The dogs of Honduras

Starving dogs live on the streets of Copan Ruinas. Photo by Molly Kearns

Starving dogs wander the streets of Copán Ruinas. Their tongues hang out from the dry heat and their fur is matted, rough and dirty. Some look like they have been rubbed raw with sandpaper; their fur is patchy from skin diseases and mites. They bite and scratch at their scabs, worsening the sores and opening wounds so that they are always bleeding, and consequently, always begging.

Eddy, a short brown and black mutt, is cross-eyed-maybe because his eyes are so far apart on his skull that he has to strain to see straight. He looks like a drugged frog. The locals say he is a good dog, but he's been run over in the street too many times. Eddy walked us home at night, circling around us-sometimes in front, sometimes in back, always barking at other dogs. His walk, like those of many of the other dogs in Copán Ruinas, is a cross between a limp and an altered trot across the sharp and crooked cobblestone streets. But the locals like Eddy, and he is comparatively healthy.

All the dogs are friendly. They don't bite or steal food. But their bones push against their chests, betraying their desperate need to be cared for and fed.

One graying female followed us around town for a long time after we gave her a pitying glance on our first day. She came with no name, withering ears and crusted scabs. Her tail curled pathetically to her thigh, as though the years of keeping it between her legs trained it to stay in a subservient display of humility. As she walked, pain trembled through every twisted leg. When the setting sunlight eclipsed her body, we saw the fleas jumping on her fur. But she never barked or whined or groaned.

Eventually, she gave up hope we would feed her and stopped on the sidewalk. Instead of sitting back on her hind legs with her head high, she fell sideways onto her thigh and reached her head toward the opposite leg to gnaw on the biting insects until the itch subsided.

Later that night, we sought her out to give her some leftover food from dinner. We found her on the same grounds she always staked out–the blocks closest to the town square. We fed her rice and chicken, and filled an empty plate with water. Then we rushed away, hoping she wouldn't follow us home. We deluded ourselves into believing we had helped this poor dog, rather than prolong her suffering for a few more days.

The locals will eventually poison her, as they do all the sickly strays dogs of Copán Ruinas. Meanwhile, like a leper, she will wander the streets and beg.