From the Archives – Spring 2006
As I was lying in bed with the Grip II Chico was concerned; but he was more concerned about who was going to take him on his 3 walks a day in the freezing cold. Well of course Mamula wasn’t going to, so the job fell to Irina. A problem of sorts. Irina by nature is not a morning person (and in Russia neither is Patrick) and Chico, to the contrary, needs his morning piddle and poop. So was the beginning of a new adventure for all.
One thing in Russia is very noticeable to me – there is no diversity! Diversity that is, as defined by our last X-Presidents wife. Virtually everyone has the same color skin and round eyes. In our neighborhood, which probably has 10-20,000 people living within 4 or 5 blocks I have seen only 2 black Africans, maybe 5 Orientals, no Hispanics, no Latin Americans, no Puerto Ricans, no Jamaicans, no Eskimos, no aborigines, no Arabs, no Indians (American or Eastern). Except for the “Southerners” which are people from the southern countries like Georgia, Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan and other “stan” countries which have a rather swarthy look and speak with an accent noticeable only to Russians, everyone is Slavic or Nordic descent. So there are no real societal lines by race as there is in the USA which serve to break down into societal lines.
Under the Communist system everyone got thrown into the same big pot. In our neighborhood you have people from all different ages, different economic levels, educational levels, ect living in the same buildings. We all shop in the same grocery store, the kids all play in the same park and go to the same school, we all ride the same metro and little buses and never say anything to anybody except possibly to a neighbor living in our entrance. We all cautiously walk up to the steel entrance door, enter our secret code to enter, making sure there is no one around that could see our code or walk in with us. Quickly enter and close the door, check for shadows, which could be all kinds of unspeakable bad things. Then walk up to the second floor press the buzzer three times, the secret buzzer code, and have Mamula unlock the inner door, peer through the peep hole and make sure it is friend, not foe, and then unlock both locks on the outer steel door,.
People are by nature more social and as such seek out others that have similar interests. Then they form little groups where they feel comfortable and can discuss common interests. Irina found such a group when she started walking the dog – The Dog Society. Every day at least twice a day the Dog Society meets in the playground behind the school. The dogs play and the people discuss matters of high importance “Your dog has diarrhea what to do?…..” Of course we had a celebrity dog: Chico - the Mexican/English Spaniel from America! He was cute, but sure was dumb! Well maybe not dumb, but certainly naïve to all the aspects of surviving in the harsh Russian environment. We had already found out the hard way about all the poisons lying around everywhere, and at least Chico now always goes out with his muzzle to prevent a reoccurrence. But what about all those unknown dangers?
After Irina’s first morning with the society she just couldn’t wait for me to wake up. She shakes me out of my fevered stupor to tell me all about meeting all these wonderful interesting people and their wonderful dogs. “And Chico played so well with all the other dogs, I even took him off the leash and let him run.”
“Good, I am glad you and Chico had fun” I said. “Now I think I would like some more aspirin and go back to sleep”.
Some time later, I can’t remember when since I was delirious with a high fever, Irina comes in shakes my bed and wakes me. “Chico can eat kasha! Everyone says that they feed their dogs’ kasha so Chico can have it at breakfast with us. Oh, they also feed their dogs vegetables, fruit, and of course meat, cheese, bread, eggs, sausage….. And we must change the dog food we are using…. And this vet is excellent… And there is some disease the comes from dog poop that can kill a dog in an hour if he touches it…..And this lady has such a cute little Charpe puppy (actually a very, very ugly dogs with wrinkly skin) that they want to give away…”
That shocked me into my senses enough to say, “NO WAY – we can hardly handle the dog we have much less another one. I hope you didn’t do anything crazy”. Visions of the Internet page we saw after getting cute little Chico that said “one of the most difficult dogs is a Spaniel….” were dancing in my delirious head.
“No – of course I wouldn’t do anything without asking you first” Irina said. “But they are soooo cute and then Chico would have a playmate”.
“NET!!!!” my reply, and then asked to be left alone.
But now Irina had new comrades. She was out every day learning and learning and learning about having a dog in Russia. And Chico was getting some good exercise running in the snow playing with the dogs. Then all of a sudden, a cry goes out “call your dog!!!” Irina doesn’t know exactly what is going on and of course stupid Chico is oblivious and certainly not trained to come when called. Unfortunately Chico had a doctor’s excuse for his last training secession back in Corpus, he was being neutered, missed the last classes and didn’t seem to respond to “Chico come” very well after that.
“What is it” Irina asks.
As Chico was running toward the trees with his little tail just a wagging, one of the Dog Society answers “over there by the trees – DANGER, DANGER, a rotwiler, no leash, call your dog”. Of course all the well behaved and trained dogs return to their masters when called; but no, not the Mexican/English Spaniel from America. “A rotwiler killed another dog recently, the owner didn’t have it on a leash and was drunk, the dog attacked and just mauled the other small dog for no reason”. Irina was panicking and started to run and get defenseless, little Chico; remember he is muzzled to protect him from the dangers of poison. The Dog Society lady screams “Stop! Don’t even try to rescue your dog, a wild rotwiler can kill you also!!!”
Chico was on his own! They started the ritual sniffing. Seems like every dog in Russia is a male (I don’t know where they all come from without any females), and males don’t generally get along – so the odds were looking bad for little Chico. Irina could only look on from a safe distance and from time to time uselessly call “Chico come”. But of course Mexican/English Spaniels from America never seem to respond to voice commands. Wait! Seems the Russian rotwiler didn’t have a taste for Mexican food today, he is just moseying on. And little Chico heads back to his new Dog Society friends.
With all the dogs back in the fold and happily playing the Dog Society starts educating Irina about the dangers of different dogs and how one must be always vigilant. Especially rotwilers and pit bulls pose serious treats and should always be avoided. Then the Dog Society knew which dogs played together well and would raise the return alarm if an unwelcome dog is spotted.
BC, that is “Before Chico”, I never noticed how may dogs there were here in our village neighborhood. Now with Chico we are constantly checking the area while walking him. There are dogs everywhere: homeless dogs which you can always recognize and which are generally harmless, dogs on the leash, dogs off the leash, dogs pooping, dogs piddling, big dogs, little dogs. While it was cold, cold winter one never noticed the poop on the ground; magic, it snowed at night and was gone. But then spring, no snow; just melting snow and guess what started reappearing – dog poop! It was everywhere; surveying the usual dog walking areas I estimated that there was not one square meter anywhere without dog poop. So after a morning dog walk I suggested to Irina “do you think it would be possible for the Russians to carry a little plastic bag and pick up their dog poop like in America?”
Twenty minutes later after Irina quit laughing she said “first: you know of course rules in Russia are only made to be broken. Second: don’t you remember each time we go to the grocery store, unlike HEB, we have to buy plastic bags. Who would use such a valuable item to put dog poop in it?”
“Well I guess it was a dumb idea. Chico and I will head out for our walk and see if we can find a clean place to walk and poop” I dejectedly replied. It was a bright sunny Saturday morning and the snow was melting everywhere revealing its hidden treasures. I was concentrating on trying to walk and avoid stepping in half thawed dog poop and Chico had his nose to the ground sniffing desperately to find a place to relieve himself. We were busy and not maintaining our normal diligent lookout. Then it happened, I look up and see a big pit bull about 30 meters away, headed in our direction, pulling his master at the end of his leash. His master, this tall, thin, “string bean” type of guy, was weaving and wavering as if blown by a strong wind – obviously drunk at 10:00 am. I could see the slobber in this 90 pound pit bulls mouth, as he spots Chico and starts snarling. Chico, through his muzzle, starts barking back and the hair on his back stands up. The hair on my back was standing up also by now, as I quickly checked for exit routes and was pulling Chico away; its amazing how strong little Chico is when digging in all four paws. “OK- the kids slide is about 30 meters we, I, can climb out of the pit bulls reach and hopefully pull Chico up with me”. We quickly head to the slide sloshing through the soft snow and soft dog poop – no time to check where I am stepping now. String Bean, the pit bull’s master is yelling at his dog while staggering around, half tripping while his drinking companion struggles to hold him up. My vision is this pit bull pulling his leash free from String Bean and treeing little Chico and I at the top of the slide. Of course since there is no real Law and Order in Russia so we would have sat there until String Bean sobered up and took the dog home or the pit bull found another victim to chase. Fortunately String Bean with his drunken assistant was able to control his dog and went on their way. Another close call in Old Russia.
As the “mud season”, that is when the snow melts and there is nothing but mud, a little brown snow and bogs remaining, the dog society broke up. Walking the dog became a real chore and the goal was get out and get in as quickly as possible. Otherwise, you were dealing with disgustingly, dirty dog in a small apartment with no place to clean them except the bathtub. So Chico and I got into the routine: suit up, go out piddle and poop, return, get the tub filled with water, undress the dog, wash the paws, wash the dog jacket, dry the paws, dump the tub into the toilet, unleash the dog, and he is done until the next trip outside. From the day or our arrival Irina had this mantra: “Chico needs shoes”. But every time we looked in our local pet store they, of course, had none in his size. Now I was taking up the mantra also and we searched all the s
tores around for pet shoes. Finally in this upscale petstore in a new glamour mall, to our surprise we found some shoes. So now we were ready for “mud season”, added the shoes to his suit up and headed out. Chico walked kind of tentatively with his new equipment but didn’t complain. About 4 minutes into the walk he looses the first shoe and then I notice the others are just about ready to fall off. So we spend the walk adjusting the equipment until we get it right. What a difference that made! Cut the clean up to almost nothing.
As I was lying in bed with the Grip II Chico was concerned; but he was more concerned about who was going to take him on his 3 walks a day in the freezing cold. Well of course Mamula wasn’t going to, so the job fell to Irina. A problem of sorts. Irina by nature is not a morning person (and in Russia neither is Patrick) and Chico, to the contrary, needs his morning piddle and poop. So was the beginning of a new adventure for all.
One thing in Russia is very noticeable to me – there is no diversity! Diversity that is, as defined by our last X-Presidents wife. Virtually everyone has the same color skin and round eyes. In our neighborhood, which probably has 10-20,000 people living within 4 or 5 blocks I have seen only 2 black Africans, maybe 5 Orientals, no Hispanics, no Latin Americans, no Puerto Ricans, no Jamaicans, no Eskimos, no aborigines, no Arabs, no Indians (American or Eastern). Except for the “Southerners” which are people from the southern countries like Georgia, Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan and other “stan” countries which have a rather swarthy look and speak with an accent noticeable only to Russians, everyone is Slavic or Nordic descent. So there are no real societal lines by race as there is in the USA which serve to break down into societal lines.
Under the Communist system everyone got thrown into the same big pot. In our neighborhood you have people from all different ages, different economic levels, educational levels, ect living in the same buildings. We all shop in the same grocery store, the kids all play in the same park and go to the same school, we all ride the same metro and little buses and never say anything to anybody except possibly to a neighbor living in our entrance. We all cautiously walk up to the steel entrance door, enter our secret code to enter, making sure there is no one around that could see our code or walk in with us. Quickly enter and close the door, check for shadows, which could be all kinds of unspeakable bad things. Then walk up to the second floor press the buzzer three times, the secret buzzer code, and have Mamula unlock the inner door, peer through the peep hole and make sure it is friend, not foe, and then unlock both locks on the outer steel door,.
People are by nature more social and as such seek out others that have similar interests. Then they form little groups where they feel comfortable and can discuss common interests. Irina found such a group when she started walking the dog – The Dog Society. Every day at least twice a day the Dog Society meets in the playground behind the school. The dogs play and the people discuss matters of high importance “Your dog has diarrhea what to do?…..” Of course we had a celebrity dog: Chico - the Mexican/English Spaniel from America! He was cute, but sure was dumb! Well maybe not dumb, but certainly naïve to all the aspects of surviving in the harsh Russian environment. We had already found out the hard way about all the poisons lying around everywhere, and at least Chico now always goes out with his muzzle to prevent a reoccurrence. But what about all those unknown dangers?
After Irina’s first morning with the society she just couldn’t wait for me to wake up. She shakes me out of my fevered stupor to tell me all about meeting all these wonderful interesting people and their wonderful dogs. “And Chico played so well with all the other dogs, I even took him off the leash and let him run.”
“Good, I am glad you and Chico had fun” I said. “Now I think I would like some more aspirin and go back to sleep”.
Some time later, I can’t remember when since I was delirious with a high fever, Irina comes in shakes my bed and wakes me. “Chico can eat kasha! Everyone says that they feed their dogs’ kasha so Chico can have it at breakfast with us. Oh, they also feed their dogs vegetables, fruit, and of course meat, cheese, bread, eggs, sausage….. And we must change the dog food we are using…. And this vet is excellent… And there is some disease the comes from dog poop that can kill a dog in an hour if he touches it…..And this lady has such a cute little Charpe puppy (actually a very, very ugly dogs with wrinkly skin) that they want to give away…”
That shocked me into my senses enough to say, “NO WAY – we can hardly handle the dog we have much less another one. I hope you didn’t do anything crazy”. Visions of the Internet page we saw after getting cute little Chico that said “one of the most difficult dogs is a Spaniel….” were dancing in my delirious head.
“No – of course I wouldn’t do anything without asking you first” Irina said. “But they are soooo cute and then Chico would have a playmate”.
“NET!!!!” my reply, and then asked to be left alone.
But now Irina had new comrades. She was out every day learning and learning and learning about having a dog in Russia. And Chico was getting some good exercise running in the snow playing with the dogs. Then all of a sudden, a cry goes out “call your dog!!!” Irina doesn’t know exactly what is going on and of course stupid Chico is oblivious and certainly not trained to come when called. Unfortunately Chico had a doctor’s excuse for his last training secession back in Corpus, he was being neutered, missed the last classes and didn’t seem to respond to “Chico come” very well after that.
“What is it” Irina asks.
As Chico was running toward the trees with his little tail just a wagging, one of the Dog Society answers “over there by the trees – DANGER, DANGER, a rotwiler, no leash, call your dog”. Of course all the well behaved and trained dogs return to their masters when called; but no, not the Mexican/English Spaniel from America. “A rotwiler killed another dog recently, the owner didn’t have it on a leash and was drunk, the dog attacked and just mauled the other small dog for no reason”. Irina was panicking and started to run and get defenseless, little Chico; remember he is muzzled to protect him from the dangers of poison. The Dog Society lady screams “Stop! Don’t even try to rescue your dog, a wild rotwiler can kill you also!!!”
Chico was on his own! They started the ritual sniffing. Seems like every dog in Russia is a male (I don’t know where they all come from without any females), and males don’t generally get along – so the odds were looking bad for little Chico. Irina could only look on from a safe distance and from time to time uselessly call “Chico come”. But of course Mexican/English Spaniels from America never seem to respond to voice commands. Wait! Seems the Russian rotwiler didn’t have a taste for Mexican food today, he is just moseying on. And little Chico heads back to his new Dog Society friends.
With all the dogs back in the fold and happily playing the Dog Society starts educating Irina about the dangers of different dogs and how one must be always vigilant. Especially rotwilers and pit bulls pose serious treats and should always be avoided. Then the Dog Society knew which dogs played together well and would raise the return alarm if an unwelcome dog is spotted.
BC, that is “Before Chico”, I never noticed how may dogs there were here in our village neighborhood. Now with Chico we are constantly checking the area while walking him. There are dogs everywhere: homeless dogs which you can always recognize and which are generally harmless, dogs on the leash, dogs off the leash, dogs pooping, dogs piddling, big dogs, little dogs. While it was cold, cold winter one never noticed the poop on the ground; magic, it snowed at night and was gone. But then spring, no snow; just melting snow and guess what started reappearing – dog poop! It was everywhere; surveying the usual dog walking areas I estimated that there was not one square meter anywhere without dog poop. So after a morning dog walk I suggested to Irina “do you think it would be possible for the Russians to carry a little plastic bag and pick up their dog poop like in America?”
Twenty minutes later after Irina quit laughing she said “first: you know of course rules in Russia are only made to be broken. Second: don’t you remember each time we go to the grocery store, unlike HEB, we have to buy plastic bags. Who would use such a valuable item to put dog poop in it?”
“Well I guess it was a dumb idea. Chico and I will head out for our walk and see if we can find a clean place to walk and poop” I dejectedly replied. It was a bright sunny Saturday morning and the snow was melting everywhere revealing its hidden treasures. I was concentrating on trying to walk and avoid stepping in half thawed dog poop and Chico had his nose to the ground sniffing desperately to find a place to relieve himself. We were busy and not maintaining our normal diligent lookout. Then it happened, I look up and see a big pit bull about 30 meters away, headed in our direction, pulling his master at the end of his leash. His master, this tall, thin, “string bean” type of guy, was weaving and wavering as if blown by a strong wind – obviously drunk at 10:00 am. I could see the slobber in this 90 pound pit bulls mouth, as he spots Chico and starts snarling. Chico, through his muzzle, starts barking back and the hair on his back stands up. The hair on my back was standing up also by now, as I quickly checked for exit routes and was pulling Chico away; its amazing how strong little Chico is when digging in all four paws. “OK- the kids slide is about 30 meters we, I, can climb out of the pit bulls reach and hopefully pull Chico up with me”. We quickly head to the slide sloshing through the soft snow and soft dog poop – no time to check where I am stepping now. String Bean, the pit bull’s master is yelling at his dog while staggering around, half tripping while his drinking companion struggles to hold him up. My vision is this pit bull pulling his leash free from String Bean and treeing little Chico and I at the top of the slide. Of course since there is no real Law and Order in Russia so we would have sat there until String Bean sobered up and took the dog home or the pit bull found another victim to chase. Fortunately String Bean with his drunken assistant was able to control his dog and went on their way. Another close call in Old Russia.
As the “mud season”, that is when the snow melts and there is nothing but mud, a little brown snow and bogs remaining, the dog society broke up. Walking the dog became a real chore and the goal was get out and get in as quickly as possible. Otherwise, you were dealing with disgustingly, dirty dog in a small apartment with no place to clean them except the bathtub. So Chico and I got into the routine: suit up, go out piddle and poop, return, get the tub filled with water, undress the dog, wash the paws, wash the dog jacket, dry the paws, dump the tub into the toilet, unleash the dog, and he is done until the next trip outside. From the day or our arrival Irina had this mantra: “Chico needs shoes”. But every time we looked in our local pet store they, of course, had none in his size. Now I was taking up the mantra also and we searched all the s
tores around for pet shoes. Finally in this upscale petstore in a new glamour mall, to our surprise we found some shoes. So now we were ready for “mud season”, added the shoes to his suit up and headed out. Chico walked kind of tentatively with his new equipment but didn’t complain. About 4 minutes into the walk he looses the first shoe and then I notice the others are just about ready to fall off. So we spend the walk adjusting the equipment until we get it right. What a difference that made! Cut the clean up to almost nothing. 
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