Osa, we hardly knew Ye

Buddha, chillin in the sun

We admitted defeat this week, and wondered aloud to her owners, Mike and Sandy, if there had been a plan B for Osa’s care.  We’d grown fond of her, but neither Hobbes nor Noir had.  And that’s why I was having a nervous breakdown- that and the spider bites.

Both of our cats have been using the house as a giant kitty litter box. Well, not the whole house, but the spare bedroom and the closet room- but the whole house smelled. For anyone not familiar with the noxious smell of cat pee, the odor is not unlike what you’d find in an alley behind a biker bar with no toilet.

The cats were afraid to go outside, having been chased first by Osa, then by Buddha and Osa in tandem. Turns out that Buddha didn’t have a mellowing effect on Osa; instead, Buddha learned the joy of chasing cats.

Jack says it’s hives. Hobbes has little bumps all around his neck, and he’s been hiding behind the sofa all week. Today, when I went to the co-op to buy dog food, I picked up some kitty tranquilizer as well. Can’t wait to see Jack administer 200 cs…

Osa has departed from Camp Buddha. Other friends of her owners agreed to let her join their family of dogs. The man came in his late model pickup truck yesterday. We didn’t notice the pit-bull-like dog inside the cab until Buddha and the dog had a growling and snarling match.

After we gathered together Osa’s 3 crushed plastic water bottles, her frayed tug-of-war rope, her towels, bowls and lunch money, the man took her off the line and hoisted her into the truck. I thought, Bye Osa. I’ll miss your sweet face, but you’ll be happier there. I looked on as the dog in the cab snapped at her. Uh-oh.

The truck hadn’t driven 20 yards from the house when Osa decided to come back. I watched in frozen horror as she clamored out of the truck bed, despite the rope that held her in.

Suddenly, she howled her pain to the world, and yelped, and howled some more. I screamed, and ran away towards the back of the house, hands covering my eyes, the way I do when I can’t watch carnage in a movie. On the way to the door, I glanced back, to see the farm workers laughing. Is it Ticos, I wondered, is it men, or is it me? But Osa kept up the crying for so long that I had to go see.

The man had gotten back into his truck, and reversed it, and set Osa free. Once again, I retreated out of sight. She’d stopped screaming, but I wasn’t sure if she’d survived, and I didn’t have high hopes for her. Will she die on the way out of here, I wondered. Am I a murderer?

But Jack said that Osa was able to stand up by herself.

All the news from Camp Buddha. 7-22-10

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About Myra

I'm retired in Costa Rica, having lived in Philly, State College, Salem Mass, and Kawagoe Japan. You might call me a career gypsy, but my last and best job was teaching English to some of the best and brightest kids in Philly. I'm new to blogging and websites, and will probably make all the mistakes there are, but now I'm sharing my writing. I moved to Costa Rica in June of 2009 with my husband Jack, my dog Buddha, and Jack's two cats, Hobbes and Noir.
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