Mission Rabies Peru: Finding Our Rhythm.

When everything starts to click

Normally I'm a terrible sleeper, but one advantage of ending the day completely wiped out is that you actually sleep. That's two mornings in a row where I didn't wake up before my alarm. The iPhone alarm is still a bit of a rude awakening, but I'll happily take the extra sleep.

I almost never wear long sleeves, so trying the long-sleeved version of the Mission Rabies shirt was a big step for me. It fit a little more snugly than I'm used to, but I'm choosing to blame the cut of the shirt rather than any recent expansion of my physique.

After applying sunscreen, slathering on the lip balm, and grabbing breakfast, we all boarded the bus for the Hub.

The sendoff from the Hub is one of my favorite parts of the day. All the teams gather together, chatting while loading vaccines, coolers, and supplies before heading off to our assigned areas. I make sure to grab a couple of extra Gatorades, and then we're off. When we get to the car, we usually start with the selfie of the day.

Jessica, Erich, Amber, Viviana, and me.

I like our driver, Erich. He's a rock fan, and he always has a good station playing. I first figured that out because his ringtone is the opening riff of Guns’n’Roses’ Sweet Child O' Mine. The problem is, his phone rings about every two minutes. At first it was amusing. By the twentieth time, I was ready to take a hostage. As best we could with our limited shared vocabulary, we talked about music during the drive. He was amazed that I'd actually seen Led Zeppelin in concert. I suppose that's one of the few advantages of getting older. You eventually become living music history.

Today's neighborhood was unlike either of the previous two. Day 1 was relatively urban. Day 2 was extremely rural. Day 3 felt... industrial. Hardware stores. Auto garages. Linoleum shops. Masonry suppliers. Carpenter workshops. The kind of neighborhood where almost every business seems to have a faithful shop dog (or two or three) lying in the doorway, many of whom were due for a rabies vaccine.

Just the other day I wrote that these campaigns tend to be feast or famine—long stretches of nothing followed by a sudden flood of dogs. Today completely broke that pattern. There was a nice, steady rhythm all day long. We were almost never idle, but we were never overwhelmed either. Before long, we'd put together some respectable numbers.

At one garage, I stopped to pet a large dog, and I apparently made a friend for life.

Every time I stopped scratching him, he'd gently paw my arm as if to say, "Excuse me... you seem to have stopped." When it was finally time to leave, he stood up and put both paws on me, making one last attempt to convince me to stay. I'm a cat guy, but I have to admit, this was pretty darn nice.

Next door, a group of kids watched us with understandable curiosity. At first, they ducked away whenever I lifted my camera, but after employing the universal language of the fist bump, they relaxed completely and posed for a few photos.

By lunchtime we'd already accumulated some decent numbers. Today's lunch was a little different. All of the vehicles converged in a nearby field so the entire Mission Rabies team could gather for a group photo before eating together. It was nice catching up with everyone in the middle of the day instead of us all having lunch scattered across Arequipa with only your local volunteer for company. The group pic came out pretty nice.

While we were eating, I managed to photograph a sweet, polite dog silently trying to convince Noah that sharing his lunch was the right thing to do.

The afternoon shifted from industrial to more residential, but the steady pace continued.

Usually, our driver circles nearby while we vaccinate. Yesterday he stayed mostly with Condor 1. Today he shadowed us, Condor 2. Every vehicle has a loudspeaker mounted on the roof that continuously announces, in Spanish, that we’re in the neighborhood and that they can get their dog a rabies vaccine “completamente gratis”. After the announcement comes a surprisingly catchy little salsa tune. I hadn't paid much attention to the lyrics until today, when I realized one of the lines cheerfully proclaims, "La rabia es mortal." Rabies is fatal. There's something wacky and surreal about hearing such an upbeat song delivering such grim news. Listen for yourself. (I sent this to a friend from Peru, and he thought it was hilarious.)

The actual loudspeaker announcement used during the campaign to encourage residents to bring their dogs for free rabies vaccinations. Try not to dance. It's difficult.

By day's end we had a cool strings of sevens: 77 dogs and 7 cats vaccinated, for a total of 84 animals. The cats don't really count (did I actually just write that?) but the dogs do, and 77 edged us past our unofficial daily goal of 75. Not a bad day's work. Here are a few more photos from today's session. Two more days of the campaign left!