fear – Papagni Pages

Posted on July 24, 2025 by CP · 3 Comments

Neal’s Protected World

A wonderful world is hidden in the far corners of Neal’s mind. He created this world when he was four years old. It was safe and easy to get to. What Neal loved most about his world were all the people in his life that he knew would never go there. Neal would steal himself away as his real world got scarier.

He would frequently retreat there, but he wouldn’t stay long — the adults in his life were always bringing him back. The journey was usually triggered by something he chose not to face. There was this one time when he was about seven years old playing in his room. He’d heard his aunt Jean and Uncle Mike in the living room, but he was hoping they’d stay there. A few minutes later, someone knocked on his door.

He tentatively whispered, “come in.”

It was his Aunt Jean. She was all dressed up for church. I thought I’d heard her giving his mother a hard time for not wanting to go with them to church. They argued about this a lot; Neal mostly ignored them: Neal ignored most adults.

“Well hello Neal. Every time I see you, you seem to be a foot taller. What are you playing with? Is that a doll? You don’t think you’re a bit too old to be playing with dolls? Do you want me to tell your cousins that you play with dolls? Put them away and play with your computer games. Come on Neal, be a big boy.”

He looked down and didn’t say a word. When his aunt left, he quickly retreated to his world, where dolls were okay and grown ups didn’t tell him what to do. His uncle Mike never said anything, but he’d give him a disapproving look if he wasn’t hitting a ball or playing games that boys played.

One day Neal’s mother was in the kitchen baking. She called Neal’s name numerous times, needing him to run to the market for butter. She opened the back door and he was lying down in the grass. She shouted his name again and he didn’t answer. She marched over to where he was and screamed,

“Neal, where are you?”

He looked at her and said, “I’m right here mom, don’t you see me?”

This sort of thing happened all the time; Neal’s mother lost sleep over his behavior. She thought it might be time to take him to see a specialist. She suspected he was not like the other boys his age. She didn’t dare consider what was wrong with him, Neal’s father wouldn’t accept anything other than “normal.”

And why wouldn’t Neal escape whenever he could? His was a world where the moon filled half of the sky; where animals roamed free; where there were no other children or adults; it was quiet and safe and his.

Neal was fully aware that at some point, if his mother and father discovered his world, he’d be forbidden to go there. He’d have to keep it secret. Marie, Neal’s mother was loving and kind, but she always seemed worried about him.

Neal became a Boy Scout when reached his tenth birthday. He slowly began to feel more comfortable with his peers. Although he remained guarded where adults were concerned, he hid his reticence fairly well. One scout leader in particular took a liking to Neal, often coaching him on outdoor survival skills and recruiting him for special projects. After about a year of camping and hiking, Fred, his scout leader, selected three boys to do an overnight hike to a ridge, some 20 miles from the scout camp base.

Neal was pleased to be included and excited about the outing. He and the other two boys prepared for the trip, ready to go at 5:00 a.m. on the designated morning. The hike was difficult, but not impossible. The boys stayed close to Fred as he led them to the ridge.

Neal was feeling awkward that day; something was off and he couldn’t place what was bothering him. That evening Fred asked Neal to grab a five gallon water jug and walk with him to the stream for fresh water. Neal was happy to help, but feeling tentative about going nonetheless. They walked quietly for about a quarter mile. When they got to the stream, Fred put his hand on Neal’s shoulder,

“We walked all this way, we might as well take a dip in the stream.”

“But I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

“Come on Neal, it’s just us, we don’t need a suit.”

Neal wanted to run away, but where would he go? He wasn’t even sure he knew the way back. He reluctantly removed his t-shirt and jeans and sat on the ground in his underwear.

“Come on, your underwear is going to get wet, be a man and take them off.”

Neal stripped down and ran into the water to cover up. Fred began undressing, keeping an eye on Neal. Before Fred even got into the water, Neal jumped out and headed toward his clothing.

“Where are you going, you weren’t in the water for 30 seconds.”

“It’s too cold, I’m shivering.”

Fred walked over to Neal, assuring him that he could warm him up. Neal noticed that Fred was erect. He had never seen a grown man’s erect penis, but he’d heard the boys talk about it at school.

“I’m okay Fred, I’ll just get dressed.”

“No, no, let me get you dried off first.”

“But we don’t have towels with us.”

“Geez Neal, you sure do worry a lot.”

Fred began drying Neal off with his own t-shirt. Neal stood by the stream frozen and frightened. Fred complimented Neal on his leg muscles, telling him that he had strong legs. Fred then touched Neal in places he did not want to be touched. Neal started to quietly weep. He hated how it felt. Fred tried to quiet Neal, but Neal began crying louder and begging Fred to stop.

Fred eventually did stop. Neal quickly put his clothes on and asked to return to camp.

On the walk home, Fred spoke softly,

“I’m not sure why you’re so upset, all I did was dry you off. I like you Neal. You’re safe with me, I’ll never hurt you. Next time relax, I promise you’ll like it.”

Fred wasn’t finished with Neal and months of sexual abuse would follow. Neal retreated to his world daily, sometimes for hours on end. Neal’s mother became so concerned that she decided to have him speak to a therapist. The only thing Neal would tell the therapist was that he was fine. The therapist referred Neal’s parents to a psychiatrist. The doctor put Neal on anti-anxiety medication; he told Neal’s parents that Neal was an introvert who suffered from social anxiety and communication issues. Neal’s mother was beside herself. By the time Neal was 11 years old, he barely spoke and rarely came out of his room.

Neal’s school announced a Scout’s day. The leaders would be coming to the school to show the children what the scouts were about. They would be recruited to join at the end of the school day. Neal was sitting off to the side (as he often did) and Fred walked over to him to say hello. Neal’s teacher was observing the interaction and noticed Neal pull away from Fred. Beth immediately knew why. She had seen this behavior before. She now had a better understanding of why Neal was so often alone.

That afternoon she called Neal’s mother and asked to see her after school. When Marie arrived, Beth was waiting for her. They discussed what Beth had observed and Marie was pensive. She was concerned, but knew that she would dare not share this with Neal’s father. Marie thought about how she might approach this with Neal and decided to sleep on it.

Marie woke up angry and resolute the following morning. She decided that the only way to know for sure was to see Fred try to touch Neal. Marie needed a plan, she needed help, and she needed her son to be okay.

She called Beth, Neal’s teacher. She shared her plan with Beth about having a BBQ and inviting Fred. She thought it would be best if they discovered Fred’s preying behavior together; erasing any doubt of guilt.

In order to protect her son and avoid getting him upset about the invite, she told Neal that Fred would be going away for a long time and that she was hosting a barbeque for him. When she talked to Neal and told him that Beth would be there, he seemed relieved.

Marie wanted to be certain no further harm would be done to her son. She would create a trap that would minimize the amount of time Neal would need to be with Fred. This was probably the hardest thing Marie would ever need to do, but Neal was in trouble and nothing could stop her.

As Marie knew he would, Fred agreed to join them for a BBQ. She asked Beth to come a few minutes early to discuss the plan. She once again reassured Neal that Beth was coming as well. Neal’s father would be out playing golf all day.

Before Marie’s guests arrived, she had work to do in Neal’s bedroom. She sent him to the market near the house for some butter and eggs. She found a couple of photos of Neal when he was two and three years old running in and out of the garden sprinkler without any clothing; she set those out on his dresser. She went into Neal’s underwear drawer and stacked four pairs on top of the dresser next to the photos. She then closed Neal’s door. When Beth got there, she showed her what she had done to prepare Neal’s bedroom. They discussed Marie’s plan.

When Fred arrived, Marie immediately noticed Neal’s body language. She was fuming mad, but she knew she’d have to hide her contempt. Beth gave Marie a look in order to show Marie that they were on solid ground. Beth adored Neal and felt protective of him, however, today was for all the children Fred had ever harmed or might someday harm.

Marie grilled some burgers while Beth kept her eyes on Fred; also making sure Neal was away from him and comfortable. She’d brought a new computer game she knew he’d enjoy. Beth was also certain Fred would behave himself in front of other adults. After dinner Beth whispered a request into Neal’s ear.

“Here’s $5.00, please run and get some ice cream, your mom completely forgot dessert.”

Neal gladly ran off to the store without Fred noticing the exchange. Two minutes later Marie acted concerned, but tried not to be too dramatic.

“Hey you two, I can’t find Neal anywhere and we’re about to have some dessert. Beth please check the shed, Neal’s been working on building something in there. Fred, can you go up and see if he’s in his room? It’s upstairs.”

Fred made a beeline for the stairs. In the meantime, Neal returned with the ice cream and Beth thanked him. Marie pulled Neal to the side.

“Don’t say anything to Fred about running to the store, I’m embarrassed that I’d forgotten dessert.”

Fred came down the stairs and said, “There you are, you little rascal.”

Beth quickly ascended the stairs, noticed the missing items and called the police. She explained that there was a pedophile in her friend’s house. She asked that they come quickly and apprehend him.

Marie had arranged for Neal to be at her neighbor Fran’s house when the police arrived. The police asked for Fred to empty his pockets. He resisted at first, but when they threatened to take him to the police station, he complied. He had taken the two pairs of Neal’s underwear and the photos. They arrested Fred on theft charges and escorted him out of Marie’s house in handcuffs.

Over the next few weeks Fred was held in a corrections facility and investigated. Several boy scouts shared horrendous instances of sexual abuse. Fred Irving was charged on multiple counts of child molestation; he confessed and was convicted. He is currently serving a twenty year sentence. Neal is seeing a professional therapist who specifically deals with sexual abuse. He is much happier these days. The world he created in order to escape reality, is a distant memory. Marie and Beth have become very close friends. Neal’s parents divorced months after Fred’s arrest.

State-of-Mind

I was one of the lucky ones, I’ve never been molested. When I lived in Maine, a teacher I had great respect for, confided in me. He told me about a Catholic priest who groomed and sexually abused him for several years. It’s a world I had always shielded myself from; too unpleasant to think about. This man’s pain was greater than I would have imagined. I still think about what he told me and his journey to wellness. Predators of children need to be fully exposed and their enablers forced to deal with the damage they have permitted. In my mind, all parties involved share equal guilt.

Paco has had an ear infection since March. After six vet visits, it has finally gone away. I know it seems like a small thing, but he was bothered by it and it was a daily struggle to keep it under control. Apparently, these bacteria are growing stronger, becoming more resistant to antibiotics and other remedies. My pet owner friends will appreciate my anxiety over this.

I’ve been feeling vulnerable, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It forces me to examine my life and all of its parts. Looking in the mirror requires one to face the blemishes one might see. At the end of the day, I need to own my mistakes and forgive myself — grace for oneself and grace with others. I guess the only other caveat is the hope that others will fully accept me as well. If they choose not to, I need to move on.

“We don’t have to wait until we are on our deathbed to realize what a waste of our precious lives it is to carry the belief that something is wrong with us.”

~Tara Brach

Posted on October 12, 2024 by CP · 4 Comments

What To Do About Flora

Maggie watched her daughter play with a stranger, but something seemed off. The other little girl suddenly stopped and looked off into the distance. Her energy was strange and her daughter Lily, seemed to be aware of it. It would have been impossible for anyone else to notice. Maggie considered walking over and taking Lily home. Perhaps she was being a bit rash, after all they were two little girls playing in the park.

Maggie was a good mother; not aloof like some of the other moms. She was raising Lily on her own and she was determined to get it right. She felt fortunate to have a smart, easygoing daughter, who didn’t cling or whine. On this occasion Lily looked over to her mom as if to say, “Help mommy.”

Maggie watched closely, knowing she was within arms reach and they were just children. The other little girl’s mother walked up to Maggie and sat beside her. She introduced herself as Kate, her daughter as Flora, and sat beside Maggie. Kate pointed out how nicely the girls were getting along. Maggie thought to herself, I guess she doesn’t see it. Maggie decided to keep her thoughts to herself . . . for a change. Kate spoke to Maggie as if she’d always known her, making Maggie a bit uncomfortable. Minutes into the conversation, Kate suggested a playdate at her house. Maggie reluctantly agreed, she thought it was important not to alienate people. Kate seems nice enough, but still, Maggie’s guard was up.

Later that evening she was sitting on her sofa with Lilly and Lilly told her that she didn’t want to go to Flora’s house. Lily seemed very uncomfortable and on the verge of tears. Maggie couldn’t just let it go, probing further, Lily finally opened up.

“Mommy, she told me that I would never be a big girl.”

“Flora said I was going away soon.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I thought that Lily might have been imagining things or making it up. Then I recalled witnessing Lily’s discomfort at the playground and further, Lily didn’t make up stories. Maggie knew she’d have to confront Kate; she’d have to deal with this.

First Maggie assured Lily that she would never have to go to Flora’s house, then she told Lily that she surely would grow up and that she wouldn’t be leaving Hillcrest. The next day Maggie got a friend to watch Lily at home for an hour while she did some chores. Maggie’s first stop was the playground at the park. Fortunately, Kate was there with Flora.

Maggie walked over to Kate and explained that Lily was with a friend. She asked that Lily and Flora’s playdate be moved to her house instead of Kate’s house because Maggie needed to be home for a delivery. Kate agreed to come over with Flora that Friday. It left Maggie three days.

Friday morning Kate rapped on the door with Flora by her side. Maggie had already made sure Lily was out of harm’s way, safely with a friend on the other side of town. Maggie’s friend also knew that if she hadn’t heard from Maggie by 11:00 a.m., to call the police.

Maggie noticed Flora’s eyes were black as coal and she appeared soulless; Kate was harder to read. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect her child and she needed to make sure this encounter would soon be a distant memory. Maggie answered the door with a welcoming smile.

Kate seemed somewhat off-balance; angry and unable to understand Lily’s absence.

“Lily is where?”

“Why didn’t you call to let me know Maggie?”

“Sit down Kate, we need to talk.”

“I don’t understand, this was supposed to be a playdate for the girls.”

Kate finally agreed to sit on the sofa and listen to what Maggie had to say. Maggie felt empowered by her motherly instincts.

“You need to listen closely Kate, because what I have to say is extremely important. I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but I don’t like you or trust you.”

Kate looked over at her daughter who was about 10 feet away playing with a toy she’d brought along. She was about to say something to Maggie, who quickly let her know that she wasn’t finished.

“This neighborhood is a safe place for good people with good intentions; clearly you do not belong here. My advice to you, is to pack your bags and go as soon as possible. I’m warning you that in the meantime, if you and Flora go near the park or any of the children in the neighborhood, you will pay a price. I honestly don’t know what you’re up to, but you’ve come to the wrong place. Is there anything unclear about what I’m saying to you.”

Kate stood up, walked over to Flora and grabbed her hand. She refused to look at Maggie or acknowledge her words. It was at that point Maggie knew she was dealing with pure evil. Kate walked to the front door with Flora and opened it. Kate turned, looked at Maggie and said:

“You might think you’ve gotten rid of us just because after today you won’t see us in the neighborhood, but trust me, we’re not going away. Flora has her eyes on your Lily. Be careful Maggie, be very careful.”

They left the door open and walked away from the house, Maggie knew there was only one thing left to do. She was certain that Flora would never go anywhere near her Lily.

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I had some passport issues I had to deal with this week; a trip to the U.S. Embassy in Lisbon, etc. I decided to make the most of it and ended up staying on a houseboat and eating some terrific Mexican food. Despite having an extremely flatulent individual behind me on the bus home, it was a fairly pleasant 24 hours. This was all so I can carry out my much anticipated trip to Poland next week.

I’m writing this post from Salir, a small town in the Algarvian mountains. Peaceful (no loud motorbikes and/or barking dogs), delicious food, and only 40 minutes from home. I haven’t taken photos because I think I’m overloading my followers with idyllic photos from my travels — probably true for some, not all. Anyway, I’m sensitive to the probability.

I find U.S. politics extremely unsettling right now. Clearly, other world leaders are exploiting the uncertainty of our elections; killing innocent people in order to expand their own countries and gain more power. I realize voting (yes expats can vote) and waiting for a favorable outcome of our elections, is all I can do.

Posted on October 22, 2023 by CP · 11 Comments

Taught to Keep it All Inside

Topic revisited with revisions October 2023

My mother told her children that we had it better than most. She said that we should appreciate what we had because it could be far worse. We were not permitted to discuss our lives with outsiders under any circumstances. I didn’t realize why until I learned that other children were raised with love, encouragement, and hope for the future; we had very little of any of that. The love we got at home was twisted and divisive. Coming out was the least of my worries.

You hear a lot about people “coming out” these days. There are many incredible stories; each unique and compelling. I’m looking forward to a time when these stories are all in the distant past. I fear wide acceptance of differences is a far off reality.

My story was this: I hid my sexual orientation and acted straight, married a woman, kept it from the boss, had an awakening, told my sister first; she told me she already knew (as did everyone in my family), and so it goes. What you don’t hear is that when you’re gay, you don’t come out once, you come out again and again . . . and again.

Allow me to explain: I’m at a fundraiser sitting at a table with eight strangers. They have no idea who I am, where I am from, and what I do for a living — let alone know about my sexual orientation. We all make small talk to be polite. If I brought a female friend, she was automatically my wife. I am not being critical mind you, it’s a reasonable assumption. So one of the first comments is, “So how long have you two been together?” or “Do you have any children?” I’m wondering whether or not to tell the truth. If I stay silent or play along with the charade, am I doing a disservice to all gays and lesbians? We fought long and hard to be out and proud; if I stay silent, I am complicit.

When I am open and honest with people, I sometimes get these reactions:

“You don’t look gay.”

“I had no idea.”

“But you act so straight!” (Having worked so hard at acting straight in my teens and 20’s, this is my personal favorite.)

“If you were married to a woman, you must be bisexual.”

“Are you the man or the woman in a relationship?”

“Your lucky you are gay, because all gays are smart and creative.”

“There is this scripture from the Old Testament you need to hear.”

I have learned over the years that people can say some fairly stupid and insensitive things without intentionally meaning to offend (but they often do offend). I either nervously chuckle or ignore their words. Either reaction is not very honest, is it? What I would like to say is, “Now that you’ve made your bias clear, tell me what you really think about gay people?” And then go on to tell them what I think.

Let’s put it out there, have some dialogue. But, I don’t say what I’m thinking, I keep my mouth shut, remain silent and hope that the moment passes quickly. I do this because it’s what I was taught to do since I was old enough to comprehend life lessons. Adults teach children to keep the truth inside:

to spare the hurt feelings of others
to keep them out of trouble
to keep them safe
to keep children from sharing the truth about their parent’s lives (i.e., what happens in this family, stays with this family)
it’s the “norm;” that’s how we’ve always done it

I hid the truth until I was 28 years old; up until that point I worked hard to hide who I was from myself and everyone else.

Being honest, telling the truth, telling the whole truth, speaking your mind, sharing secrets, whistle blowing, and so on. They’re not the same things are they? Everyone seems to define “truth” differently these days. So when someone tells you that they are telling the truth, what exactly does that mean?

I should note that there have been times when I have spoken my truth and suffered the consequences.

The Truth Can be Painful and Consequences Can be Real

Having made a conscious effort to be honest has been fairly difficult at times. People say that they want to hear the truth when in fact, they cannot handle the truth. I acknowledge that my truth may not be someone else’s truth — for example, politics: I may believe that our previous administration was corrupt and dangerous and others might believe that it was the best leadership we’ve had in a long time. This is a difficult debate because one will argue the facts which are fairly skewed these days, depending on the reporting. This kind of truth aside, deciding to share the truth with someone can put both parties in a difficult position. The truth can do irreparable damage and that is something you may have to live with. I don’t believe examples are necessary since most people have experienced what I am referring to.

Many of us make a conscious decision to keep the truth to ourselves in order to keep the peace. The problem with this decision is that individuals who need to be told they have an alcohol problem, or that they are being psychologically abused or that their severe weight problem is killing them, will continue to talk themselves into a lie. I have a friend who told me that her doctor told her that it is better for her to smoke cigarettes because if she quits she might have a nervous breakdown. She’s told herself this lie so many times, she actually believes that it’s true.

Conventional wisdom tells you to hold your truth close to the chest; share it with only a select few that you truly trust, otherwise, you make yourself vulnerable — open to criticism. People will think you’re weak or flawed. I’m done with conventional wisdom. Do what feels right and either suffer the consequences or discover who your allies are; who is here to support you, love you, elevate you.

Coming to Terms with the Truth you Tell Yourself

A few years ago I found myself in a toxic work environment. Telling ourselves we are no longer happy at work, I believe it is one of the most essential truths we may have to tell ourselves. It’s very easy to become comfortable and feel safe in a toxic environment; after all, it’s all you know and the alternative might be too frightening to face.

Once you are able and willing to be honest with yourself about your career or work environment, change needs to happen and the old adage that “change is good” will prove true once again.

There are many truths we keep from ourselves: failing health, toxic relationships, financial ruin, alcohol or drug abuse, missed opportunities, why having an affair is hurting many people, etc. Facing any and all of these life issues can be challenging; however, failure to do so will only mean future problems that could very well end up being insurmountable.

My Future and How I Intend to Deal with Truth

One of my reasons for moving overseas was to find truth. Life for me was becoming mundane and way too comfortable; I was choosing the path of least resistance nearly every time. I’m not referring to seeking the truth about our existence, what I’m trying to find is my own truth: who am I, what am I looking for, and how do I find it?

I am aware that these are big questions and finding the answers is a lifelong journey. I believe the answers lie in self-reflection, self-assessment and shaking things up. Looking in the mirror can be difficult. If you look hard enough, you might see the truth. So many are reluctant to look because they’re afraid of what they might find. I’m not so much afraid as I am concerned. I’m concerned that I will not be able to change what I don’t like. For example, I learned a while back that I can be unfairly critical. I can hold people to a standard that is unrealistic and unfair. I don’t like this one bit. The question is, can I change it? I’m not sure that I can, but I have made a commitment to try.

Other lies I tell myself:

One more cocktail won’t hurt you
You can leave your bicycle helmet home this one time
It’s better not to put yourself out there because men are all slime buckets
Trump will definitely go to jail
You don’t have to cover your head from the sun today
You can eat whatever you want and work it off at the gym
You will know a bad person when you meet them

Being open about these lies is a good first step; it’s time to face them. My friends and family tell me I’m too hard on myself. I believe it’s an easy out — I don’t want to face my shit so I’d prefer you didn’t face yours. I’ll have none of that: “the truth shall set me free” (to paraphrase the bible and that may be a first for me).

Future Travel

Asia land & sea is finally happening this week, Lyon, France for Christmas, South Africa land & sea in February, and Oslo, Norway July 2024. Finally, a visit to the Puglia region of Italy in the spring of 2025. The United States in 2025 is likely: Brooklyn, Portland, Maine, Maryland, North Carolina and perhaps the west coast.

Current State-of Mind

Two eye opening things happened this week; different, but thought provoking nonetheless. I took Paco out to a local café for a home cooked lunch. I discovered that if I get there early I can avoid smokers and high school kids. When I think about this today, I honestly feel like a bitter aging man — a sad state-of-being. I had a simple, but delicious lunch; as I finished, the students started pouring in. I could feel my entire body tense-up making leaving my best option. I was at the register paying the check. I reached into my pocket and my cash was gone. Before I could panic and a teenager tapped my shoulder. I turned around ready to mouth off and he handed me my money, which I guess had fallen out of my pocket. I immediately felt terrible for judging this sub-population of individuals. With one small gesture, my faith in the youth of Portugal was restored. It was a gentle reminder to shy away from jumping to unfair conclusions about my neighborhood tennagers. I need constant reminders.

The second situation happened here in my home with a contractor working on my floors. I had a vision for how my refinished wood floors would turn out. As the work progressed I realized what I wanted was not going to happen. I had to take a deep breath and accept a different reality — a reality I have discovered I am thrilled with. I truly need to be more open to curve balls which could be brilliant opportunities.

Please forgive any and all typographical and grammatical errors.

Posted on July 19, 2021 by CP · 2 Comments

Trapped and Terrified in A Lift

What would you do?

Old Elevator Buttons Against Wooden Panels Inside A Vintage Elevator — **This might be too modern** **a depiction of the elevator I was stuck in**

I have to set the scene for you; although this happened 46 years ago, the experience is as fresh in my mind as it was the day it happened. I apology in advance for downplaying the fear I experienced then and continues to resonate. This is the first time I am retelling this story.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Like many teenagers in Brooklyn, I worked at a grocery store. It was a good job for a 16 year old; it taught me many lessons about life I might not have learned otherwise. Little did I know, that on one particular brutally hot summer day, I would learn a lesson of survival.

Delivering groceries to neighborhood people was hard work, but when I laid on the charm and kept my clients happy, I could do pretty well financially. My earnings paid for room and board, clothing, and my education — we paid our own way in my house as soon as we were able. I either hustled or listened to my mother piss and moan about poverty and what it was like to raise seven kids on her own. She had a point.

My siblings would argue this self-assessment, but I recollect that I was a fairly happy-go-lucky teenager — especially when I was flush with cash. Tips were a good way for me to make money because I could hide a lot of it from my mother. I figure she was a waitress and practiced similar deception. That late morning in August, I was rode my delivery bike about two streets east to an old building I had visited often; truth be told, every building was old in Ditmas Park. When you’re sixteen and you think you know it all, old and rundown is not cool. I took the elevator to the 8th floor and dropped off the groceries; after awhile, you spend your time thinking about everything else than what you’re actually doing; I believe she was a regular customer, a detail that’s fuzzy.

I recall it was so humid, my clothing was soaked through and I was lethargic from the heat. I entered the noisy old elevator; you know, the ones that go clunk, clunk, clunk when they move. I pressed the button for the first floor. The door slammed closed and the elevator descended a few feet and stopped abruptly. I did what any human would do, I pressed all the buttons, I pressed them over and over again, thinking somehow, my persistence would restart the lift. There was an alarm button, a rather loud alarm I might add, but it felt like I was screaming help in a padded prison cell and no one was listening.

Thinking, this can’t be happening, doesn’t make it go away — this was a living nightmare. I took a deep breath and felt like I might cry. Perhaps my brain knew that crying would use up too much of my water supply, instead I stomped my feet and banged the walls. Clearly, there was no one anywhere near this piece of shit machinery. I sat down on the dirty elevator floor hoping an escape plan would come. I’m pretty sure I was close to panicking by this point. I’ve never been fond of small spaces; this elevator was tiny. In addition to that foul odors easily make me nauseous. This particular building had a gag inducing stench. I screamed “help” as loud as I could. I screamed repeatedly hoping someone in the building would come to my rescue. Could it be possible that the entire building was empty? And where was the lady I just delivered groceries to? I had watched way too much Twilight Zone for my own good. In my mind one of two things was going to happen: the elevator was either going to crash to the ground or I would die of heat exhaustion; neither would be a good way to go.

A good chunk of time passed before I starting screaming again. I was convinced my co-workers would miss me and someone was being sent to check what had happened. I would alternate between stomping and screaming and bargaining with God — whom I don’t believe exists by the way. Funny how that happens when you’re in a life threatening situation. You go through this, if you really do exist please help me — I’ll do anything, I promise, dialog in your head.

Dripping wet, long past the point of heat exhaustion, seeing double through pools of sweat, no voice, no help, and no hope; I recall at a certain point I began to enter the acceptance phase of my own impending death. At some point, I made the decision that being horizontal might save me some energy. The elevator floor was dirty and sticky, but I’m not sure it mattered much at that moment. Flat on the ground and feeling defeated, I believe I closed my eyes for a few minutes, the silence was deafening and my heartbeat was finally slowing a bit. I glanced at the ceiling and noticed an exhaust fan that wasn’t moving. Next to the fan was a panel. It was too high up for me, but offered new hope. I stood up in order to assess the situation and realized that I might be able to step onto the side rail and push on the panel. Desperation fuels hope — there were not many other options to choose from.

I jumped up with one foot on the rail and was able to touch the top of the elevator car. After a number of tries, I was dislodged the panel; quite relieved that it was not bolted down. I was able to eventually pop the panel off and push it over to the side, allowing me to see that I was only feet away from the elevator doors on the floor above the car.

It might have been more than an hour or perhaps only minutes; at this point I was pretty delirious. I faintly heard someone walking on the floor above and I shouted for help. The man walked up to the doors and called down to me.

“Is someone in there?”

I sunk down to the ground and responded with tremendous relief. Yes, I’m here, please help me get out.

“It’s the super, I’m going to shut the elevator down and start it back up.”

I don’t think I answered him. I may have thought it was in my head.

An eternity passed and the lift gave a jolt. It started moving but only about four feet. At this point the car was partially on the fifth floor.

“Give me a minute, I think I can pry the doors open.”

The super pushed the doors open and I could see him; I could breathe again. I expressed my gratitude and I told him I’d been there a long time. He apologized, his thick Spanish accent, more a part of my consciousness than earlier. He said something about being out of the building all morning. He asked for my hand, hauled me up, and I quickly crawled out onto the fifth floor. I don’t think either of us was thinking about the danger of what we were doing at the time. He could see I was dripping wet and he asked me if I wanted some water.

Please, I said and leaned my body against the wall.

He told me that his apartment was in the basement. He asked me if I could walk down the steps and I told him that I could. When we got down to the first floor he asked me to wait while he went to get some water. I thought he was kind. He returned with a tall glass and I drank the water in one gulp. I thanked him and left.

When I got back to the grocery store, I realized I had been gone three hours. None of my co-workers seemed to notice that I’d been missing. I walked over to Bob, the owner of the store, and found words almost impossible. He asked me where I’d been and I shared what had happened. He shrugged and told me he was glad I made it out of the lift. I thought he was matter-of-fact about the whole thing, but how could he know what I’d been through.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Years later I was watching the news and there was a story about a woman who was on an elevator in a Manhattan hi-rise. The elevator stopped a few feet below the floor she had entered on. The elevator door and the door to the floor opened, she panicked and hoisted herself up. As she was crawling out of the elevator, it started back up and cut her in half. When the door opened to some people who had called the lift, they saw the severed lower half of her body. The news only showed the bloody car, but it didn’t take much imagination to see the gruesome scene in your mind’s eye. Apparently, there was some sort of glitch in the system that caused the lift to malfunction. I believe they have put new measures in place to ensure an elevator car could never move if any of the floor doors are even partially opened.

I will never shake the image of that woman’s severed torso and what her final moments must have been like. I’ve also thought about my own situation and how I was fortunate to get out of the lift I was trapped in. I should have asked the super to call the fire department; I wasn’t thinking. The events that took place that day in my 16th year, taught me a great deal about who I am and how fortunate I have been. I treat elevators with great respect and carry water with me whenever possible; you never know when you might need it.

I still wonder where all the residents of that building were that day? Why didn’t the woman I had just delivered groceries to, hear me? And why didn’t my co-workers notice how long I’d been gone?

____________________________________________________________________________

Hot dogs are one of my favorite foods and until recently I was convinced that a good, natural casing frankfurter, did not exist in Portugal. I was happily wrong — they sell them frozen at IKEA and I’m good now.

Posted on April 10, 2021April 11, 2021 by CP · 4 Comments

Trapped Under Ice

60 Seconds of Terror

Completely submerged, I pounded the ice with my fist while panicked boys above me screamed for help. Weighted down by boots, a winter coat, and fear, I could only think of Dana. I was certain that if I didn’t find a hole in the ice I would never see my dog again.

My Scouting Days Were Limited

To say that I was a reluctant boy scout is an understatement. The thought of camping and eating dehydrated packaged foods was repulsive. I went along with the idea to show my aloof step-father that I was not a sissy. Our scout leader’s thinly veiled plan was to have us boys slip flyers under tenement doors in order to earn enough cash to leave the city for greener pastures. I’ll explain the scam later. This charade meant giving up Saturdays, for how long, I don’t recall; all for two insufferable nights with miserable scout leaders intent on showing us how to be real men.

I didn’t mind summer camping so much. Well that’s a lie, I hated the mosquitoes and I despised my pumped up, so called, leaders. But in the summer, I didn’t freeze my ass off and I could at least go swimming. When the leaders announced a winter trip, I asked my mom if I could sit it out. My mother was always concerned about my desire to spend more time in my room than out and about. She insisted that I go and demanded that I have fun. It doesn’t really work that way, but back then, kids did what they were told.

The Trip

We arrived at the campground in Alpine, New Jersey. It couldn’t have been more than an hour from the city; rural, desolate, and way too far from Brooklyn for my liking. I’m going to say, all in, there were around 15 of us. We got there on an old school bus; the same yellow jalopies still on the road today. The bus was damp and cold and you felt every bump to the point where it hurt your teeth. I’m not a delicate flower mind you, I just didn’t see the point in such nonsense.

It started snowing the night before we left for Alpine and I recall arriving at camp hoping that the cabins were buried so deep we’d have to turn back — no such luck. Upon arrival, we were told to put our things on top of our bunks and return to the dining hall (I use the term loosely), for further instructions. All the boys had boatloads of energy and were anxious to be outdoors; our leaders seemed just as anxious to coax us out. They told us we could play, but that we should stay close to the cabins and return before lunch. They were to remain in the dining hall so that they could map out the rest of the weekend.

My scout peers and I ran into the great beyond, not far from our home base. The snow was over eight inches deep and blanked the camp. Most of us were testing the snow to see whether or not could make snowballs with it. In fact, it was perfect for packing — we were all ready for war . . . boys will be boys. I started running toward the center of what I thought was a wide open field and I felt the ground beneath me crack open; in fact it was a lake, not a field. I was pulled into the frozen water, weighted down by my winter boots and a heavy wool coat. I must have started screaming, but this part is all a blur. I later learned that as soon as I took the plunge, a couple of the boys ran to alert our leaders.

Completely submerged, I frantically searched for an opening in the ice. It was dark under water due to the fallen snow. It felt as if I was moving in slow motion as I listened to frantic screams and tried to swim to the surface; my clothing was soaked through, weighing me down. After what I’m certain was a very long time, I heard splashing nearby. I moved toward the sound and found an opening in the ice. Each time I tried to hold on, the ice broke off. The other boy who had fallen in was thrashing two or three away. I heard panicked voices pleading for the two of us to stay calm, “Help is on the way.”

By the time our scout leaders arrived, we’d broken through quite a large patch of ice. I’d gone under numerous times. The men quickly laid across the ice, creating a human chain, and pulled the two of us out of the lake. We were carried back to the leader’s cabin and placed in front of the fire. My clothing was quickly peeled off of me and I was wrapped in a large blanket. I’m sure my lips had turned blue and I was shivering so badly I feared I would never stop. Looking back, I’m certain our leaders were more fearful of a lawsuit than hypothermia. I recall deafening silence as they attempted to warm us up. I was given a cup of hot chocolate, but I couldn’t stop shaking long enough to get it down.

A decision was made to cancel the weekend and take us all home to our parents. I don’t recall hearing the reaction of the other scouts. One of our leaders grabbed my backpack and took responsibility for getting me home. I didn’t know him very well, I didn’t like him, and I didn’t trust him. In the car, he questioned me about how I fell in the ice. I shared with him what I was certain everyone had told him, that I ran onto what I thought was an open field and fell into the lake. He just nodded and assured me that I’d be home soon.

When we got to my house my mother was anxiously waiting at the door. I didn’t realize they had called ahead and she was crying and obviously angry. She hugged me tighter than usual. I’m was pretty sure that it was all a show; drama was my mother’s specialty and this was a situation that called for plenty of it. The scout leader asked if he could come in. My brothers and sisters all stared at me as if I had some sort of rare disease. I was still bundled in blankets because my coat was soaked. My mother asked the scout leader to have a seat.

I recall her repeating, “How could you let this happen,” several times.

She made it clear that I would never be allowed to go away with the boy scouts again and threatened a lawsuit. This news made me very happy; almost making my submersion into the frozen lake, worth it. My scout leader told her about the snow covered lake and the human chain, but it fell on deaf ears. They spoke for a few more minutes, he apologized again and left. I wasn’t used to see him humble. Once he was gone, my mother reverted back to her old ways and sent me to bed; not before making it clear that falling into the frozen lake was all my fault and that I was lucky to be alive.

I never returned to the boy scouts after that incident and there was no lawsuit ever filed. It wasn’t because my mother didn’t think she had a case, it had more to do with the effort she’d have to make it happen. I have stayed away from fields covered in snow and never once, regretted leaving the scouts.

Prologue

The flyers work our leaders had us do, was a scheme to line their pockets. Arrests made local news and there were indictments. I recall feeling vindicated. To this day when I see flyers being slipped under doors, I have a visceral resentment for those boy scout “leaders,” and their intention to teach us how to lead.

São Miguel is less than two weeks away and if all goes well, I’ll be back in the States for a visit, by mid-May.

Question of the Week:

Have you ever had your life flash before your eyes? What did you see?

Posted on May 24, 2020May 26, 2020 by CP · 8 Comments

Terror in Turkey

One Horrific Night in Istanbul

An early morning nightmare I wish I could erase from my memory.

A few years ago I was presented with the opportunity to visit Istanbul. One of our French Culinary Institute graduates was opening a cooking school in the center of the city and I was invited to stay at her home and take a look at her school. I had often dreamt about traveling to Turkey and what better reason could there be to make the trip.

Whenever I travel to a city I haven’t been to, I check out the gay scene; if there is a gay scene that is. I knew of course that Turkey is a predominantly Muslim country and it is essentially against a Muslim’s religion to be intimate with someone of the same sex.

[The Quran narrates the story of the “people of Lot” destroyed by the wrath of God because the men engaged in lustful carnal acts between themselves.^[1]^[2]^[3]^[4] Some hadith collections also condemn homosexual and transgender acts,^[5]^[1]^[6]^[7] prescribing death penalty for male homosexual intercourse.^[8] Homosexual acts are forbidden in traditional Islamic jurisprudence and are liable to different punishments, including the death penalty, depending on the situation and legal school.] (Wikipedia)

This knowledge should have been enough to squelch any desire I might have had to explore the gay culture in Istanbul. Truth is, I can be way too curious and extremely stupid sometimes. Hence the night I came close to losing my life in Istanbul.

This was a few years ago and I couldn’t find anything about a gay community on-line prior to traveling to Turkey. I thought I’d inquire once I settled in. I was shopping at the Grand Bazaar on my second day in Istanbul and finally met a young, friendly, English speaking man, who was working at a spice stall. I had the notion he might be gay and so I delicately approached the subject of gay culture in Istanbul. He basically informed me that it was underground, not wildly popular and not easy to find. He was aware of one particular club, but not sure about others in the city.

I should note that I did not think it was appropriate to question my host about this matter or inform her that I would be going to a gay club. We had not been friendly prior to my visit and I didn’t feel comfortable sharing personal information. For the most part, I was scheduled to be on my own in the evening.

It was Friday afternoon and I thought it might be fun to venture out and find this club while there was still some daylight, so that it would be easy to find that evening. After walking around the vicinity of where the young man said the club would be, I found it sort of tucked away on a side street near the centre. It was closed and there were no hours on the door. I wasn’t even sure that what I found was a club. I figured I’d go at about 10:00 p.m., hoping to find it lively. When I arrived that evening, there was just one person at the door and the bartender. The bar was sparse and not at all enticing. I asked the bartender what time things got going and he just shrugged his shoulders acting as if he had no idea what I was talking about. I believe he spoke English, I wasn’t really sure.

Two hours later, a few others began to arrive. What I experienced at the club that night I have never experienced at a gay club prior. It was a pleasant enough space, one large room with a chandelier and some colorful club lights. There was a small dancefloor; unused that evening. There appeared to be one couple and then maybe three or four guys just standing around hugging the wall. I don’t recall any laughing or smiling, just guys looking very serious and holding their drinks. I’m not sure why, but I was intimidated and intrigued at the same time. At one point I questioned why in the world I was sticking around. A part of me thought that things might liven-up. I had been to clubs before that didn’t get going until 1:00 a.m. and so I thought that perhaps the culture in Istanbul was a late one.

I was dead wrong, it never got better. I decided to leave the club at about 2:00 a.m. I had not had much to drink due to the circumstances. I walked outside to find a taxi and a young gentleman followed me out. He tapped me on the shoulder and asked me where I was from. I told him that I was from New York and visiting Turkey for the first time. He then asked me if I would like to walk for a bit. The streets were very quiet, in fact, they were eerily deserted. I was curious why he had not spoken to me at the club, but instead, waited until I left the bar. His English was not great,but we understood one another. He told me that he had not said hello to me at the club because he was afraid I would reject him. He appeared shy and said that he had been working up the nerve to speak to me. He also apologized for his English. I asked about the gay culture in Turkey and I could tell that he was reluctant to go there with me. He started to become agitated as I probed, and so I apologized.

We were walking without saying much for about ten minutes, when he asked me if I was interested in going back to his place for a coffee. I told him that I didn’t drink coffee at that hour, but that it would be nice to see his place. I was very curious and he was attractive. We found a taxi and went to his apartment; it was a five minute ride at the most.

When we arrived at his apartment, I began to be concerned. His demeanor changed abruptly. I wasn’t sure if he was having second thoughts about inviting me to his place or if he was possibly dangerous. When you walked into his apartment there were three guys playing some sort of game, and whatever they were smoking filled the entire apartment with smoke. He did not introduce me and took me into his bedroom. Honestly, I’m not sure we ever exchanged names. The room was small, dark and very unpleasant. This is when I began feeling very threatened. I told him that I wasn’t feeling right about the situation. I didn’t share this, but I had gotten a bad vibe from the guys in the other room. He dismissed my discomfort and told me not to worry.

The next bit came as quite a shock. He asked me for $100 dollars. It was then that I knew I was in trouble.

I said, “You should have told me that you were working. I’m not interested in paying for sex.”

He became angry with me and told me that I had to pay him because I should have known. He was insulting and incensed. I was very frightened at this point. I asked him to please just let me leave.

“No, you cannot leave without giving me $100.”

I told him that all I had was $20 (in Lira) and that I needed it for a taxi. He said he didn’t believe me and I had to empty my pockets for him. He saw that I had my ID and bankcard. He said that if I didn’t pay him, that he and his friends would beat me. At that moment, I believed him. I told him that we’d have to find an ATM machine. He agreed that we would go to a machine with one of his friends. I know that I was shaking and close to tears.

We found a machine near his apartment. I made a couple of attempts to withdraw money, but it wasn’t working. His friend kept telling me to hurry. I tried to explain that it wasn’t working, but they said that I was lying. I asked them if we could try another machine. This was my first attempt at using an ATM in Turkey. I brought Lira with me, but I left most of it in the apartment where I was staying. I have never liked carrying a lot of cash. They took me to another machine a few streets away. I was looking for the police as we hurried through the streets, but I saw no one.

I had the same issue at the next machine. I thought that I might have been so nervous that I was using the wrong pin. At this point both men were very agitated. I tried to explain that it just wasn’t working.

I pleaded, “What if I give you what I have in my pocket and my watch as well?”

They just shook their heads and said they wanted the money. I took the money out of my pocket and handed it to one of them. I tried to give them my watch, but they refused to take it. At this point they were both screaming at me in Turkish. I threw my watch at them and ran. They chased me through the streets and all I could imagine was that I was going to be brutally killed in Istanbul. I was running marathons at this point in my live and fortunately, I was very fit. I ran toward a taxi I had spotted and begged the driver to allow me to get in; he refused. I ran a bit further and I saw another driver standing on the side of his taxi.

“Help, these guys are going to hurt me.”

The driver opened his door and I jumped into the taxi. The two Turks chasing me were pounding on the window as the taxi drove away. I thanked the driver several times, but he spoke no English. I tried to tell him that I did not have money, but that I would get some cash for him when we arrived to where I was staying.

When we got to the apartment I tried to tell him again that I had no cash on me. The driver was very angry that I was not paying him; he kept repeating something in his language and pointing to his hand. There was a military soldier standing with a rifle near the house where I was staying. This was a very wealthy neighborhood and there was a soldier on almost every corner. He spoke a little English and I explained my situation. He then spoke to the angry driver. He told me that I could go in and get the money. I quickly went in to retrieve some cash and I brought it out to pay him. He angrily grabbed the money and drove away. The soldier said nothing. I often wondered if he knew what had happened to me that night.

I showered and shivered for who knows how long. Sleep was elusive. The evening kept playing in my head on an endless loop. I crawled out of my bed a few hours later and spent the remainder of the day trying to forget what had happened. I told no one. I called my bank and I was told that I had not informed them that I was traveling and so their policy was to block my account.

Let’s be totally honest; what I did was dumb, insane, ridiculous, naive, and immature. At the time, I was a young man in my early 40s and I had put myself in dangerous situations more often than I care to admit. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and that’s all I’ll say. I wish I hadn’t been so stupid, but then, who knew I’d be chased through the streets of Istanbul at 3:00 a.m. You live and learn and I learned the hard way.

“I have no desire to suffer twice, in reality and then in retrospect.”
― Sophocles, Oedipus Rex

Posted on January 19, 2020January 21, 2020 by CP · 18 Comments

Meet Paco: Adopting A Pet

Adoption is the only way to go. It reduces the number of animals being euthanized and provides a home for those in need.

This is Paco shortly after he was found shivering in a storm in the hills of Estoi, Portugal. The generous and compassionate Scottish couple who found him, shared that he was in a state of shock, hungry and badly matted. It appeared from his skeletal, tiny body that he had not eaten for some time. They took him to the vet to have him checked out. He had a serious eye infection, he was starving, and he had worms. The vet told them that he is less than a year old. He also had a chip, however, his information had never been entered in the system — it appears that he was abandoned. The couple’s dog Deano, did not really care for Whisper (a friend of theirs named him) and tried to attack him several times. Clearly, keeping Whisper was not an option, but they were quickly becoming attached.

The friend that was helping them cope with the situation posted a plea for adoption on Facebook and I responded immediately. I had a conversation with the friend and explained that I could adopt Whisper, but since I had a pre-planned trip to Spain with my friends Michelle and John, I could not take him home until I returned to Portugal. She said that would not be a problem and she asked me to please come and meet Whisper. My friends were joining me in Faro a few days later and I had hired a rental. I committed to going to Estoi directly from the car rental. John and Michelle are dog lovers and they knew Giorgio his entire life (my dog that passed from a heart valve problem a little over a year ago) and they were excited to meet my potential new pet.

I arrived and spotted Whisper behind a gate a few feet away and knew immediately that he would be my new companion. He is now called Paco. He looks like a Paco and he is my Paco. I have a deep fear that the previous owner will return and snatch him away from me. It’s a fear I will have to live with for awhile. The lack of data attached to his chip leads me to believe that there is a good chance he will remain with me — we’re destined to grow old together.

Our First Day Together

Paco has been through the horrible trauma of being abandoned. I cannot imagine what he is feeling right now. He has been with his foster parents for a few weeks and he has grown fond of them; after all, these kind people rescued him. And now they are leaving him with me. I was sensitive to his fears and apprehensive feelings.

Settling In

The hand-off wasn’t easy. I was excited to have Paco see his new home, but his foster mom was very sad and had a difficult time saying goodbye. We sat at a café wondering when would be the best time to leave with Paco; there was no best time. She’s gone back and forth about whether or not she wants to see him or hear about how he’s doing. I’m going to give her time and she can decide. She left me with articles of her clothing so that Paco would have her scent. She also left a piece of her heart.

Michelle and I walked him home. Paco was noticeably skittish; not very familiar with traffic noise and these new surroundings. We got to the apartment and John was sitting out on the terrace. Paco ran outside and went straight for the railing where there are slats that I am certain he can squeeze through (he weighs about five pounds and he’s tall and thin). I screamed for him to stop and he froze. I know it scared him terribly, but it was my only option. We decided that I would need to cover the slats with mesh — this had never occured to me before he arrived.

We stayed outside where he was obviously much more comfortable and Michelle calmed him down. He eventually settled. Soon after, Michelle began cutting some of the knots from his coat; he’s very badly matted from the time he spend in the hills searching for food, water and a safe home. Most of the matting is close to his skin and will need to grow out before it can be cut. I’m going to give it some time. Michelle leaves for home in a few days and I can’t help wondering how I am going to manage without her patience. Paco responds to her kindness and soft voice. Thus far, I have been a distant observer. Part of me feels as if I am betraying Giorgio and the other part wants to love Paco.

The mesh has been added to the terrace, so it is now safe for Paco to be outside without supervision. He slept most of his first day with me. Michelle got him to eat and I took him out a couple of times. He walks with coaxing, but he’s obviously uncertain of his new surroundings. I know it will take time. He is alert and responds to my commands.

He slept quietly through the night in the bed his foster mom brought to me. She had also given me his eye medicine, a lead, collar, and hand written notes about the time he’s been with her and her husband. When she found him a little over two weeks ago his eyes were infected and almost completely shut. They are now open and healing; we have an appointment with my vet tomorrow.

Our first morning walk was difficult. He peed outside, but he really didn’t want to walk; clearly still not sure what this is all about. When I hold him, he tucks his head under my chin. I keep wondering what is going on in that frightened little head of his.

He seems to be house trained. It’s hard to tell because he’s spending so much time curled up in his bed.

Day Two

A soothing bath and some cutting off of the matted hair; not all the matting, just what is no-so-close to his skin. He doesn’t seem to mind being pampered.

First Vet Visit

Paco tried to run out of the vet’s office and slammed into a glass door. It was the first time he had run away from, me so I was startled by it. Good thing the door was closed because he would have run out into traffic and I’m not sure my heart could take the possible outcome.

My vet was concerned about how thin he is and said he needed to take blood. Ten minutes later he had bad news for me. Paco tested positive for two tick borne bone marrow viruses; apparently common for dogs left outdoors to fend for themselves. He really frightened me by telling me that not all dogs recover for this type of illness. He’s on antibiotics and I’ll know in 30 days whether or not he’ll fully recover. My vet said that if he’s responding favorably to the antibiotics, I will notice it. I asked my vet why he doesn’t bark and my vet replied,

“There are enough dogs that bark in Portugal so consider yourself lucky.”

The Next Day

Paco had another night of sleeping soundly. He’s very well behaved, but I have to keep in mind that he is in a constant state of discomfort because of his illness; apparently a low white blood cell count and arthritis are the reasons he sleeps most of the time. We were able to deal with the heavy matting so I think he is more comfortable now. He loves the sunny terrace and his dog bed. Sometimes he curls up next to me and stares at me intensely; I think he knows I’m going to take care of him.

Day four

I’m an early riser and Paco is not. He slept in the first few mornings, but alas, I think he’ll be a morning pooch by the end of the week. He slept in my bed last night, curled up at the base of my back. I believe that lots of nurturing and comfort is going to give him the will to heal and stay alive. He’s a quiet dog; sleeps soundly and doesn’t stir when I get up to use the bathroom. He gets out of bed and lets me know that he is ready for breakfast. Standing by his bowl is a fairly good indicator. I feed him a mix of wet and dry food and he eats it all. I will eventually switch him over to all dry food because I think it’s a better diet for his stomach and his teeth — his vet agrees.

Giorgio, my last pet, was always more concerned about going out than eating; however, Paco seems to be quite the opposite. He eats and then takes a morning nap. I’m walking him at about 7:00 a.m. It allows us both time to ease into the day. He does his business moments after we hit the grass. It’s as if he’s reading my mind — I’m not fond of long walks.

I’m noticing a big difference in his disposition; he’s less skittish, more confident and more alert. I assume it’s a combination of being comfortable with me and that (hopefully) the antibiotics are working. I’m pretty certain he is house trained since he hasn’t gone to the bathroom inside — time will tell.

Paco today; looking a whole lot better than when he was found.

On day five Paco actually did a complete twirl when I put his food down. His personality is starting to come through. Being alone with him has been good for both of us; we’re finding our way without distractions.

Paco found his voice yesterday and responded to a barking dog outside; he sounded like a puppy. After three woofs, Paco looked over at me and sighed.

The Future

It is obvious to me and to Paco’s vet, that he was traumatized prior to being rescued. I’m not sure if it was his original owner(s) or the time he spent abandoned in the countryside. Whichever it was, I’m going to do everything I can to get him to trust again. I’m already sensing a strong bond between us. I was fortunate to have found a pet so full of love.

His rescuers have reached out to me, anxious to know how he is adjusting and the status of his health. They are not invasive and have offered to do anything they can to help. I’m feeling more confident that the people who abandoned him will not be showing up at my door. Honestly, since there was a concerted effort to locate these folks over the last several weeks, they’d have a fight on their hands if they did show up.

How I Found Paco

If you live in the Algarve in Portugal, check out Algarve Dog Rehoming, a fantastic group on Facebook. That’s how I found Whisper (now Paco). You will find many, many people who will want to assist you in finding the right pet to adopt.

Helpful Pieces Before You Adopt

Ten Questions to Ask Before Adopting a Pet . . .

Eight Things You Need to Know . . .