New Perro, New Ruler

The New Ruler arrived a few weeks ago. A little rough around the edges. Black hair missing, rough skin exposed. Bulbous eyeball. Heart skipping beats. Sharp little bumps around the neck. Not what you envision for a ruler. But there she stood, waiting for our deference.

The new perro rules the house and she knows it. We know it too. "Woof, woof" she says. The Old Rulers jump to attention. We don't know what we're jumping for, only that the New Ruler has spoken and her needs must be met.

The history of the New Ruler is unclear. Her past servants probably got too old to care for her or got caught up in the bad economic cycle we hear so much about. We found her in an animal shelter -- hungry and run down, with no name -- though there were probably better times. A former ruler most certainly, now abandoned, with nothing but a good nose and a desire to rule again.

The shelter issued an appeal to rescue the vagrant perro. Inquiries were made. References checked. Questions asked. Yes, we have a fence. Yes, it is over 6 feet. Yes, we've owned perros before. No, we haven't sent one back. Yes, we can support her. We pass the interview and a time is arranged to meet the perro.

We arrive at the shelter, a grey cement block building located behind the Los Banos airport. You can't expect much from an animal shelter; the scene is jarring. The door to the shelter is opened by the caretaker and we step inside. The smell of ammonia hits our noses like the aftermath of a boxer's eight-count. The strong dose of disinfectant does little to mask the stench of urine and worn wet fur.

There are ten cages and our perro is in the last one, curled up on a wood slat bed with only a dirty towel for comfort. We get our first look through the wire cage. She is cold and tired and barely lifts her head. The caretaker releases the future ruler to a side yard for our first meeting.

She walks the yard with her head high, tail low, panting heavily, eyes looking for a way out, scanning the horizon beyond the fence. She ignores us at first. But slowly she slides over for an introduction. She's looking for something familiar -- an old face, the smell of a well-known hand, the sound of a recognizable command.

Not today. A new voice greets her. A fresh hand is extended for her to smell. She sits and looks up at us. We begin stroking her head and long ears. Eyes brighten, panting stops. We look each other in the eye. The perro groans and saliva drips from the side of her mouth. Slowly, the soft caresses and unspoken words create a new bond out of old memories and the deal is done. Both sides want what the other has to offer.

The caretaker approves of the exchange. A small donation is made and the New Ruler is free to go. She accepts her fate and eagerly climbs in the car for the ride to somewhere. As we drive away, the caretaker wipes her tears with one hand and waves goodbye with the other.

The ride home is long and the New Ruler reminds us so with an exhausted "woof, woof" all the way. We arrive and she takes her time inspecting her new home. A sniff there, a look here. She gives the cat a tired nod, signaling a truce from the beginning. She is worn out from the trip and a week on the shelter's cold cement floor. After a warm bath and a meal of chicken and rice, the New Ruler lies on her soft bed in front of her crackling fireplace and sleeps, likely dreaming of how she plans to reign over her new world.