Thanksgiving Cuy & A Final Farewell

14 days until Cusco, 19 days until the United States—what more do I need to say? Let’s recap.

Sweet baby Hueso, smiling for the camera.

Last Monday was doggie bath day, take two. Everyone but Oso got baths again and I have some nice battle scars from Mohada to prove it. Mohada in Spanish actually means “Wet” which makes it ironic that she hates baths so much. Anyway, the ultimate challenge was trying to wash 60 pound Luckyl by myself. My strategy was to lock him in the bathroom then turn on the shower (we actually had water pressure that day.) I’m fairly convinced that I took more of a shower than Lucky did, but the job got done and I was laughing for the rest of the day at the image of huge Lucky trying to escape by wedging himself under the bathroom door.

Thursday was Katrina and I’s first big holiday away from home. While Thanksgiving isn’t a holiday in Peru, we still got to celebrate a little because it happened to be Carolina’s birthday. We even had a special meal, but we swapped out a few token items: Turkey for cuy (aka guinea pig) and pumpkin pie for birthday cake. This was our second go at eating cuy and I have to say it was much better this time. The first time it was so hard to get over what you were eating that the taste didn’t really register—but this time around we could actually appreciate the spices Carolina had cooked it with. All the same, I think I’d rather have turkey on Thanksgiving next year.

The hike up (and dog that followed us.)

Thursday was also our epic encounter with White Devil. Katrina and I have both had uncomfortably close encounters with dogs in Huancachupa and we have kindly named them Stank Eye and White Devil (for White Devil’s namesake, please watch Ace Ventura 2.). We were caught in huge rainstorm after Skyping our parents for Thanksgiving when White Devil sprung out of nowhere. He charged at us from behind and bit Katrina’s leg. She launched a rock at him, which he barely seemed to notice. He charged again, this time feasting on Katrina’s umbrella (RIP.) He followed us, trying to bite us for what felt like ages but was probably only a minuet or two. By the end of the encounter, we were shaking and soaking wet because we’d been using our umbrellas as weapons instead of—well, umbrellas.  Needless to say, it wasn’t our ideal Thanksgiving experience and we’re now slightly horrified to walk through that dog’s territory ever again. 

Our week continued going downhill from there, unfortunately. Hueso, the little black dog, had been acting sick and started getting worse. He began crying out in pain and smelling horrible, even though I’d just bathed him Monday. He also began shaking uncontrollably. By the weekend, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I sat up with him for nearly an hour Friday night, holding him and trying to comfort him while we cried out in pain. It was enough to make me cry and I promised myself that the next day I’d do something about it. Saturday, I awkwardly asked the family if I could take their dog to the vet and Jimmy obliged. I carried Hueso down the Hill of Death and on a 45 minuet long combi ride to the local vet, who said Hueso had a virus that had entered his brain. He received a shot, but the doctor told us if he wasn’t better by morning he should be put down. Naturally, I was a wreck after this and I very embarrassingly cried in front of Eynor and Fabrizio when they asked me who the vet visit went.

Taking a quick breather on the way back to Huanuco.

When Sunday morning came, Hueso was worse. He’d started frothing at the mouth and couldn’t walk right. I was a disaster because I knew what had to be done—but there was a slight problem: church for this week was a hike through the mountains and I’d have to be gone all day. I spent all of breakfast ugly crying in my room (ugly crying is when you can’t catch your breath and snot runs down your face—thus the name) but finally made the decision to go on the hike—and that was the last time I saw Hueso. Antonio and Carolina took him to the vet to put him down while we were gone.

I’m still pretty heartbroken about Hueso and there’s not much more that I can say, other than that he was in a lot of pain, and even though he was just a baby, I’m glad he’s not suffering anymore.

That tiny city down there? That´s where we walked to.

Ending this on a more chipper note—Sunday’s hike. We drove a little over an hour into the mountains in a taxi that had three people in the trunk, three people in the back and four people in the front. Yes four people in the front—the driver shared a seat with someone. After that slightly horrifying drive, we hiked the rest of the way up the mountain which was one heck of a workout. Orlando’s father, Tonio, who is at least 75 years old, kicked my butt the entire way up the mountain—I certainly felt like the stereotypical fat American by the time we got to the top. But that was just half the challenge—we WALKED the entire way down the mountain and back into Huanuco.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever walked down a mountain before, but let me tell you something—it’s really hard. By the end of it, Katrina, Eynor, Fabrizio and I had all fallen multiple times and the whole group had trembling legs. At the end of the day, we walked from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. with occasional rest breaks. Today Katrina and I have very sore legs, but I think we’re also proud of ourselves for doing something that was so challenging—we finished the journey and that’s all that matters.

Hueso & Mohada snoozing in my lap. 

Looking forward, I’m trying to get my head up. I’m trying to love up the five dogs that are still here and appreciate the time that I get with them. Katrina and I are trying not to be scared of another encounter with White Devil, but it’s a little hard.

I do have to say, when I was carrying sick little Hueso through White Devil’s territory I felt a lot stronger—I knew I’d do anything to protect my Hueso. I’m going to hold on to that feeling and pray for no more close encounters. I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.