Image by Changhua Coast Conservation Action via FlickrI had made an appointment to have the puppy spayed at one of the charitable spay and neuter clinics.....half the usual vet surgery price even with a donation thrown in.The local town sessions have halted until after Christmas so it was the town down the road...a long ribbon strip development place with loads of condominiums and no soul.
This being unknown territory, the men decided that Danilo....ex delivery driver in his past employment life... would get the directions, and, very important this, he would write them down.
There have been many interesting experiments in Danilo getting directions and not writing them down...we have seen many places we would not otherwise have thought of visiting and have met many charming people who have directed us to other places we would not have thought of visiting in the course of being asked for directions.
As in the case of the pigs, the men had the whole thing under control.
The car was at the door, all dogs not involved were outside and Man A crouched by the back door while Man B drove the puppy into his arms.
The puppy had other ideas and left by the front door...leading the other dogs in a joyous tour of neighbouring properties encouraged in this by the shouts of Men A and B in pursuit.
Other dogs, returning, made for their water bowls in the house while the puppy sat outside.
Man A stationed Man B on one side of the open porch and himself on the other in order to effect a pincer movement, thus driving the puppy into the house.
Clearly one of them was operating on von Moltke's variation of the Schlieffen plan, disproportionally strengthening one of the wings, as the puppy shot between them followed...like the taxis of the Marne... by the reinforcements returning from the water bowls.
A tour of the tilapia ponds and back to the house...dogs clearly delighted by the unaccustomed entertainment and the puppy wagging its tail fit to bust. All soaking wet.
Capture puppy on the sofa by throwing a towel over it...technique gleaned from Alice and the Pig Baby...leg it for the car to find wet Alsatian installed on the back seat. Drive him out to find him leaping in again through the tailgate.
Where the puppy goes, he goes.
Use diplomatic means to dislodge him....bribe of smelly bone.
Alsatian dislodged.
Shut all doors. Drive off.
We are onto the main road and past a number of bends before Man B discovers that in all the excitement he has left the instructions by the telephone.
Man A assures him that there will be no problem.
Man A is Danilo.
Man B believes Man A.
I decide to enjoy the scenery.
It is a half hour drive on the main road down from the hills...the rainy season is ending and trees are coming into flower...the puppy drops off to sleep.
Now, for what follows, it is helpful to know that most Costa Rican towns are laid out on the grid pattern...Avenidas (avenues) go one way and Calles (streets) run at right angles to them.
The centre of town is where Avenida 0 crosses Calle 0.
On one side will be ranked Avenidas and Calles in odd numbers...on the other Avenidas and Calles in even numbers.
So directions should be simple.
Except that no one uses Avenida and Calle numbers. Directions are from noted landmarks, like banks, petrol stations and shops.
This is exceedingly frustrating when the original bank, petrol station or shop has changed hands or moved and the directions stay the same.
Thus....from the fig tree, three hundred metres north, two hundred metres east, when the fig tree was cut down twenty years ago.
In this case Man B rehearses Man A as the town approaches.
Where are we headed?
We have to pass the bank.
Which bank?
The bank we have to pass.
Slight hissing and wheezing noises can be heard...human, not mechanical.
O.K.....after the bank we have to pass, what then?
We go to the big bakery and go three hundred metres east and fifty metres north.
O.K. I know where the bakery is.
We arrive at the bakery, pass it merrily and turn to the left on the next Calle.
Why did you do that? We're supposed to turn at the bakery.
We can't. It's one way. Just three hundred metres and we turn north....
Except that that is another one way.
I'll ask directions.
First a gentleman at the roadside is approached who goes back to his house to get his wife.
She directs us to a palatial equine institution on the outskirts of town.
This isn't it. Go back to the bakery.
We miss the bakery again.
The wheezing and hissing is louder.
Turn to the right!
Why?
Because you turned left last time!
It isn't here! There aren't any vets this side of town.
But this is held at a private house...it's not a veterinary surgery...turn right!
We turn right and approach the bakery on a parallel road.
It's not here!
Look, get out and ask. Turn left at the junction. We must be so close!
Man A descends from the car, turns right at the junction and disappears.
After five minutes it appears that he has taken the car keys and that we are locked in.
More wheezing and hissing. The puppy wakes up...intrigued.
Can you climb through the window without setting off the burglar alarm?
No.
Man A returns, beaming.
You've found it!
No, but the man in the bakery says Marcos the vet will do the op if you nip round to the surgery....it's on the other side of town...near where we were...
He is encouraged to start up the car again and turn left. We drive until we hit the entry to a condominium.
It's not here. It has to be the other side of town...where all the vets are....where Marcus will do the op..
Before Man B, human boiler, blows all safety valves we see a woman carrying a cat box.
Man B takes no chances. He descends himself to ask her for directions.
He returns to the car with the woman and cat box. She gets in and puppy and cat gaze at each other in common mistrust. She directs Man A to the next turn left.
No it can't be here! All the vets...
Just turn!
He turns. Two doors up the road we see the large sign on the gates...spay and neuter clinic.
We've made it.
It is a most relaxed affair, clients foregathering in the garden where loungers, iced tea and coffee await...the tranquilizer is administered and we settle down to wait about an hour before the op itself.
We meet several very nice people, enjoy the spectacle of an indignant West Highland terrier legging it for the exit with owner in hot pursuit, and the Men decide to go to the Saturday market while the puppy drowses on my lap.
The market is two blocks down the road....a straight road. They are gone some little time...Captain Oates comes to mind.
They reappear. Man B is making human boiler noises again.
What's the matter?
It's a straight road, right?
If you say so.
He only comes out of the market and turns in the opposite direction...
Don't tell me....heading for where the vets are...
