My Caymanian daughter mentioned to me recently that she had not paid much attention to dogs growing up (we had several), but that now they’re a joy in her life. It struck me that it was like that for me, too. Growing up in Guyana, a dog was this creature you had roaming the yard at night that you tied up during the day when people came around. Our dog at Hague was Brownie, but I basically ignored her. Dogs in the house? Unthinkable. But then change comes upon you unheralded.
Many years later, living in Grand Cayman, on 3 acres of land, a Phase Two hurricane hit us, and among the damage it caused was the overnight destruction of the island’s chicken farm. Hundreds of fowls escaped, survived and bred in the bush, and in a matter of months they had become a nuisance all over the island – digging up your garden, picking at your fruits, and digging huge holes in the areas under the trees. My fencing was no
