Puerto Rico: Land of Dogs

There are far, far more dog owners here than in Ecuador. That is to say: Far more people actually care for the dogs they own, taking them for walks, buying them collars, getting them shots, etc., than was the case in Ecuador. Every day there are a certain number on the beach, and while I do occasionally grumble and mutter as I pick up after some inconsiderate dog owner, the sheer number of dogs on the beach would mean that a very significant percentage of the dog owners are indeed picking up after them. This morning I took a jog (heel held up fantastically; I'll give it a couple days off and see if I can pull it off again) and saw several people walking their dogs in the actual act of picking up. More than I can say for certain streets in Williamstown. There were a lot of other joggers and some tourist families with small kids sitting in lonely restaurants looking for breakfast at 7:45 on a Saturday. Much of the world was still abed, hung over; it felt like it used to when I would get up at 5:00 to go running (I was, at the time, insane). Like I got to enjoy the quiet beach world with hardly any people without having to drag myself out of bed particularly early.

Our beach time today was very dog-themed - a little skinny mutt, with a definitely not skinny owner, and colored pretty much exactly like Hobie, became my best friend, sidling up to me every couple of minutes for a pat while her owner snoozed on her beach towel. A family of four or five women just up the beach had two labs and a little white Toto-looking dog, cavorting merrily in the surf and around us, responding instantly to their owners when callled. Meanwhile, a vagrant-type fellow with two moth-eaten, but well-fed, collarless mutts wandered past regularly, speaking to his dogs in accented English for some reason. He was a bit on the loco side, and he most definitely did not pick up, but he's the exception.

As we sat in the shade of the palms and had lunch, an owner of two dogs came through - they were dark grey with yellow eyes and stand-up pricked ears. Very striking, and so I walked over and chatted with him for a bit to see what sort they were. He turned out to have a good reason for keeping to the shade - they don't do well in the sun, because they have no hair. They were Peruvian hairless, and that name is no hyperbole. No hair at all, except for a patch between the eyes of one of them. I petted the very muscular male: Dry, hot, somewhat rough skin, very weird to the touch. I don't know if I could have a dog like that - it might feel kind of obscene to pet it.

We watched some volleyball from the shade during lunch, and grooved to the reggaeton music they were playing. It's a sort of rap-turned-reggae, and Tess liked it quite a bit. She propped herself up on her elbows, mindful of keeping her sandy feet off the picnic cloth, and swayed sort of sleepily to it. "A mi me encanta un poco esa musica," she said. Not entirely clear on the meaning of "encanta", but it'll come.

Beach dirtiness is starting to get to me a bit. In ten minutes, if I could bring myself to touch them, I feel very confident that I could pick up 500 cigarette butts without going more than 30 yards in any direction. Plastic cups, spoons, wrappers...I don't have a whooole lot of beach experience, but I don't remember this much trash in Florida, or Italy, or even Ecuador. This is an urban beach, with high rises right next door, but it still bothers me. Folks are so inconsiderate.

Tessie again napped beneath her cardboard sun shade, and tonight Janneke had the idea to have family art time and decorate it. We all sat around it and attacked with markers and crayons, writing "Buenas noches, Tess" in big block letters and adding whatever illustrations Tess requested. Her first: "Quiero una nina que esta muerta. Ella dice, 'I'm dead.'" Janneke, knowing me all too well, pretty much vetoed that one. Just as well: no need to have folks thinking we're wheeling a corpse around in the tropical sun. Though there is a Marquez story where that's pretty much what happens, right down to it being a little girl.

My recon missions today sussed out the bus situation, and we found out how to get to Plaza Las Americas from a stop not four blocks away. That's the biggest mall in town, where we'll have to pick up another guide book, as we inexplicably forgot to bring ours. Our other glaring omission was my bird book - there are so many new birds here, it's driving me buggy not to be able to look them up. And no, I'm not talking about the pigeons.

While there was nothing heroic about the day other than another rescue of the occasionally forgetful Janneke, who again trapped herself in the bedroom, the costume is starting to come together. I bought sunglasses today, and since Latin American architecture includes so much glass, I got a pretty good, long look at myself essentially wearing a black mask across my eyes. And I have to say, it's an intimidating sight.

Hasta manana!



Caught in the commission of art



The future hood of the Corpsemobile



A video of our kids this evening, eating pears,
pretending to be monsters. Why? Because we can!