Christmas was two days ago, and for the first time in my life I spent it alone. Not only alone, I spent my Christmas in a village far from my US home, surrounded by people who speak a different language from myself.
Zambia is a christian nation, so most people do celebrate christmas here, however it is very different from how I am used to celebrating in the US. For starters, it was a blisteringly hot day. But beyond the weather, most people spend the time in Church, which is not something I have ever done. For me, it was a day of calling family, working on projects in my house, biking around my village, and of course hanging out with my new puppy.
Aside from Christmas, the most exciting part of my life recently has been my two month old dog, Remi. I have had him for two weeks now, but there’s a little more to it than that. Before Remi, I actually had another puppy briefly. My host family gave me one of their puppies – he must have been around a month old – one week before I got Remi. That puppy was sweet and snuggly, and unfortunately extremely malnourished and disease-ridden. I took him in hoping to be able to turn him into a healthy dog, but within a week he fell deeply ill with parvovirus. He likely had already contracted it before I took him home. I had noticed that his mom had disappeared and suspected she passed away, but I did not realize that she had likely given her babies a deadly disease.
Mocha passed away within 24 hours of showing symptoms of parvovirus. I rushed him to the vet as soon as I realized he was sick, but unfortunately the resources for treatment are pretty limited, so despite my best efforts, there was not much that could be done for poor Mocha.
That was a difficult day. It was perhaps the hardest day I have had in this experience so far. I missed my family’s healthy dogs in the US. I missed my cats. And more than anything, I was hit with a sharp glimpse of reality of the uphill battle that dogs face to survive here.
I have done extensive research on parvovirus since my experience with it, and this is what I’ve learned:
1) it is an extremely preventable disease through vaccination (Mocha was still too young to be vaccinated, and the dogs he was surrounded with were all also unvaccinated and therefore disease-carriers).
2) It is a horrific disease for puppies to go through, however with prompt and intensive vet treatment, it has a high recovery rate.
3) Without proper veterinary care, the mortality rate is around 90%.
After Mocha passed away, I shut myself in my room for hours, unable to do anything. I did not want to feel like I was in Peace Corps that day.
About 4 hours after Mocha’s passing, I heard a knock at my door. It was my host mom – she had come by earlier and seen Mocha in his sickly state, and me in my emotionally distraught one. This time she returned with another puppy for me. I have no idea where this puppy came from. He looked unlike any of the dogs I had seen in my village.
The culture around how dogs are viewed here is extremely different from that of the US. In the US, our pets are our babies. Here, people’s babies are their babies. In rural communities like mine, families are worried enough about putting food on the table for their children and providing them with the medical care they need – malaria is a widespread occurrence that can be particularly fatal for children here – so the thought of caring for a dog in anywhere near the same regard is laughable. Thus, my host mom was quite confused as to why I was so upset about a feeble puppy’s death. Dogs die all the time, and here, we just move on to the next one.
Needless to say, I was not in a state to take in another puppy 4 hours after my first one had died in my arms. I told my host mom thank you so much for the gesture but I cannot take this dog right now. My host mom replied, “why not? do you not like this one? does it need to be brown?”
I turned away that puppy that day, however as the evening progressed and I slowly became a more functioning human again, I could not stop thinking about the puppy they brought for me. What would happen to it if I did not take it? How long would this one survive? Which is worse, caring for a puppy and trying to increase its chances of survival and failing, or doing nothing and watching the puppy die regardless?
I decided I would rather take him and try to keep him alive. So, the next day, I went to my host family and took Remi home with me.
Remi seems to be a a bit older than Mocha was, and he is definitely healthier (especially now that he’s been pampered with lots of food by me for the last two weeks). He has received the first doses of all his vaccines, he’s been dewormed, his fleas are gone, and I am tentatively hopeful about his chances.
But getting here has not been easy. We have gone on several adventures together in the last two weeks trying to get him healthy and vaccinated.
The day after I got Remi, we biked 12km to the local agricultural officer who claimed to have the vaccines i needed. Upon arriving, however, I found out that he only had the rabies vaccine (which Remi was not yet old enough to receive) and none of the other core immunizations. Nonetheless, he was able to give Remi his dewormer, some flea and tick medicine, and a general antibiotic meant to take care of the various skin issues Remi clearly had (more on that later). Additionally, he told me he would order the vaccines I wanted and I got his phone number to follow up.
That Monday, I called the agricultural officer to see if he had ordered the vaccines yet. He had not, so I asked him if he could tell me where he gets them from and if I could buy them myself.
The conversation went as follows:
“Could you tell me where you normally order the vaccines from? What is the name of the shop?”
“Yes of course. Do you know where the robots are? When you’re entering Kasama on the main road, when you reach the robots, you know what I’m talking about?”
“The what?”
“The robots. It’s right by the robots”
“I’m sorry I don’t know what you mean, could you just tell me the name of the shop?”
“Do you know the Bata shop?”
“The what?”
“The Bata shop. It’s just across from there. I will text you the name.”
“Okay great thank you so much.”
The text I received a few minutes later: “It is across from the Bata shop”
With those directions, which honestly did give me a solid idea of the location of this pharmacy because I did recall seeing a Bata shop in town, Remi and I headed into Kasama together. As we drove through town, I looked over and saw the Bata shop on the side of the road. Sure enough, right across the street was a big blue pharmacy. As for the robots? I have deduced he must have been referring to the traffic lights at that intersection.
At the pharmacy, I asked about the 5-in-1 vaccine for dogs which includes immunizations for both parvo and distemper, two of the most commonly found, deadly diseases around here. The workers did not know what I was talking about. Then I asked specifically for vaccines for parvo and distemper. They did not have one for distemper, however I was able to get the parvo vaccine.
With the vaccine on ice in a plastic bag and Remi in my tote, we hitched a ride to the vet’s office where Remi received the first dose of the parvo vaccine. At the vet’s office, I asked about distemper, because I had heard that it was a pretty common and very deadly disease that had killed several other PCVs’ puppies. The vet told me “there is not distemper in this province.” So Remi and I went home.
A week passed and I was still a nervous wreck that at any moment Remi was going to fall ill and die on me. I did not even name him that first week because I was so focused on keeping him alive, and I did not want to allow myself to get too attached if he was just going to die. I also started to make arrangements for a PCV from the neighboring province to send the 5-in-1 vaccine to me on a bus so I could get Remi up to date on his shots.
On Christmas Eve, however, I went back to Kasama to do some grocery shopping and to meet a friend for lunch. I decided to stop in at the pharmacy to see if they somehow now had the vaccines I had been looking for. To my surprise, they told me that yes they had them, and in fact they had them all along. (Upon reflection, I have determined that the first time around, I must have just asked about it in a confusing way).
So, the day after Christmas (yesterday), Remi and I journeyed back to Kasama and he finally got the vaccines I had been searching for. And I finally started to breathe a little easier.
I cannot believe how difficult it has been just to get Remi vaccinated. In the US we take for granted that medicine and vaccines will always be available to us – unreasonably expensive, but available – whereas here, everything requires persistence, initiative, and a bit of luck. But at least I know that now.
Despite my fears and the circumstances, Remi is doing very well. Now I just have to continue being cautious about where I take him, I have to figure out what is going on with his skin – the antibiotic cured some of the issue, but he clearly has something else going on there as well that I will have to diagnose and treat – and I have to keep loving him and manifesting everything will work out. But trying to keep a puppy alive and protected here is much harder than I ever imagined.
Remi is very smart, energetic, loving, and he reminds me so much of my parents’ dog Luna. He kept me company on christmas, and the whole village calls him my baby. They have watched me take him all over the place to get medical care, and they probably also think I’m a little crazy.
Dogs are such a gift to those who can afford to love them. As I write this, Remi is passed out on his bed next to me, his head hanging off the side. Having him brings me so much joy. As I navigate my way through the next two years, it will be nice to have someone by my side experiencing it all with me. I just really hope that this time, I can keep him happy and healthy and maybe even slightly spoiled.
Also, before anyone asks: I do ideally plan to bring him home with me to the US at the end of service if I can.
