August 22, 2011: Arriving in Punta del Este, an international beach resort in Uruguay’s winter, I checked into my cold moist, mold coated 6 bed dorm. While I was in the lobby, I sadly ran into one of the most unhappy looking antisocial groups of Brazilians, for the second time. I don’t quite know if they ever smiled in their entire lives by seeing how highly underdeveloped their facial muscles were…not the slightest twitch when I said hello - a grunt would have been satisfactory. At least a grunt would have explained they might have come from somewhere in the depth of the Amazon.
Even Toilet Paper Girl surprisingly sat expressionless, saying nothing. You would think that she would have felt obligated to at least respond to my hello after saving her a pile of embarrassment in the hostel in Montevideo as she was walking out of the restroom…trailing a long piece of toilet paper – just catching her as she was about to walk out the door as I ran down the hall. If she wasn’t a beautiful face painted clown I would say that she was just shy or a tongue amputee…but sadly, I think she had a healthy tongue and was leaning toward the other end of the personality spectrum.
Doing some self photos of myself in front a buried giant on the beach…I had a bit too much time on my hands and began to think a tad too much about, “Stuff”. Not even 5 or so seconds after, a golden dog on crack came springing up to me with his tall going back and forth as fast as a windshield wiper stuck on high. He became my yapping happy friend for the day as I walked along the pleasant developed beaches. This dog’s tail nor did he himself show the slightest sign of exhaustion as he fetched a large pinecone without hesitation, not knowing the feeling of boredom.
Throughout my walk, I can see how some professional baseball players only throw for a few innings. Wanting to stop…the smile on the dogs face forced me into other innings. I was contemplating about throwing with my opposite arm to pull off an impressive girly throw but decided against it - just in case someone was watching from inside one of the deserted summer homes or condos lining the beach.
When it was time to leave the trailless sand shoreline and to enter the concrete maze of guidance…I tried to ignore the dog so that he would return back to somewhere. But…he didn’t, making me nervous as the cars horns would belch when would imitate a chicken dodging traffic, to those close encounters with mean dogs and those others that just wanted to take a deep breath of his butt. Whenever I thought I lost him, I would see him running along the side of me to mark some shrubbery or post with his bottomless bladder.
I can at times enjoy the company of other people’s dogs…but, I never really wanted one for my own to follow and pick up their steaming dog piles with a plastic bag – except for in the winter, where it becomes a small temporary hand warmer. But, today I could how a steamy pile on the sidewalk or the beach might be worth it…even in the summer.
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