If you’ve been following my blog for just about any amount of time you’ve probably read about the little puppy that wrangled his way into my heart and home during my first week in site...
As a refresher: I’ve loved dogs my entire life, and knew
that I would want a furry little companion to keep me company throughout the
ups and downs that every Peace Corps volunteer knows all too well. On my very first day visiting my future site
in Bocas del Toro, Panama, my host siblings eagerly showed off a litter of
newborn puppies to me. I picked one for
myself and named him Massy after my dog from home who had recently passed away
(switch the S and M and Sammy becomes Massy).
I lived in that village for two years, and it didn’t matter whether I
was hanging out in my house all day or hiking 15 miles to go camping, Massy
never left my side. Villagers became accustomed
to always seeing us together, and would happily volunteer to watch over him
when I had to make trips that he couldn’t come along for. It wasn’t long before everyone knew that
there was no way I would be able to leave my spotted little sidekick
behind.
My dad met Massy during his trips to Panama, and just like
the villagers who knew and loved my sweet, funny pup, happily offered to let
Massy live on our East Tennessee farm. Knowing that there was a place where he could
run around and be happy in the United States made everything easier, but it was
still to be determined exactly how and when the international move would take
place.
Fast forward to this past July, when I moved across country
to take a new job in Darien. Contrary to the rural village that I was
previously assigned to, Meteti is a sizeable (for Panama) city of about 5,000
people with busses and cars that blow right past my house throughout the
day. For my new job I’m frequently
traveling, usually on busses, and have no fenced in yard. Leaving my village, facilitating the export of
furry hijo, and starting a new job was more than I wanted to take on, so Massy
came along.
We spent two miserable days convincing bus drivers that no,
he wasn’t a bad dog; yes, he is clean; and please, please, won’t you please let
me take him with me before I cry…
Finally, we made it to the Darien and I was surprised at
well he adapted to his new home. Massy
is extremely social and loves to visit both people and dogs, so keeping him
locked in my house was impossible. He
seemed to know to stay out of the road when making his visiting rounds, and my
new neighbors thought it hilariously endearing that my dog, true to Panamanian
form, liked to pasear. We learned how to smuggle him onto busses by
slipping him into a woven bag so that he could accompany me on my work trips
and we realized that dogs, especially dogs disguised as babies or groceries
while on a bus, would always make great conversation starters.
Although I would have loved to keep him with me until I
finish my service in September, I always felt that I was just one step away
from a tragic accident that would take him away from me- the sound of buses
hitting a speed bump too fast had me running outside, the nights where Massy
didn’t want to come home until late had me wondering if someone had simply
taken him, and knowing that there were way too many potentially toxic things
that he could eat on the side of the road was more stressful than I
imagined.
The final straw was when I had to take a work trip without
him due to transportation limitations. The
friend who was taking care of him suddenly fell sick and had to be taken to
Panama City for treatment, and just like that, Massy was alone in a city where
I didn’t have anyone to watch out for him.
The next four days were tortuous- was he getting anything to eat? Had he been hit by a car? Had he simply run away because there was no
one for him to go to?
Thankfully, I returned to find Massy sitting in my front
yard, scanning faces until he saw mine.
Although I knew I would miss his goofy antics and his constant company,
I realized that knowing he was safe was more important.
As it turns out, dog people are drawn to each other- we’re a
friendly crew that can’t resist introducing ourselves to strangers in order to
pet their dogs. In such a manner, Massy
and I met Candido, a veterinarian working for the Department of
Agriculture. He told me that he had
worked in the Panama City airport overseeing the import and export of animals,
and that now he has a small business on the side to help foreigners navigate the
headache that is sending their own pets home.
We exchanged contact info, and a few weeks later I gave him a call.
Regulations and costs for importing animals into the United
States vary greatly depending on location, breed, and size of the animal. Lucky for me, Panama is one of the easier
countries, the flight is a short 3 hours, and Massy is a pretty small, very
well behaved dog.
Though there isn’t that much paperwork you have to complete
ahead of time, it’s all very
specific and easy to mess up. They must be translated into English and
Spanish (but line by line, as a separate page is invalid), some certifications
must be dated within 10 days of departure (but others must be dated at least
three months ahead of time), the dog must be present to receive some papers
(but other offices will not let you bring animals inside), some certifications
are free (but others you will need to first pay inside a random bank), and the
list goes on. It’s doable, but very,
very stressful. That’s where Candido
comes in- for a small fee, he completes all pre-departure preparations so that all
the pet owner had to do was to show up at the airport at the specified
time. I would say that means no hassles,
but if you have the luck I do, your taxi driver may decide not to pick you up
in the morning, you may have incorrectly estimated the weight of the crate
(causing more problems than believed), and you may have misread the line about
getting a copy of the receiver’s (my dad, in this case) ID.
Hassles aside, Massy arrived safely to the United States at
the end of October and my dad drove to Atlanta to pick him up from United’s
PetSafe division. I was the frantic dog
mom that almost cried when his crate was picked up by a forklift and taken away
and also requested the live tracking information that I would spend the day
refreshing. But, at the end of the day, Massy
was safe.
I had been planning on flying home for one of my best friend’s
wedding, so my dad and I timed it so that I would depart for the states a few
days after my dog in case any problem arose.
It was my first time back in America in over 14 months, but instead of
food, driving my own car, or other exciting things, the moment I was most
excited for was to be reunited with Massy. Judging by his reaction, I think it’s
safe to say that he was pretty excited too.
Massy now lives on my dad’s farm and loves hunting for
crawdads in our creek, running laps around the 15 acre property, and ensuring
the other 3 dogs he lives with get their daily amount of exercise. I was recently on home leave for a month and
loved the time I got to spend introducing Massy to his new country. We went to outdoor restaurants, walked
through the park, and even picked out a coat for his first winter. Since then, he’s learned how tasty American
dog food can be, how many laps of running it takes to burn trails into the
grass, and how comfortable sofas are, much to my dad’s feigned chagrin.
I’m back in Panama and these 8 months will be the
longest time we’ve ever been separated.
It makes me a little sad, especially when I hear about him sitting on
the front porch, scanning the people that drive by, or sleeping on the
pillowcase I used when I was there, but ultimately I know it was the best thing
for both of us and am eagerly awaiting our second reunion.
