My Life in Argentina and Beyond

I miss my dogs. I miss Rubio—Rubio, the star German Shepherd, the loyal companion par excellence. Rubio was a dog that should have lived forever. Leo was the dog I had to give up for his own good. Leo was my protector but we had terrible neighbors and they made life very difficult for us. Chiquito—the Pekingese with the soul of an aristocrat. Chiquito, who was a connoisseur of what was beautiful and expensive. Then there was Otranto, my friend Nadia’s older dog. He and I understood each other with just one look. I didn’t even have to say a word—he knew. Niebla, Otranto’s half brother, was such a finicky eater that caviar would not have been good enough for him. They are gone now and I will not forget them. Each brought something to my life that was unique and not to be repeated again.

They couldn't find the vein, so they tried again. I hoped he would survive them. He was a fighter. I kissed him goodbye.

I was sad to learn that Oreo, the miracle pooch that was thrown from a building in Brooklyn a few months ago had to be put down. She recovered from her physical injuries, but the psychological ones were too much and it is said that she became aggressive with other dogs and her handler. The teenager who owned the dog has pleaded guilty and will be sentenced on December 1st. He deserves to be put in jail for a long time. Oreo was not given the chance to be rehabilitated and at 18 months, she was too young to die. A few years ago, I had to leave my dog Rubio, a German shepherd, at somebody’s house for a few months. A well meaning person later told me that although I paid this man and his wife well to take care of my dog, he did not get a blanket to sleep on. The man had him sleep on cold tiles even in winter weather. The man’s wife was sharp with Rubio and may have abused him. My dog had a great heart and when we ran into these people on the street, he treated them as old friends. Animal cruelty in whatever form is a terrible thing. I wish that Oreo had been able to find a home and had been able to trust people. May she Rest in Peace!

Friday, November 13, 2009: Today I am remembering a lost love. He was a priest and I was head over heels in love with him. Frankly, I cared nothing about religion, but because we lived in a Peyton Place type neighborhood, I pretended to. I cared deeply about him and I lost him. I will never recover that love and/or that magical feeling. That only came once in my life and it is gone forever. I hope that one day soon, when a woman falls in love with a priest, she can marry him. And I also hope that she won't have to hide her love and pretend to love someone else--someone who does not exist.Eugenia Renskoff

Thursday, November 12, 2009: Just before I close my eyes at inght, I think of him once more. I see Chiquito as he was when I met him and the blocks that we used to walk stretch out before me. Then I ask him to forgive me. I should have brought him over here to the U.S. almost 2 years ago

I feel tense and my left side—my arm and my neck—hurt. My mother, when we were children in Buenos Aires, must have felt the same way. She must have felt trapped in a beautiful neighborhood with a life she didn’t want. She never intended to be a housewife or a mother of 3 kids. Last night, when I couldn’t buy the things I had the money to buy, I shook just like she used to shake. She wanted to be free and do her own thing.

I don’t want to be poor and deny myself a simple pleasure like yogurt and/or oatmeal. I couldn’t vent with Lauchita. I held her tight and she comforted me in her kitty way. Her body was warm and understanding in my arms. My mother, when she was frustrated, let off steam in a way that hurt me.

People in Argentina are walking on well-lit streets and avenues, where there are lots of people in case of an emergency or robbery. This hasn’t happened before (not to my knowledge and/or not when I lived there). The crime rate did start to be high around November 1997, but this seems to be something altogether more serious and worrisome

A fat man with a well-fed face wearing a three-piece suit walked by our double line at the soup kitchen. He gave us—the women first and then the men—the once over and asked: What are these people waiting for? No one in the line answered. They probably thought ignoring him was the best thing to do. Food, I said. The man walked on with his group of friends. I smiled because I envied his luck. He’s probably never seen a soup kitchen line in real life. The only time he’s come across soup kitchens is in the movies.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009: I know I have to leave Williamsburgh. I know my time there is just about done. Because of the stress it is causing me, I have promised myself never ever to be in such a situation again. I would rather die first. Felling homeless is the worst!