My Life in Argentina and Beyond

Thursday, December 17, 2009: A year ago today, Chiquito, my aristocratic dog, was buried in the garden of the vet's brother's house in Francisco Solano. Francisco Solano is in the province of Buenos Aires. If there something that I regret it is this: I was not with my dog during the last days of his life.

Two years ago todayI saw Chiquito for the last time. My time back in the U.S. has not been the stuff of dreams or even modest wishes. I regret this too.

In honor of Chiquito, my dear dead aristocratic dog, I watched Umberto D, the 1952 Vittorio de Sica movie. Umberto D, is the story of a retired man with a little dog, who is thrown out of his boarding house by the mean, bleached blond patrona (also known as landlady). The little dog is the co-star of the film. Umberto D, begs and tries to sell a watch to pay the landlady what he owes her, but it is not enough. He loses his dog when he has to go to the hospital for a few days, but luckily recovers him. Umberto runs into people that he knows—a couple of men acquaintances. He tells them his sad story, but they play dumb in one instance and in the other, just won’t help him. When Umberto tries to commit suicide, the dog senses what is about to happen, and runs away. Umberto yells for him to come back, runs after the dog (he is so cute doing one of his dog tricks) and they reconcile. The last scene has them, old man and dog, running in the park. Then some school children appear after being let out of school.

The movie was very touching and very realistic. It tells a story in a good way, though to some American viewers, it might seem depressing. There is no resolution to the retiree’s problem—where will he and his dog live now? One thing is certain: They will be together until the end of their lives. I wished to know more about how Umberto D got Flicke, how he lived before he was retired.

One year ago tomorrow (the 15th of December fell on a Monday), I made frantic phone calls to Argentina. The first phone call, from a pay phone outside the NY public library on 58th between Park and Lexington, informed me that Chiquito was very ill. He had anemia and the vet was doing all he could for him. I rushed to the library and looked up anemia on the Internet. I called Argentina again and told the vet’s wife that maybe a blood transfusion would be a good idea. Silence on the other end. I raised my voice. Are you there? I asked. She hesitated for a minute and told me that Chiquito was dead. Dead? Yes, my husband did everything he could, but he couldn’t save him. I cried; I couldn’t stop crying.

I want you to know, she continued, that it was hard to give you this bad news over the phone. This is long distance. We petted him and gave your dog as much affection as we could in the brief days that he was here.

But every time I called my neighbor, the one taking care of him, she said he was fine.

Well, maybe he was fine then, the vet’s wife said. But he missed his owner. Before hanging up the phone, I asked her to pray for him.

A year ago today I received an email informing me that Chiquito had been taken ill. I was far away and could not fly back to Argentina. Now, 4 days before the first anniversary of his death, I can’t help but feel that I failed my dog. I didn’t mean to, and when I talked to the people taking care of him in Buenos Aires, I pushed them to do everything they could for him. It was a long distance sort of push. I still have a feeling of guilt. I don’t know if it’ll ever go away. I only hope that he, in Doggie Heaven, can forgive me.

Monday, November 30, 2009: A year ago today he was still alive. I miss my little Pekingese and his aristocratic soul. I miss being understood by him and I miss seeing him. For the rest of my life I will feel guilty because I didn't bring him to the U.S. with me. I left him with whom I thought would take good care of him. Now I don't know if this was so. I know that I didn't have to pretend with Chiquito. He didn't judge me and he didn't laugh when I told him (by example) who I was.

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.

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

Saturday, August 8, 2009: Of all the unfortunate experiences I have had this time back in the U.S., the unexpected death of my dog in Argentina is the one that I regret the most. That is the one thing that makes me sadder than all the rest. Chiquito was a stray that I adopted shortly before my trip over here. I wish I had been able to bring him with me (I had his doggie passport and everything). The reception we would have received (Chiquito, Lauchita and me) would not have been good. Nevertheless, it would have been better to get him on the plane. If anybody was my soul mate, that dog was.

Monday, February 9, 2009: Chiquito is still alive and we are walking down the streets of Vicente Lopez again. I remember him always. I cannot help but think about my aristocratic dog and how he changed my life.

Saturday, January 3, 2009: I am so tired of the overseas stress! I am so exhausted with dealing with people who have to be prodded and pushed to do what they're paid to do. It seems that after Chiquito's death, the fumigators did notgo to fumigate the place where he was being kept and now the fleas have multiplied themselves. I asked people to call the fumigators, but apparently nobody called them.