We’ve entered the home stretch to the upcoming high season. And those of us who have made it through September – considered by most the worst month comfort-wise with its often-oppressive heat, humidity, and frequent torrential downpours – feel somewhat victorious, perhaps even elitist in a bizarre fashion, as if part of an exclusive group with proven stamina. Hey, whatever gets us through …

The streets are still pretty quiet. But many in the tourist industry are as busy as, if not busier than, at the height of the season, because this is when the preparatory work happens: buildings renovated after the worst of the rains, brochures written, and concepts and staff readied in the hope that tourists will soon migrate here once again.

It’s still hot and humid to be sure, the escape of air conditioning sought whenever possible. But a couple of tantalizing times recently, the air has hinted at cooling off. For me, the first few temperate days every October are akin to the glory of a Canadian spring day, when everyone’s step gets bouncier, the outlook brighter.

As the decades go by, I’ve learned that the most effective way to make a difference in this world is on a microcosmic level. With so many options vying for our energy, and so many causes worthy of taking up, I’ve wasted a lot of time planning all the wonderful things I’ll contribute to society – one day. And here in Vallarta, I’ve indulged in a great deal of emotional flailing over the plight of homeless dogs and cats, pathetically roaming in search of food and comfort. Viewing these creatures as gifts of unconditional love that we’re rejecting, it’s heartbreaking to witness.

“But Mexicans seem like such kind people,” you say, bewildered. “How can this happen?” Well, when someone has three or four kids and earns $50 a week, where do you think their limited financial resources are going to be allocated? And, catering to tourists, Vallarta’s not particularly cheap. Compound that with a macho culture that believes it crueler to neuter than to abandon, and you’ve got an estimated 200,000 cats dying on the streets every year.

Each of us can do something to ease their suffering, whether buying food and veterinary supplies and distributing them, attending fund raisers, or opening your heart and home when the opportunity arises.

After many years, I still have a hard time accepting that no comprehensive animal-protection mechanism – government or private – exists. No matter how much I think it should, it just doesn’t.

If we don’t do what needs to be done, it doesn’t happen. It’s as brutally simple as that. Furthermore, call the authorities in the desire to help, and you can be pretty sure that neither you nor anyone else will ever lay eyes on the little guys again.

But things can turn out differently. A member of the Puerto Vallarta Ecology Group gives an encouraging example. She says an American came to her about a year ago, advising her he’d found an abandoned bitch and her hours-old litter, and asking who he could call to come and get them. She told him the only way to keep them alive was to look after them until the babies were at least a month old, after which they could be adopted and the mother fixed. He was kind and wise enough to accept the challenge, getting his Mexican neighbors involved by helping to feed and play with the puppies, changing them in the eyes of all concerned from disposable possessions to cherished friends. And because they were given the opportunity to learn their value, they can now educate others. Needless to say, when the time came, the mother and her puppies were all successfully adopted.

Don’t you just love happy endings?

If you have any comments, questions or suggestions about what you’re reading, you’re encouraged to let me know at heather@mexmags.com.