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Working the Streets of Manuel Antonio

They come and go these gringos. But while I know that from experience, I seem to fall back in the same patterns over and over. One day I'll notice a new one's arrived and I'll warily sniff around from a distance to see if it's treats or thrown rocks to be had. And the next thing you know, I'm sleeping on their porch and rolling over to offer my soft cuddly belly for scratching. They seem to like that. I was quite a beauty in my day, I can still turn a head or two even after 38 children.

My strategy is not to bury all my bones in one hole, as they say. So while I'm swearing unending loyalty to one of them, I two-time them with their neighbor up the road. They don't seem to communicate much so that works okay. Best is 2 or 3 houses where they each consider me theirs. I once worked 5 houses at the same time. Now that was hard work!

There've been some conflicts too. My current boyfriend Bruno is very jealous. Why just the other day he bit Doo-glass on the leg just because he stopped to scratch me. Men. Must they always be so damn competitive? Doo-glass is the one who named me 29. They never seem to be able to pronounce my real name when I tell them so it'll do. Besides it gives them the feeling of ownership if they give me a name. And if they own me, they gotta take care of me right?

And I do my part too. I'm no slacker. At least not while they're watching. If there are monkeys or iguanas to be chased off, I'm right there. Don't want no monkeys in your bananas, no sirree. Ok, well I admit there are pretty much always monkeys to be chased around here. Critters seem to be everywhere. Major competition in the cute department and a damn waste of time, they're always way up in the trees anyway. So if no one's watching I don't bother them and they don't bother me. But gotta keep Doo-glass happy and chase them once in a while  to let him know I'm pulling my weight as a guard dog. Strangely enough though, he always seems annoyed when I do it. Now iguanas on the other hand, I could chase them for hours. They're a laugh riot. They think if they stay really still I won't be able to see them. And then I give them a little nip and they scramble a little further away, puff themselves all up ("ooh, I'm scared of the big puffy iguana", right!) and we start all over.

Doo-glass was very reluctant when we first met. Kept me at a distance for a while. But they can't resist these big eyes and floppy ears. He never made any promises but I was sad to see him go. He has some interesting guests too. Two of them were real pushovers since they missed their own dogs at home. Jon-a-tan gave me some Irish name. Share-ee bought me some food but then I ate so much of it I was sick for two days.

I wasn't sure about Doo-glass but when I disappeared for 4 days, he smelled very happy and relieved to see me. I could tell he was surprised too by this annoying pink collar my other owners put on me. There's one of the hazards of my career. They all think they own you. Hot pink. How 1984. Very embarrassing. Thankfully I chewed that off after a day.

Something else happened though in those missing days. But my memory of it is a little bit foggy. I think they drugged me. I do know that I have a big scar running down my belly now. It was all sewed up at first. And they said that I wouldn't be having any more children. "Fixed" they called it. As if I had been broken. Now don't get me wrong, I'm over this motherhood thing. Supporting myself is difficult enough but when you need to do it with a half dozen little pups trying to grab at your tits all day, that's tough. And after all that, they just take off and barely acknowledge me when we see each other around town. Not even a quick sniff of the butt. So I guess I'm not mad. But my unblemished belly was one of my better features.

I've chatted with enough tourist dogs to know that I don't have it too bad at all. Maybe I'm not always sure where my next meal's coming from but at least I'm not locked in the house all day, getting outside only for prescribed walks. They even put a rope on them they tell me; as if we'd run off or something. But the weirdest thing is that they follow them around with plastic bags in their hands and pick up their shit. Is that weird or what? No wonder they're so neurotic. No, life as a street dog in Costa Rica ain't so bad after all.

Subscribe to TravelBlogs Posted by Cinnabon on March 7th, 2005 in Articles.