good spot because no one passed by. I think the wet ground scared everyone away. People passed by far away, where there wasn't any mud, where everything was dry. They went alone or accompanied by little dogs like me. They were held by the neck on chains or leashes from which they couldn't escape. Some of those little dogs noticed my presence because they started barking. Their humans scolded them. I hoped one of them would break free from their chains and come see me. That never happened.

*

Unfortunately, my good luck didn't last long, because one bad day, a large, feisty dog arrived who would ruin my life and even part of my ear. He growled at me as I was savoring a pork chop bone. He tried to take it away from me with his menacing, devilish eyes. He growled at me as if he were going to devour me, bone and all. Finally, when I ignored him, he began to speak to me, to my surprise, in a calm and even elegant manner. He invited me to stay away from his trash cans, because they were his trash cans, even though he hadn't been around for the past few days, having returned after being busy with all sorts of adventures. Suddenly changing his attitude again, he became rude and violent again. He yelled at me to get out of here and not to even think about coming back there again.

Very bad, everything after that moment went very wrong for me.  I started growling at the big dog, and I faced him, ready to give him what I thought he deserved, but he didn't growl at me anymore, or bark at me, or glare at me. He just lunged at me, in a vicious manner, and tore off a piece of my poor ear. Then, he chased me everywhere as if he were going to devour me, and I, panicking, left the park boundaries, crossed the street without looking, and that's when they hit me and left me crooked.

*

I never saw the car coming. Apparently the driver tried to avoid me because I'm still alive and can tell all this. The man who hit me felt very guilty because he paid all the vet bills. They injected me with horrible things that made me sleep for days on end, maybe weeks.  And not only was I sleeping, but amid endless hallucinations, I saw dogs and wolves trying to kill me, walkers with hands full of chains, creepy cats, and more and more terrifying and disturbing demons. As I learned later, when I regained consciousness, they bathed me, dried me, dewormed me, and of course fed me very healthy food, sometimes delicious and sometimes very dry and bland. They straightened me up, I stopped being crooked or walking sideways, they fixed two broken ribs, they stitched my bitten ear, and they operated on me so I couldn't have puppies. As I learned, I was also of an undefined breed and was seven months old, and they were going to put me up for adoption. That was if anyone was interested in me and got me out of the dog shelter where I later ended up.

*

At the shelter, they gave me a "welcome" bath. It was terrifying.  The water was cold, and the person who bathed me would be responsible for making my life miserable in the coming days. This Don Pedro, as he was called, was a very unpleasant little man. He was skinny and hunched over and had a habit of swearing when he was alone with us refugees. Don Pedro didn't care if I screamed; on the contrary, he slapped me around and called me a spoiled, flea-ridden, and ugly dog. He yelled at me horribly and insulted me, but I couldn't defend myself, couldn't refute his hateful words, couldn't prove to him that I had been bathed and dewormed, and that I was also very beautiful and friendly, as many people had already told me. Since he continued slapping me around, I stayed quiet and waited for him to finish his work. Everything was better when I went to lie down on a patio where the sun would finish drying me off.  *

There I was, after my first swim. I was shivering from the cold despite the sun. It was no use trying to shake the water off by vigorously shaking myself.

There I was, shivering and trying to dry myself with my tongue, and that's when Max arrived, a vigorous, pointy-eared dog who tried in vain to play with me. He would come up and bark at me, then run like crazy, then come back as if inviting me to chase him or something. He would nudge me with his head and make me walk a few steps. I felt better. My new, very furry friend kept encouraging me. I walked a little faster, and then, without realizing it, I started running, trying to chase the enthusiastic one who barked even louder when a high-pitched, loud sound was heard in the distance. The sound grew louder and louder. Don Pedro appeared in the yard blowing a whistle, followed by the entire pack. All the dogs in the shelter were ready for Don Pedro to throw handfuls of kibble at them, which fell everywhere. The dogs ate as if they had never eaten before. There were fights, blows, insults.  I approached a piece of kibble that fell near me, but a nasty, bald dog bared a row of teeth at me. Being very friendly, I smiled at him and walked away.

I didn't eat that day. I did drink a lot of water, though. We could drink it whenever we wanted from a water fountain that came out all the time. No one bothered you if you drank enough or were dying of thirst.

A few days after arriving at the shelter, Don Pedro left us all in the yard, and there I made great friends and some enemies. It was like a doggy party. We all sniffed each other and introduced ourselves almost nonstop, as if there was nothing else in life but to go with one doggy friend and later with another. We chased each other and sometimes bit each other's butts, we sniffed each other, got angry, and then barked intensely.

A long, dark dog, like a sausage, took possession of a small ball that several of us were playing with. The dachshund was very selfish and wanted to keep it all to himself. Max, who didn't like injustice, cornered him in a corner of the yard and growled so fiercely that the sausage dropped the ball, and it immediately landed in the snout of a long-tailed dog, then in the hands of a chubby, young dog, and then, well, it was my turn. I ran off with the ball, but I had to deal with the bald, sullen dog again, who showed me his fearsome row of teeth. I didn't hand it over; I let it go so someone else could grab it, and it was my friend Max who immediately took it in his powerful jaws and began to bite it so hard that he ended up tearing it to pieces. The bald, toothy dog was very angry; our feud had officially been declared.  He looked at me as if he were going to pounce on me, walked slowly toward me, but then, just as he was about to pounce, the little sausage-shaped dog got in front of him. He bit his neck, then flipped him upside down, mounted him as if he were a pony instead of a dog, and held him there, holding him with his little paws to subdue him, so he wouldn't growl at everyone anymore. The bald dog calmed down; he wasn't as aggressive with me or anyone else anymore. The sausage dog also warmed up; I must say I even started to like him more than I had imagined. I must also say that the bald dog with the sharp teeth was actually a female dog. We made up by sniffing each other's rear ends. Then we sniffed each other's snouts, and so, in a simple way, we said goodbye and went our separate ways.

Many hours passed, and it seemed as if Don Pedro had forgotten to put us back in our cages.  We had grown tired of playing so much, we all felt like sleeping or, if not, licking our respective paws or trying to get rid of the unbearable flies and mosquitoes that always came to bother us when we were about to sleep.

Nights were difficult for me, because I was always scared stiff. I stayed awake as long as possible, but eventually sleep overcame me. Sometimes I pretended to be awake; I was surprised at how well I could hide my alertness. I was the great pretender, a great actress, a fearsome wolf. The truth was, I was fast asleep, sitting up with my eyes open, like a small statue, so everyone would think I was ready to defend myself.

*

Hunger made me leave my comfort zone. I walked as quickly as I could to two enormous trash cans, where many cats and some birds were approaching. Both cans were very full and overflowing with cans, cups, and leftover food. Since I was tiny, I couldn't even jump and reach a banana peel. Sometimes someone with poor aim would throw a bitten apple or even an unfinished hot dog near the cans.  Once I was lucky because a child threw away his lunch, and I was able to eat a hard-boiled egg, an apple, and a whole ham sandwich.

Passersby in the park continued to throw lots of food into the trash cans. Sometimes I managed to eat an entire vanilla ice cream cone and even a slice of pizza, if I left.

It seemed incredible, but the twenty-five of us had managed to remain silent. Don Pedro didn't show up, and the truth is, no one missed him. We spent the night outside our cages; some continued playing, others, frankly, did nothing but lie down on their backs and choose the best place to be cozy. Silence fell over that patio where the dogs fell fast asleep.

*

Morning came, but it wasn't sunlight that woke us, but the sharp whistle of an unrecognizable and charming Don Pedro, very combed, bathed, and wearing clean clothes.

 We doubted it was the same Don Pedro because he cleaned the yard without swearing, called us all by name, and didn't scold anyone for pooping and peeing where they shouldn't.

No one could believe it; it was a new Don Pedro who worked with gusto, using the hose to clean the yard, not to mercilessly bathe us. He spoke to us pleasantly and didn't try to hit us with the broom.

Still, he couldn't get any of us to approach him or look at him differently. He had earned our distrust, and so we remained alert, always waiting from a distance, in case it was a trap.

To our surprise, the new Don Pedro seemed willing to be affectionate with us. He smiled at us and even sang to us in a voice that tried to be pleasant, but which, frankly, sounded more like a bellow than a human voice.

 He lined up some metal plates I'd never seen before, served us our croquettes on each one, and was very careful to make sure no one went without.

Well, that was the new Don Pedro. He let us stay in the yard the whole time and continued cleaning and treating us well. We liked the new approach, but, honestly, we suspected something was up. Max and I exchanged very knowing glances. The sausage, who had declared himself the leader of the pack, was pacing back and forth, barking at us, as if trying to warn us of some danger.

After he'd cleaned the yard, Don Pedro left us speechless and half-terrified when he began brushing and petting us. He started with Max, I suppose because of his long, thick fur. We all approached this strange scene and expressed ourselves in a variety of ways, with howls, whines, or outright barks.  None of us wanted to be next in the hands of our sinister caretaker. We were used to being hosed down, and the idea of having our hair combed seemed unbelievable.

The bell rang for visitors. Maybe one of us was going to a better life—I mean, to be adopted by a happy and generous family. At least that's what I thought, but I was completely wrong.

A radiant young woman, smelling of soap and fresh lettuce, arrived at the shelter's courtyard. She wore white shoes with rubber soles and spoke very kindly and confidently. "Miss Mia," this Don Pedro called her. "You can see that what you've been told about me is a lie. All the boys have received the best treatment, I've cared for them all with equal love and care, and I assure you, you have nothing to worry about."

"Yes, yes... that's what you say, but I have other information." That's what Miss Mia replied, not looking kindly at the crestfallen and guilty little man. "Well, the reason for my visit also has other matters." And the other matter, I couldn't believe it, was none other than myself. She asked about me. She asked about "the new dog." She was very worried about me because not long ago I'd been run over by a car, and someone had reported mistreatment and lack of attention not only to me but to all the dogs at the shelter.

 Don Pedro didn't know how it was possible that someone could speak ill of his work, when he gave his entire life to lovingly care for and look after the twenty-five dogs and...

...And after telling all kinds of lies, he fell silent when he saw the very serious Miss Mia. She explained that his actions could make him lose his job. She let him know that she was aware of his behavior and that if he didn't change his way of running the shelter, he would have to face the consequences.

While they talked, my friend Max and I talked about all kinds of gossipy neighbors who were always there, people who looked in through windows and talked on the phone, took photos, recorded... Max told me about hidden cameras and extraordinary things that would put Don Pedro in his place.

In the following days, Don Pedro returned to his usual grumpy self, but with the added benefit of being the one he really had to do things right.  The reason for the change, and the very good news, was that Miss Mía would be coming to the shelter, but not just for a short visit, but at least two or three days a week to take good care of us.

Life hadn't been very kind to me, but things went very well with Mía. At that time, I still didn't have a name, although I'd already been called many things. Mía, then, named me "Lunita." She called me that because I had two beautiful moles on my tummy and a beautiful black mole under my doggy snout.

So, Lunita, I stayed. I was very happy and thought about living full-time at the shelter with my dear and beloved Mía, but she explained to us that she couldn't adopt us herself. She would talk to us for hours, telling us that her mission with the shelter was to find us a home, good humans, and a life and a future where we would be happy. She couldn't take care of every one of us, even if she wanted to.  That's what he always told us, and the truth is that every day more homeless friends like me arrived, and there were fewer and fewer people who wanted to adopt us. Not me, at least.

Visitors had "a specific day and time" to come see us. This is what Mia explained to Don Pedro, who pretended he understood and would leave us all clean and combed, and the entire shelter would be ready and tidy.

On Sunday mornings, potential new parents would pass by our kennels with slightly fake smiles. They wanted a dog that was spayed, dewormed, not too litter-ridden, not too sociable, not too big, not too small, hairless, completely mute, that wouldn't pee where it shouldn't, wouldn't destroy things, wouldn't need much attention, and, if possible, that they would never have to take outside.

.

Mía was very kind despite so many demands, explaining that "all dogs could receive a good education," "love is born from sight," "there is no ugly dog," "all are beautiful if you manage to love them as unique dogs" ... and if they liked any of us, they could try keeping us for at least a week and then they would know if they could get a good adoption or not.

The visitors raised their eyebrows. They remained silent for a few seconds and examined the candidates with some discomfort, and I would say even disgust.

Mía told them how we were all sterilized, vaccinated, dewormed, and many words that ended in "ado." She explained that we were not stuffed toys, nor Christmas gifts, nor a surrogate child. Of course, we were a lifelong responsibility, and that's why new adopters had to sign commitment papers agreeing to be monitored for a long time.

 One day, a couple interrupted Mía and, with a frank attitude of feeling like they were the big shots, asked her if all the dogs at that shelter were so…

And they didn't continue… after the “so what?” Mía confronted them: “So what… And when they said, so ordinary, we're looking for a purebred dog, not dogs so…” And they pointed at me. They said, “So like that one, the one with the wrinkled ear,” and I was petrified and confused because in addition to pointing at me, they treated me as if I were a male dog.

Mía, always kind, told them my story, about how I had been run over and then recovered, and how I had responded well to treatment and…

They didn't let her finish. The applicants asked if she had a dog like Max, a white dog with a wolfish face, but a puppy, or at most a year old, but not three like my friend. Or if they had any Belgian or German or English shepherds or…

Mía lost her patience.  She gave them a quick invitation to leave and asked them not to ask for dogs for adoption again, neither there nor at any other shelter. She told them many things. She ended by telling them that there were people who weren't qualified to own a dog, nor to care for one, much less to love one. Surely if they continued with their foolishness and got a puppy, they would end up leaving it on the street. It was better for them not to go near any shelter again because they would regret it. The two visitors, a very well-groomed young couple, stared at her in terror and then left.

Mía continued talking loudly, staring at me especially, because I was the one who had received the most insults. She said that if the very confused visitors really wanted to adopt a dog, they should buy a stuffed animal, and even then they would end up leaving it abandoned in a basement. I was very angry. She spoke to me very nicely.  She complimented my caramel eyes, which looked lovingly at her, told me I had black eyebrows like an Egyptian sculpture, and made me feel better when she told me I was older now and very beautiful and very… She suddenly fell silent and continued petting me silently, her eyes filled with tears.

*

Days, months, and then a whole year passed. Many of my friends and acquaintances had already left. Max was on the verge of leaving once, but they brought him back “because he had eaten a chair.” I wasn't having much luck either. They promoted me on I don't know what social media, and Max knew absolutely everything about it. Mia took lots of pictures of me, made me look really pretty, she said, put a pink bow on my head, made me sit very still, and told me I looked beautiful and that surely someone would adopt me now. She smiled at me with supposed joy, but I realized that other dog friends were managing to find new parents, but not me.

 *

Three years have passed. My friend Max and I are happily lying belly up in our respective little beds. Our new house is big and always sunny. We have two large yards and a rooftop terrace we can go to whenever we want. Our house is Mia's house. She loved us so much that she decided to stay with us, "not only because no one else was willing to adopt us" but "because we always felt like sticking together, as if we were siblings despite being so different." Max and I have a great time; we walk down the street together with Mia. From time to time, she takes us for walks to a beautiful and well-kept park, lets us off our leashes in a space specially dedicated to dogs, and watches over us the whole time we spend jumping, playing, meeting new dog friends, and running quickly to catch a red ball, a ball that, by the way, always ends up between the sharp teeth of my very good friend Max.

*