So the little rescue puppy wanted a new name in the previous installment and managed to make that happen. This is more of his story.

My first reaction to hearing Oxford announce his desired name, “Archie,” was shock and disbelief. I immediately called my son; his response was also a quick and unequivocal “No.”  Archie was the name of our deceased cat, the companion to dog Ida Mae, that we were trying to replace with this puppy, and Archie the cat’s death still stung profoundly. Yet somehow this sweet puppy’s insistence won through and although it took awhile for us to come around, he proudly became Archie, and Oxford now rests as his middle name, although in formal documents he’s Archibald.

So just when all that name drama was tucked away, I ran to the window one morning to see what my dogs were furiously barking about just in time to see the City of Marfa workers driving down the alley on the side of my house spraying weed killer. They sprayed both of my dogs right in the face and kept driving. These workers wore no protective clothing or respirators and while I was screaming for them to stop. I knew they had no idea what they were doing, the risks not only to the rest of us, however, to themselves as well.

Both of my dogs were throwing up and had diarrhea within minutes. Phone call to the intuitive to the rescue once again. He said their kidneys were shutting down, told me what to give them, to wash them and get them out of there for several days. I felt sick too after washing them and wanted to escape what I considered to be a crime scene. While driving the dogs toward Fort Davis to stay at a kennel, I passed my friend Bell driving back toward Marfa. I drove on to the airport and went to stay in a safe place for a few days to take care of myself.

Upon my return I got the call from Bell that her dog, Rossi, had just died at the vet clinic from kidney failure. When we passed on the highway days before, she had just dropped Rossi off at the vet clinic and I was driving my dogs to safety. If only we had spoken during the time. However, we were both consumed trying to save our animals. He had been outside the same day the city was spraying my alley and hers.

So although my dogs survived, they were not thriving. My emails and visits to the mayor and city administrator fell on deaf ears. I decided between the rattlesnake bite and the RoundUp, I’d be happier back east. I packed up and moved us. One conundrum was the tarantula that lived in our yard. She hung out with the dogs and came when I called her. To dispel Bell’s disbelief at my outrageous claim, we walked out in my yard one day, I called the spider, she waved one of her arms out of her hole, then popped her whole self out. Bell stared down at the spider, straightened up and announced the name was Claude. What is its female version I queried? Then it’s Claudette, almost a command. I never had any intention of naming her. I do refer to her as Claudette in my mind now, rather than the friendly tarantula that once lived in my yard. I did learn that female tarantulas can live to be 40 years old. This one was missing one leg. I also learned when they molt they get a new leg, albeit a tiny bit shorter. I was never able to confirm she lost that leg goofing around with the dogs, but that easily could have happened. I hated leaving her, but the New England winter would not be ideal. She stayed behind.

In Northampton Massachusetts, Archie got to see a vet who referred him to a cardiologist, as he now had an enlarged heart, and also very early stage lung cancer. He wasn’t even a year old. Ida Mae was also in rough shape, with a swollen brain. At one point I contemplated having them both euthanized. Their medical care was expensive, and I wasn’t sure their quality of life was improving, and boy would I have loved to have the city of Marfa pick up the tab for their medical care.

I distracted myself giving feedback to my son, who came on the train from Boston to stay with me on weekends. He was enrolled at UMass Boston. His plan was to go there for a year, make straight A’s and transfer to another school. He again was Archie’s (Oxford’s) constant companion on those visits while Harvey worked on college essays, something that helped carry us all through.

Specialists were able to figure out what medication would help Ida Mae’s encephalitis, Archie’s heart stayed large, but his lung cancer went into remission, I got Lyme disease several times that summer, which is why I left the East Coast in the first place, so I threw up my hands and moved all the way back to Marfa.

By the time I got back here we had a new mayor and city administrator. In spite of my pleading with the previous administration, with not so much as a nod of having heard me or read any of the documents I shared, progress was made to use city workers with weed eaters in alleys, instead of spraying chemicals. However, there were still trucks driving around spraying RoundUp in some parts of the city. They said it was a different mixture, with less RoundUp. In my estimation, that totally missed the point.

Harvey’s plan worked and he got a full-ride offer to Vanderbilt University, and I moved back to Marfa, set to work to re-establish myself. All was going along swimmingly when I was offered a job in Santa Fe — a director of contemporary art. I drove up on Christmas through the Davis Mountains, after a lunch with friends in Fort Davis, through swirling snow to a new chapter.

The hiking around Santa Fe was incredibly beautiful and easily accessible. The air was clear. After several months I woke up early one Saturday morning to discover Archie unable to walk properly and could barely stand. Off we rushed to the emergency vet. The prognosis was spinal cord injury. I disagreed wholeheartedly. He and Ida Mae had been with me every minute the night before. Nothing had happened that could have injured him. I had taken them out for a hike, part of which crossed an old landfill. I figured it was a toxin of some sort picked up from the dirt, and brought him home.

Archie was getting weaker and weaker. I removed his collar, bathed him and laid his unresponsive body out on my bed. His breathing became labored. I called a friend; 40 years previous we had been close back east while both students. After several iterations she was now a healer living in Santa Fe. “Jot, I need you to come over, I’m losing Archie.” She responded, “I’m in Florida. I’ll meditate and call you back in 15 minutes.” I waited for her instructions.
“Place one hand on the back of his neck, the other hand on what would be his sacrum. Keep your hands there for five minutes, then your hands will automatically go to the part of his body that needs help.” I was desperate, and did as instructed with no idea what would follow. At some point my hand traveled to Archie’s neck almost like magic, and pulled off a tick, something I had done endless times back east. I went to throw the tick in the toilet when it hit me; I hadn’t seen a tick since leaving the East Coast. At that moment I remembered Bell, recounting how her dog Rossi, fell over in the backyard one morning and suddenly couldn’t walk. They were living in Australia and he had been bitten by what’s fairly common there, a paralysis tick.

The thought that flashed across my mind, paralysis tick, seemed crazy, yet all the symptoms matched. I called the emergency vet clinic back with my suspicion. They assured me there were no paralysis ticks in New Mexico, and only dogs that had been in Colorado could contract that dread disease. I ignored them and continued researching. The cool thing about reversing this life threatening tick venom is all one has to do is remove the tick. Unlike other tick borne diseases, with lingering complications, no medicine was needed. Within 48 hours Archie was up and around, eating again and very soon completely restored to his regular dog self.

It turns out the tick bite contains a neurotoxin that slowly paralyzes the body beginning with the hind quarters and progresses until it reaches the lungs and stops the breathing. It takes between 5 to 7 days for the toxin to build up enough before the paralysis begins to set in. Almost a week before we had been at another friend’s house, another friend from back east, also from 40 years previous, when we were students. Her house was just outside of Santa Fe city limits, where my dogs could run free. I called that friend to inquire if she had any knowledge of this tick. She practically screamed, “That’s what killed my dog Alma.” The vets had also told her it was a spinal cord injury, clearly unaware that Santa Fe, New Mexico, now definitely has a hot spot.

To be continued …