Four years into solitude in a foreign country with few basic services, I’ve confronted my mental health and destiny a few times. Why can’t you figure out how to get out of here? You’re a smart capable person. Sure, but I need a destination. Traveling around for years in the van was one thing, but rudderless looks different when you can’t drive off to the next Bucee’s truck stop.
I walk a lot. Always with dogs obviously. In the desert, especially summer, you have to start at dawn.
I’d say the walks are meditative but that’s not exactly true. There’s a lot to watch out for here. Other street dogs. Mopeds. Drunks from the night before. The usual unfilled holes, uneven pavement and unmarked missing manhole covers that are Mexico. Head on a swivel, eyes on the ground. Up down up. Broken beer bottles. Occasional contractor trucks who don’t care if you live or die. Waving to passersby. Buenos dias!
I don’t always go to the beach. It’s five blocks away and I’ll admit, I’m not really a beach person. It’s great for photos and I like to smell the salt air and soak my feet when there aren’t jellyfish/stingray/baby shark hauls coming out of there with the fishermen. I used to go in but now I only go to the knees. There’s a current that’s wicked on one end and some “output” from the geothermal plant on the other. Mostly it’s la chingada* The sand can be gravely and suck my shoe off like quicksand. Bitey flies. Sometimes funny smells but never the red tide that I’ve experienced in fancier beach areas. Diesel from boats. Some rough dogs to pass on the way down there. Getting a few dogs in the car is not always easy. I know it’s there, the Sea, I can see it from the top of my street. There are never dolphin there, it’s a sad little bay. Four years in, I guess, I’m ambivalent about a lot of things.
If I make it to the east side shore where I first lived when I got here I can walk for more than 5 miles and never see another human. Last time I saw someone in camo and a rifle. Security or military, I’d better turn around.
If all other mental health practices went out the window, walking is non-negotiable. Walking on a shoreline with dogs off leash without getting hassled is a gift, and it’s my time to ask the big questions. Talking out loud to God, distant deceased ancestors, my mom, my much smarter higher self who acts like I know the answers already. Sometimes if I’m feeling vacant in the brain I do sing songy little poems for the dogs.
Whispering, this way that way that’s good Rocky bear. Up here hello Skip don’t bite us Maple girl and Dingo, we’re just passing thru, no need to chase us, this way that way, good job all.
I ask a lot of questions. I always have, since a kid. Why are we here?! was popular with priests at Catholic Mass. They never knew how to answer and I’d guess an 8 year old having an existential crisis in Catechism was unexpected. The minute I saw the Monsignor in a Mercedes I understood everything. And I started taking money OUT of the basket on Sundays.
I still talk to the sky and the trees, I just don’t go to church.
Show me my path. Why am I here in this awful place and what is my next step? If you want me to rescue all the dogs and create a sanctuary you’ll need to send more money and some helpers to at least scoop the poo. And lead us to a bigger piece of land. And a sponsor for kibble, spays and vaccines please. Water stations. Distemper shots. We need a veterinarian in town. I’m afraid I’ll disappear here and fade into the sand and wash away. I want an address. I want to order things and receive them. I want to find unscented toilet paper and organic flour and rose hip oil. Some of these dogs are perfect for cattle herding, or medical support or search and rescue. Shouldn’t I be somewhere where I’d be more effective? Don’t you want me to have friends? Hello?
You’re on the path. You just don’t like the way it looks, says the smug Customer Service Higher Self Helpline attendant. Keep walking.
*La Chingada is a term commonly used in colloquial, even crass, Mexican Spanish that refers to various conditions or situations of, generally, negative connotations. The word is derived from the verb chingar, "to fuck", so basically everything that’s happened since 2020)
Lola’s Dog Rescue is in the state of Sonora on the Sea of Cortez four hours from the nearest town. Dropped here after a car accident left me stranded, I’ve been here rescuing abandoned dogs since 2021. To learn more go to linktr.ee/lolasdogrescue
