Adios Taco

Adios Taco

Suzanne Marsh

My name is Horace, I am a Sheep Dog, and I also have less than a week to live. I was infected with New World Screwworm. I herded sheep on the border of Texas and Mexico. My master, Jose, and I were moving the sheep to a different pasture, one with more green grass for them, and a rest for Jose and me. Harvey, the ram, decided to be stubborn. I began to herd him toward the gate. I stepped on something sharp, it was just a scratch; I had a lot of those, they are part of the job of being a herding dog. We got the sheep moved into the greener pasture, everything was fine, until I felt a peculiar sensation in my right front paw, something was burrowing into my paw. I attempted to show Jose, he cleaned the hole, and returned to making tacos for himself. For me, he made the ground beef into a patty, and we would eat well tonight. Jose and I have been in these hills since I was a pup. We explored the green hills near Laredo, Texas, in Nuevo Laredo. Those foothills took us into the Guadalupe Mountains. I loved to run with Jose, he was young then, and life herding sheep agreed with him. Now he is an old man; the cold and the heat have made him that way. I love my life with Jose, herding the sheep; he is slowing down, I don’t know why. Jose has a smell I had not noticed until now. There is something really bad happening to the two of us, call it instinct if it must have a name. That is my nature as a dog; I sense when something is wrong. Jose noticed that I was limping, something was crawling in my paw, and I now have a large hole. Jose has the same white creature on him. There is a smell about him that tells me he is sick. It is a terrible odor, worse than sheep dip. I can’t bear to smell him or myself. Whatever is wrong, I need a veterinarian, and Jose needs a doctor. I don’t know how to help either of us. We are walking toward Nuevo Laredo. I hope we can find some help somewhere. I hate the thought of losing Jose and myself at the same time. Jose has no other friend but me. As we strode the streets of Nuevo Laredo, seeking help, Jose began to stagger. I had no idea how to help him, but once again, he regained his footing. We trudged onward, and Jose tumbled to the ground. I still had some strength; I knew I needed to find someone to aid us both. I just had to. There was a cream colored building on the border between Texas and Mexico that seemed a good place to start. I waited outside for someone to open the door. I did not have to wait long; a pretty dark-eyed señorita brought her puppy to see the man inside. She walked inside, and so did I. The place smelled clean, at least it smelled better than sheep. The lady behind the desk saw me. I must smell really bad, she called the man over. He picked me up carefully, took a look at my paw, and there was a rather large hole; the scent was very bad. I had no idea what he thought, but before I knew it, I was in a cage. I did not understand why, but I felt safer now. I whimpered, trying to get out of the cage. I had to get help for Jose. I had no idea how I was going to get help for him, but I was going to have to try. The man in the cream building was very kind and gentle. He opened my cage, took me into a big, bright room. He put me on a table, which I did not understand, since Jose used to squirt me with water when I got up his table. He began to look me over; when he saw the hole in my paw, he called some other people into the room. He returned me to a larger cage, then went about his business. Another man arrived, he kept saying: ‘hmm’, then they had another conversation. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I knew it was not good, whatever it was. Somehow, I had to get out of the cage and find Jose. He needed help also, I continued to whimper. The man opened the door, and I jumped out and ran. I found Jose in a matter of a few minutes; he was on the cement. I was scared when I saw the man standing there. He strode over to Jose, turned him over. Jose did not flinch or move. I nudged his hand as I have done for the last ten years, but nothing. The man took something out of his pocket and pushed some buttons. I had no idea what was wrong other than that Jose was not moving. I don’t understand “human language,” but I do sense things. The man picked me up and carried me back to the cream colored building. He gave me something to calm me down, so I would not move while he began to help me. He cleaned the wound, but its scent was horrible. I knew it was bad when he began to probe inside the wound. I could feel something crawling around. I tried to bite, but it seemed to be out of range of my teeth. He patted me, telling me he would do his best for me. I could feel whatever was moving in my paw; it hurt me. He began to use a tool on me to remove whatever it was. Once he did that, he put medicine in the wound. He did this every day, and I began to feel a little better. I missed Jose. I thought of him and how still he was when I finally returned with help. I survived my ordeal, I still don’t know what was wrong with Jose and I, but I am a dog, not a person, so explaining that to me would be fruitless, but I understand that the pain in my paw is gone. The man in the white coat took me home with him; he calls me Chico, and I am happy at last.