CHASING DOWN THE MUSE: Legends of the ‘Bajanese’ breed

I’d never had a dog before purchasing the house in Mexico. Mom had poodles, my sister had Rottweilers and Labradors. I was the cat person, with a string of soft furry friends that drifts back to my early toddler days.

So when the house in Loreto “came” with two dogs, my world was turned completely around. I was to learn, as a good friend shared with me, “What’s not to love about a dog?”

Negrita and Madichi belonged to the house’s former owner, who left not only the house, but these two very sweet canines that he had, once upon a time, rescued. His loss, my gain.

Negrita was a junkyard dog. She is short legged, very black and has a snout akin to a German Shepard. She takes counsel from no one, and at 11 years old, is still first to eat and first to protect the property.

Madichi is about 9, with some lab in her gene pool. She has bad hips, but never misses a chance for a long beach walk. She is the consummate swimmer and stops every 100 yards or so for a dip.

The sneaky “add-on” dogs were tossed into the neighborhood by some thoughtless fool. Two scruffy, matted and half-starved “” what kind of dogs might they be? “” were living on an empty patio a house row behind. Steve began to feed them (admittedly against my protests), and soon they were added to the pack.

Small and yappy, “Buster” and “Blondie,” as he affectionately named them, were simultaneously a pain in the butt and pure romping delight. The other dogs reluctantly accepted them, and beach walks took on a new dimension, with Blondie in the lead chasing birds.

We decided to call them “Toodles,” as in a mix of terrier and poodle, when in fact we had no real idea of their heritage. Buster was dark to light gray with curly long fur; Blondie, as you can imagine, is blond. We’ve had all the other dogs fixed, and Steve assured me that Buster and Blondie were incapable of reproducing.

OK, so Steve needs to go back to anatomy 101. In April, Blondie and Buster became the proud parents of five puppies.

And cute puppies they were. Each one had four or five people clamoring to own them, and I was set to give them all away, when Buster was killed by a speeding car. All of us grieved the funny irritating little man-dog that we had come to love.

Hence, the rescue of Buster “Jr.” who has fled the shores of Baja to take up residence in Laguna Beach. He has long fur, a perky personality, is always smiling, and has never met anyone or other dog that he doesn’t like (as long as they are nice to him).

He is quite a beautiful small dog, and I am constantly asked, “What kind of dog is that?” I tried the “Toodles” approach for a while, but it garners blank stares. I tried “Mexican” as a response, but that generated oddly negative energy.

No fewer than nine people, including a veterinarian, told me that my puppy is a Habanese. Quick research tells a story of dogs imported to Cuba from Spain to sit on the laps of the lady at court. These are expensive dogs, and I can’t help from grinning each time I hear that name.

While Buster definitely looks like puppy images I have found on the web, I’m not sure that he will grow into the fancy looking dogs I see in the pictures. But he definitely is special, so Steve and I have given him a breed name of “Bajanese,” and we have crafted a story of his origin.

It goes something like this:

Once upon a time “¦

There was an ancient tribe of Habanese during the transition in Cuba of Castro to power. The smallish dogs realized that their courtly days were finished, and they weren’t thrilled about roughing it in the back alleys of Havana.

They put their small dog minds together and formulated a plan to leave the island. In the dark of night, they sneaked onto a ship headed out into the Caribbean. For six days they rolled with the seas, afraid and huddled in the hold of the ship. When the boat landed, they were overjoyed to be back on solid ground, and not at all surprised to hear the same language, Spanish, but with a slightly different accent.

Slowly, they made their way across the mainland of Mexico, always searching for the perfect home, but never settling. After 27 generations, they finally arrived at the edge of the Sea of Cortez, where they hopped another ship and crossed to Loreto.

When they landed on the sandy shores and looked up at the Mission of Our Lady of Loreto, they knew they were finally home. Palm trees on the beach, fishermen willing to share their catch, and warm and wonderful humans to care for them.

In honor of their transition, they renamed themselves the Bajanese. Their tribe continues to flourish to this day.

CATHARINE COOPER is now a dog person. She can be reached at [email protected]