Cali Colombia and Cali the Dog

Before that trip to Colombia I had never loved an animal. I didn’t really care for them. I’d had a bunny, a couple lizards, a couple of rats, a few different pesky cats, and even a Golden Retriever when I was a young boy. All were the same to me though. They were just there. I’d feed them and do what you do, but they never brought much joy to me and certainly not any feeling close to love. I had loved a few very special women though, and that was how I reasoned to myself that I was not completely emotionally underdeveloped. Usually my relationships ended in a fiery, painful exodus that was always my fault. And that’s how my relationship prior to my escape to Colombia ended as well. I’d been seeing a thin and gentle redhead named Hannah for a few months when late on a Thursday night (plane tickets are cheapest on Thursdays, I thought) I booked a one way ticket to Cali, Colombia. I had no special reason to go there. It was just the cheapest, farthest flight I could find from San Francisco. There were tears and genuine pain when I’d told her that I was leaving, and I felt bad. But, I had to go for reasons I didn’t even truly understand. I needed to leave.

I flew Spirit airlines down to Colombia. I remember asking the flight attendant for a cocktail about halfway through the flight; I was getting really nervous. Suddenly this trip of mine was real. I had quit my job at the bike shop, told my best friend Nick that, ‘I really don’t know when I’ll be back bro,’ and now - here I was. The only english speaking dude on a plane full of passengers conversing in Spanish muy rapido. ‘Hahaha.’ The flight attendant had responded. ‘This is spirit airlines.’ ‘You can have juice or water.’ She had said through a heavy accent. I smiled painfully and looked out the window at the ocean far below.

I exited the Cali Aeropuerto into a choking humidity and flagged down the first cab I saw. I had a hotel reservation for the first three nights of my stay. I figured in those three days I could make a plan of what exactly to do here in this new country - my new home. Ricardo was my driver, I remember. He looked like an overweight scarface. Deep wrinkles and when he smiled, it seemed forced, as if his face had spent many most of his life in a passionate scowl. I told him the name of my hotel and added a forced, ‘Gracias.’ We exited the airport area and immediately we were going off track from where my phone said we should be going. I kept my mouth nervously shut for a ten minutes or so until it was clear we were not going to my hotel. And we were not going there quick. Ricardo weaved in and out of traffic on the highway at 130 kilometer an hour until finally exiting into a very run down neighborhood. His eyes never looked into the rear view mirror to check on me. I found that strange. If he was going to rob me, or kidnap me… or worse… wouldn’t he want to make sure I ‘didn’t try anything stupid,’ like in the movies? It seemed he had done this before. Eventually we came to an intersection with no way through, not even for racecar driver Ricardo. I manually unlocked the side door and jumped out with my backpack. My heart was beating out of my chest, but I managed a sincere, ‘fuck you,’ as Ricardo grabbed my arm. I ran with the speed of a man fearing for his life, taking a right, a left, and then a couple more sporadic lefts up some hills. As the adrenaline wore off the thin air of the high altitude city of Cali gripped my chest. Up ahead were the golden arches - something familiar. And more importantly, a place with wifi where I could work out my predicament.

I ordered three big macs, two fries, and a large soft drink, although a large in Colombia is not nearly as big as in the U, S, of A. I tend to stuff my face with food in really stressful circumstances. I called my mom to tell her I had landed and that everything was okay. No sense making her worry, especially since she’d been begging me not to go ever since I told her about the trip. Then, I called an Uber, making sure to get one with five stars.

That initial cab ride was a telling foreshadow from something above for what was to come. On my second day I was robbed at knifepoint while walking home from the grocery store. On the fourth day I was arrested by the police, for no reason, and then guided into paying a bride for my freedom. At the beginning of the second week while at the skatepark I was offered ‘snow’. Then when I said, ‘no gracias’ the dealer pulled out a knife. I gave him all the cash I had and he gave me a small baggie of the Colombian good stuff in return.

By the third week, I had had enough of trying to make a life in that country. It just wasn’t working. I’d paid too many brides, been robbed too many times. It wasn’t fun or adventurous feeling. It just felt dumb and I felt lost. I booked a plane ride home while staying in a smelly bed bug infested hostel in a dilapidated area of Cali. Being the penny pincher I am, I booked the very cheapest flight home I could find, which didn’t leave Cali for another week. ‘Fuck it,’ I remember thinking. ‘I’ll just book this bunk - bed bugs and all - for another week.’ I was done exploring Cali and was fine with the prospect of letting the bed bugs feast on me for my last week. Better the bed bugs than the thieves.

That awful hostel is where I met Cali. Cali, the Dog - that’s what I named him. I guess I wasn’t feeling all too creative by that point. He was filthy and wouldn’t leave me alone that week. He’d follow me into the bathroom, into the kitchen, and - after I showered him - into my bunk to sleep beside me. For some reason that mutt took a liking to me. Maybe he saw that I needed a friend. I truly did. I cried a lot that week and he’d snuggle his nose into my armpit and rest his little white paw on my arm. He was about the size of a cat at that time, but more stalky. I asked the hostel owner whose dog it was and she laughed. ‘Just a stray, like most of the rest in this town.’

On the day of my departure I decided there was no way I could leave Cali behind. The little guy had been there for me. He was the only silver lining of that dreadful trip. I had to try to get the little guy home. It felt like a mission. I double checked with the hostel owner that he was a stray and that no one would miss him if I took him with me. She just shrugged and clearly didn’t care one way or the other.

Cali stayed in my arms on the way to the airport while my Uber driver drove thirty kilometers an hour under the speed limit, racking up the cost of the ride. Dirty bastard. What a fitting way to leave Cali. Getting scammed yet again. I put on my rainbow colored parka and tuck it into my pants, then tightened my belt before leaving the Uber. I stowed my little friend like a mother kangaroo does her kin as I walked into the airport. As long as I go through the metal detector and don’t get the pat down I should be fine, I reasoned. Well, assuming Cali didn’t eat any nails on the streets, that is. He was small enough not to raise any eyebrows. The TSA that day seemed especially lackadaisical. They seemed to hardly even scan the screen as my gigantic backpack went through the X-ray thing. I sported a massive gringo smile and complemented their great country, saying I couldn’t wait to return. Flattery never hurts. Plus, I was pretty sure I was committing multiple crimes.

After the TSA I felt we were all clear and my heart slowed a bit. I rushed to the bathroom to take Cali out of his pouch and give him a bit of water and a Clif bar.

I had the whole row to myself on the flight back and that felt like karma had finally come full circle after the hell I’d gone through in Colombia. I deserved that whole row, dammit. Plus, this was a noble cause, I told myself. I kept Cali hidden under blankets in the window seat for the flight home. The little bugger didn’t wine or protest. It almost seemed like he knew what was happening. I was taking him away to a new home. Somewhere better and he trusted me. No barking or whining at all for the eight hour flight. He did pee on the seat though. But hey, nobody is perfect.

That was three years ago. I grew to love Cali like a brother. I bought him a ‘Service Dog’ vest off of Amazon for twenty bucks, so he can go everywhere with me. People never question whether he is a ‘real’ service dog. If fact, he truly is a service dog for me. I’d feel lost without him. He yawns in the morning really big and always makes a high pitched sound as he does. When he wants attention or a walk he will come right up to me and stretch his legs. First the front and then the back ones, making eye contact the entire time. We cuddle at night, every night. He likes being under the covers with me and rests his head on the same pillow as me. We go rock climbing together. He runs alongside me while I mountain bike. The little guy isn’t so little anymore. I’ve clocked him at eighteen miles an hour running. He does the dishes every night too. His favorite is pasta night. I always make enough for the two of us.

This past year has been the loneliest of my life, as it has for many during the pandemic. When the days turned dark and I was depressed I could never let Cali down. He wanted to go on a walk. That was all he needed to be happy each day, so of course I could at least rise to that occasion. 2020 beat me down lower than I knew possible. I accidentally got my girlfriend pregnant. My mom got Covid and called me with real terror in her voice. ‘I don't think I’m gonna make it’, she had said to me through tears. My sister was hospitalized for anorexia. I shut out friends when I should have reached out. The California wildfires came too. My mom nearly lost her house and we lived in heavy smoke for weeks on end. It seemed things couldn’t get worse, but then they always would. I felt I couldn’t take anymore on some days. I had dark thoughts, too. Scary thoughts. But, Cali still needed to be fed, and walked, and loved. He didn’t deserve to suffer, so I never let him. We got through last year together and I am forever indebted to him for pulling me through. I learned why people love dogs so much. They never judge you in your worst moments. They're reliable. They are always happy in the mornings. They are simple in perfect ways. Just a walk and a sniff around is all they need to be content. But they are complex too. They understand when you're hurting, when you need a friend. And they are your friend.