Rescuing Laika, May 6, 2009

To see more pictures of Laika, click here.

“That cat makes plenty, plenty babies. She pregnant three times a year. Last time, she ate all her babies. I think she tired of having babies all the time. I don’t blame her. But what can I do? That is her life.”—Irene from Port Barton, reflecting on her cat’s life.

The dogs in Port Barton jump on top of garbage cans like cats scavenging for food. Chunks of hair are missing from their coats, their rib and hipbones protrude from their mange and flea covered skin. They flinch when approached because they are used to children kicking and throwing stones at them. Their eyes are dark and sad. Their only concern is their own survival.
I have never seen a mother dog let a stranger approach her newborn puppies, or let them roam the streets alone, or fail to keep them clean, or refuse to give them milk while her litter chases her and cries. But the dogs in Port Barton seem to have stopped caring, just like Irene’s cat. Whether it is because they too are tired of being pregnant all of the time or whether they are too preoccupied with their own survival to care for their young, I am not sure. But there are tens of tiny puppies running the streets of Port Barton alone.

Yesterday as I sat on my terrace reading the last few pages of Sputnik Sweetheart, I heard a whimpering puppy. She was tiny--no more than 2 weeks old—she looked lost and was alone on the beach. I watched her for a while from my hammock. She was chasing after the nipples on a young female dog. The dog kept growling at her, but she wouldn’t stop whimpering and trying to latch on. Then, three teenagers walked by, one of them cooed at her. She yelped in excitement and chased after them—wagging her tail until she could no longer keep up with their pace. She finally gave up and curled up on the beach to whimper softly to herself.

I walked over to her. She was cold, wet and shaking and covered with sores. She had so many fleas that she looked like she had been dipped in brown toasted sesame seeds. She wagged her tail and looked at me with hopeful eyes. Although I cringed at the thought of touching her, I couldn’t bear her pain. I picked up her tiny little body and dipped it in the ocean hoping the salt would help kill the fleas, and then I scrubbed her with soap under a tap until she was shaking uncontrollably from the cold. She wrapped her tiny paws comfortably around my fingers and despite the salt and the soap on her open wounds she made no complaint. But the fleas were relentless. So I wrapped her in the hotel towel, bought a liter of milk at Ausan’s and some Johnson’s baby shampoo and went to the only person I knew might help me out—Irene—a sweet Filipino woman I met at a local restaurant called Judy’s Good Food.

Irene and I spent the next four hours picking out fleas with tweezers and brushing her fur with a fine-toothed comb that collected at least fifty fleas with each pass. We removed every last flea, cleaned every wound, and fed her milk from a baby bottle until she fell asleep. I named her Laika, because I found her while reading Sputnik Sweetheart* and because it was also the name of my beloved childhood dog. Irene promised that if Laika survived, she would take care of her until she could give her to a German family in Puerto that was looking to adopt a dog.

*Sputnik 2 was the name of the Russian satellite launched on November 3, 1957 that carried the first living passenger into orbit. She was a dog named Laika. This is a short film made on Sputnik 2’s launch. It won the audience award at the Rio de Janiero Film Festival in 2007. To view the video, click here. To read more about Sputnik click here.

This is a great video on the Laika and the Russian space program. To view it, click here. And this is a song about Laika by Mecano—I listened to it over and over when my childhood dog, Laika died. To listen to this song, click here.

Update: I met up with Irene in Puerto Princesa on May 20th and Laika is doing great. Irene has gotten too attached to her though, and has decided to keep her as her own.

Pictured Below: (left) Irene, Rodina and I with Laika at Judy's Good Food; (right) Removing Laika's fleas with a fine-toothed comb; (bottom) Irene and I putting ointment on Laika's wounds.