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Giving credit where credit is due
Instead of diving into a solution, and finding it didn’t work, my dad would always ask, “What problem are you trying to solve?” And my therapist, who was not my dad, would say, “Who are you doing this for? Who asked you to do this?” With these questions in mind, I must share with you some events that have taken place since my retirement, and our move to Mexico, officially one year ago as I write.
Retiring before it is too late
In the fall of 2023, a few months before my 65th birthday, my manager became very anxious as to what my retirement plans were. He needed to find a replacement in time for me to teach them the ins and outs of my job. My job was a problem solving gig. For 15 years, I worked with a wonderful woman named Athena, I kid you not, and together we provided solutions to the problems people presented to us. Our solutions let them get on with things that inevitably provided them with new problems. But to be candid, the main problem I was solving during those years was generating an income to support myself and my family. Of course there were problems that would arise from having an income, one being never enough, but we survived and lived a comfortable life.
My boss’ problem was that he was new to his position and if I could give him a retirement date, he could hire someone, get them trained and ensure that he maintained his position. Achieving this goal, and I noticed he liked to set goals, would see him soar to the top of the bureaucracy. And while I really wanted to retire on my 65th birthday, as is the right of every Canadian, we needed to sell our house. The sale needed to happen before my income shrunk to an unrecognizable amount. I also had some medical issues that I needed to resolve while I was still eligible for extended sick leave.
My boss didn’t seem to be overly concerned with my problems, so I reciprocated.
I retired once the house was sold and the medical issues had been resolved. The retirement date I settled on, in consultation with Lucia, was close to my birthday which was close to the time I delivered it. This left little time to hire my replacement and even less time to teach them how to solve all the problems that were part of the job with the exception of earning enough money to support their family! Truth be told, like the hare in the Hare and the Tortoise, my former boss was left wondering what went wrong before setting new goals (I am conjecturing here).
My assistant, who was confident she was the natural heir, interviewed for the position while on maternity leave. She did not do a good interview. She was passed over for the daughter of my boss’ childhood friend — a candidate that my boss, in full disclosure, assured me was only doing the interview for practice. I will leave it to your imagination as to the dynamics that unfolded when my former assistant returned to the office from maternity leave. Though truth be told, my former boss was relieved to have someone onsite who knew something about the intricacies of problem solving — she having increased her abilities with a second child.
Down here in Mexico
After a year, I must report that there’s not much to worry about down here in Mexico. The food is good; the weather is wonderful; the people are marvelous and the shrunken income, previously mentioned, goes so much further; the doctors don’t kick you out of their office after 15 minutes, nor do they instill fear before having conducted a full investigation of the symptoms that have brought you to them.
Yes, we’ve been living a good life in Mexico. Our life has been so good that we now have two dogs. It is coming into this possession — though I am not sure who possesses who, that has prompted my need to write this post.
Two dogs and a boy
Chiquita, previously written about, was doing fine as a member of the family. She kept Victor company and taught him responsibility. While Victor has shown little interest in doing much for the rest of us, he is devoted to Chiquita. She has become, as dogs are rumored to be, his best friend. Chiquita does, however, have limitations. She grew up on the street and has little experience, not to mention desire, to take on the role of domesticated house dog. She has always been very loving but not playful. As a result, I started lobbing for another dog. I wanted Chiquita to have a companion.
Introducing Gracey, spelled Greisy
Greisy was a beautiful Golden Retriever, under two years, living on a nearby farm. The farm was owned by a brother and sister from Utah. They had abandoned the US during the transition period between Trump I and Trump II. It’s not clear if they would have stayed in the US had there been no in-between. The brother has gone back, but as you will read, not because Biden is gone nor because Trump is back.
Greisy technically belonged to the brother, who had fallen in love with a girl living in Arizona — a state where there hadn’t been a transition period. The brother and his new found love were planning to spend a year living together to determine if what they had found was love or lust (this reasoning I am making up) before returning to Mexico and making lots of babies, being newly weds of course. Again, I am making stuff up!
The girl was more than happy to share an apartment with the brother, but was very firm when it came to Greisy. There was no room in this Arizona apartment for a two year old Golden Retriever. The sister was also very firm, particularly after Greisy ate one of her chickens and maintained an unhealthy interest in those that remained.
Note to the reader – none of the chickens in the photo have been hurt by Greisy. All the chickens are alive and well and live on a residential street nearby.
I would truly be amiss if I did not mention that Lucia told me of her find on Facebook thinking I might be interested. Though she, like the brother’s new love, was adamant that we did not have room in our dwelling either. Being adamant didn’t prevent us from arranging to meet the brother; the sister and Greisy in the parking lot at Costco.
It wasn’t long before Greisy was united with Chiquita, who could only manage, “What the beep!”. These were words surely taught to Chiquita by Victor. He had developed a rather extensive vocabulary, in both English and Spanish, and released words and phrases in such a way as to avoid a scolding from the censors.
Needless to say, after six months into their relationship there remains a certain amount of tension (hoping things are going better for the brother and his girl). But to her credit, Chiquita has come to understand that Greisy has a size and weight advantage and has moderated her language and attitude accordingly — much like Victor does around his mother; around me not so much!
Taking a step back
Lucia’s mother never wanted us to have a dog, particularly living in her apartment; much less two dogs. She was sure that a dog would destroy everything — a feeling based on lived experience. We convinced her that Victor really needed a dog and that Chiquita was too little and gentle to destroy anything. She gave in reluctantly, or more accurately stopped objecting to the presence of Chiquita. For the next few months the house remained intact, Victor had company and Chiquita had a loving home. Then came Greisy.
The “Girls” (this is what we call them when referring to them collectively), while carving out their space in the house and our lives, have also managed to mentor each other. Greisy has taught Chiquita how to dig, and Chiquita has taught Greisy how to bark. Both of them take full advantage of the yard that runs around the building, which has two floors with an apartment on each floor. We live on the bottom floor. Technically most of the yard is allocated to the first floor apartment with a small section designated as a parking space for the second floor. The current tenant having no car has meant this section is part of the runway for the Girls. Greisy loves jumping over the hedges — what’s left of them — that form the natural divide between our entrance; the neighbour’s entrance and the rest of the yard. I’ve been kind enough to provide a picture so that you do not need to close eyes and imagine this configuration.
Yes, this is their exercise yard; and the runway for barking at other dogs (and sometimes their owners) and finally, their toilet in a pinch.
Another problem needing solving?
Our upstairs neighbor, a very pleasant woman belonging to the local Hare Krishna community, though her religious affiliation has no bearing on this story, asked that we cleanup the dog waste from the area that could be used to park her car should she ever have one. This request was made shortly after we got Chiquita and we were still developing the routines required when a dog takes over your house. Lucia’s mother also made it a point to let us know when she saw any dog poop in the yard, but particularly in the space designated to her other tenant. So it was that we became as vigilant as we could in ensuring that dog poop was picked up as soon as we noticed it. And everyone was happy.
It wasn’t too long after Greisy arrived that she taught Chiquita how to dig, and Chiquita took on the new found skill with a vigor that is hard to explain. For those of you, and that would be most of you, who live in a colder climate where snow falls a few times a year, think of a snowblower. Yes, she became that proficient in a very short time.
The digging, particularly when it was wet out, meant extraordinary amounts of mud. The mud translated into paw prints. In short order, our neighbour’s walkway and stairway, for both dogs liked to go up her stairs and look out from the landing, became covered in mud.
We have a woman that comes three times a week to clean our place, a task that neither Lucia nor I, not to mention Victor, have taken any interest in. Zita keeps our house in order, and in return we worship her. One of the things that Zita does, and it seems to be a Mexican thing, is clean our walkways. So every other day, paw prints disappear for a short period of time. I was about to ask Lucia if we should have Zita clean our neighbour’s walkway and stairs, but before I could ask, our neighbour made this very request. We were more than happy to oblige, as was Zita.
And then it happened.
One morning when Lucia and I were sharing ideas. I suggested that we might build a fence cutting off the long stretch of grass allocated to our apartment from the rest of the yard. The Girls could enter the yard through the sliding doors that lead from our living room to the outside. With the fence the Girls would have their access to the yard limited. This would leave the walkways; and our neighbour’s parking spot free from being soiled, in multiple ways, by the Girls. What I had undertaken here was to share an idea with Lucia. She was the first in the chain of decision makers, the next being her mother.
At our next Sunday morning breakfast with her parents, we ran the idea pass her mother. Her mother thought it was a good idea and committed to getting a quote for the job. This conversation happened before Lucia, Victor and I left for our winter holiday back in December.
One day while we were on holidays, Lucia received a message from her mother who had received a quote for the fence. The fence would cost $15,000 pesos (about $1,000 CAN), and it was a deal at that her mother assured us.
My reaction was something like, “What the beep! $15,000 pesos! What kind of fence is it?” This reaction was based on shock, pure shock. We had paid $18,000 pesos for 53 meters of fence for the property we planned to build a house on. Based on the cost of that fence, we had indicated we would pay for the fence for the Girls. The fence for the Girls would be two metres long, and two metres high. Our budget was two or three thousand pesos. The ensuing discussion between Lucia and her mother, with Lucia relaying my reaction, got heated. Eventually, we had to tell her mother that we couldn’t afford whatever type of fence it was that she wanted.
A couple of days later, while still on holiday, Lucia got a message from her mother letting us know that she had ordered the fence and put a 50% deposit. Shortly after giving the deposit, she paid the balance. The contractor gave January as the completion date; and in January he gave February, and in February March; and in March, well you get idea. The delay was apparently due to some difficulties the contractor had run into and there seemed to be a lot of them. He is a trusted contractor throughout this area. He put in our cloths line about a year ago. This all reminded me of our neighbour in Hamilton and his contractor but that is a story for another day.
Meanwhile, after we had returned from holidays, with the fence ordered and paid for, but not installed, Lucia was chatting with our neighbour. Without mentioning the cost or details of the delay, Lucia told her that her mother would be putting in a fence. That the fence would keep the Girls out her section of the yard.
“But why?” the neighbour asked. “That’s not necessary. I love those Girls!”
Problem solved!
We continue to wait for the fence.
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