una vida de perro

I was flipping through some of my photographs from Mexico this evening. What I needed was a little psychic energy boost. I am still a bit under the weather and the weather is getting under my skin. I skipped Jiggs's walk because it is very rainy tonight. But, more than anything, I wanted to feel that certain magic I feel when visiting Mexico.

This picture did the trick. Every morning in La Manzanilla when I went for my morning walk, I would run into the same dog. He seemed to be everywhere: at the beach, at the grocer, at the butcher. On this morning, I was waiting to catch the bus to Barra de Navidad. And there was the dog -- not actually sleeping on a park bench, but enjoying the last few moments of calm before his day swung into high gear.

I almost called him my friend. He was not that. We were merely acquaintances. When I offered him my hand for a pat on his head. he had absolutely no interest. He was a cool dog, who had no need for human companionship. He knew that part of his ancestry most likely went back to the Aztecs where his kin were both revered as being sacred and as being a very healthy meal. He was no longer treated as sacred, and, fortunately, in post-Spanish Mexico, he is no longer seen as the main comida course.

It is not a great life, but he is admired by those who pass through his ancient world.