My Life in Argentina and Beyond

Rubio. Last night I remembered us, and the excruciating physical, emotional and psychological pain of going on the elevator with him so that I could take him for one of his forced walks. Rubio was very ill and going out was a torture for him. All he wanted was the refuge of his apt. The neighbors didn’t cooperate. It was hard getting him out the door, pulling on him hard. And then we had to wait for the elevator—it had to be an empty one because they did not want us riding down with them. Some of the neighbors were polite about it, but most of them were just plain rude. Another highlight of those last few years with Rubio was the portero. The guy was a skunk. He would yell at me, insult me when Rubio, who was suffering from incontinence, would do it wherever he could. I cleaned up after him, but it still wouldn’t do any good. He took it upon himself to be cruel to us. Another jewel in the building was the young night watchman. He would stare, and stare hard, when Rubio pushed and pushed his shit out. The poor dog sometimes yelled out in pain and people would turn around to look. I took him to vet after vet; none seemed to help.