A day in the life

Today my "office" is the ground floor of an old house that belongs to the mother of a friend of mine – one of those sprawling yesteryear homes with sturdy concrete pillars supporting another storey with wooden floorboards and large windows.

The house is for sale and, I hope it will be purchased by someone who will love it for what it is and fix it up to preserve it, rather than demolish it and clear its surroundings to construct some modern concrete monstrosity.

The one-acre garden surrounding the house is verdant, with many fruit trees, large flamboyant trees and tall grasses speckled with wild purple flowers. A black mother hen is currently rustling around in nearby undergrowth, teaching her two black fuzz-ball babies how to scratch and peck. Many varieties of birds are singing and the air is sufficiently peaceful to make me feel that we are far away, in a rural area, when in reality, we are mere minutes from Crown Point airport.

With me is "Ched," a Trinidadian who, before coming to Tobago on holiday with his partner, contacted me to ask if I needed any help with animal-related matters. I always do, and, grateful that he had reached out, asked if he knew how to construct animal enclosures using pallets.

Ched is a motion designer and fibre optics technician who is also very handy with tools and wood. As a cat-lover, one of his long-term goals is to build a cat reserve. Short term goals and services include building feline furniture like catios, cat shelves, cat wheels, and cat houses for feral cats.

He was happy to help build what I am calling a "healing space" for a recent rescue – a street dog we named Bob who has a bad case of TVT (transmissible venereal tumour), causing his penis to look like a combination of a large, red, raw cauliflower and dangling frankfurter, totally exposed, as the prepuce cannot fit over the mass. The veterinarians advise that it is treatable, using the chemotherapy drug Vinchristine –one shot administered per week over at least six weeks.

At $200/day for hospitalisation at the vet clinic, this decision to build a temporary healing space for him is far more affordable.

We are thankful to our friend’s mother for allowing us to use their property as the location for Bob’s healing space.

My desk, as I write this under the house, is a 32-inch dog crate – one that is usually in the back of my vehicle, ready to house any dogs or cats rescued en route from point A to point B. The crate is used for this purpose almost every day, as, unfortunately, there is always some suffering animal on the path.

Today the animal that was put in the crate was a tiny orange-and-white kitten with startling blue eyes. While driving home this morning, I spotted two friends standing on the sidewalk with their bikes. I tooted my horn, but they were otherwise occupied and did not seem to notice as I turned the corner and pulled up outside a mini mart to buy something. When I came out, one of those friends saw me and called out from across the road.

Her partner was squatting on the sidewalk, leaning over something. As I got closer, I saw that it was a kitten – a few weeks old, dirty, slightly wet. They had found her lying in the middle of the road and, thankfully, managed to pick her up before she was made into a feline pancake by some passing vehicle.

As they were on their way to an appointment, I took her from them, put her in the crate and took her to my destination (where Ched and I are now).

Lately, in conversation with people, I have realised that they think animal rescue is “all” that I do – all day, every day. I can understand – it surely looks and feels that way.

However, animal rescue does not pay me and I do what I must, otherwise, to earn a living (mainly via teaching yoga, writing and other creative ventures). Oh, how easy it would be were I (to use the words of the Prime Minister in his – might I say inaccurate – description of surfers who are among those contesting the controversial building of the Marriott at Rocky Point): a "well-financed idler"…one of those who "don’t have to worry about their next meal because their trust fund is good."