Perrito

Hey! The name is Perrito. It’s Spanish for “Little Dog” which is a pretty dumb name when you live in a Spanish speaking country. But some lady gave it to me when she was traveling and I guess it stuck. In her head. My name is really Hector, but don’t tell her that. She seems really into the whole “Perrito” thing and we’ll get into this in a minute, but I want this lady to be happy. I don’t think she is.

She met me during a vacation and she hasn’t stopped thinking about me ever since. I was out, making my rounds in a little resort with a nice trail to a lookout point. I saw her coming and she looked awfully excited to be there, with the unbridled energy of a dog who had been cooped up all day and was finally getting out. I went up to her as she approached the trail and we made eye contact. I could tell that she was immediately smitten by my rough exterior. Wirey, and with just enough dirty rough and tumble to give me an edge. But small enough to not be intimidating and not too wild. She gave me a smile but kept her distance as she started to walk. I decided to follow along and she took to that immediately as her smile grew wider.

She was a little pokey when she walked and seemed to be looking around a lot. I’m not sure if she’s seen trees before. The look on her face suggested they were her first. For as slow as she was moving, she seemed to explore entirely with her eyes, though. She didn’t sniff anything and not a single attempt to mark the trees. Humans are really weird that way.

We made it most of the way up to the top when I heard several voices down at the bottom of the hill. This lady seemed to be doing well enough on her own and to be honest I was kinda tired of her gazing around with her mouth open for so long, so I decided to run down and greet the other tourists. She thought she’d seen the last of me.

Well, lucky for her our separation was short-lived. After she finished her walk, she headed back to her cabin and what do you know? There I was. I had found her other people. They were sitting on a porch swing when I approached and joined them. I didn’t realize that they were her people. But that’s not why I joined them anyway. I’m not one to concern myself too much with familiarity. Every stranger is a friend waiting to be had, I say. She returned to find me laying there, on my back, getting some pretty decent belly rubs from the people I’d learn are her husband and son. They briefly had a back and forth about who had “discovered” me. “That’s the little dog from my walk!” “Look who we found on the porch!” People can be ridiculous and egotistical, always laying claim to things that existed long before they were involved.I suppose we dogs can be the same way, marking fences and lampposts far from home, claiming them as our own. It sure makes it feel like mine. Perhaps its a universal mistruth that we claim things that don’t belong to us. And who wants to think about all of the things that came before us and everything that will exist long after we’re gone anyway? I guess that’s why we focus on what’s in front of us so much of the time. I suppose we can agree that the kid and his dad “found” me, as did the lady, and that the big rock near the creamery is mine. No matter how many times Espanjosa’s stream of urine tries to take it away from me..

She sat down with the others and she seemed to loosen up a little bit about petting me as she saw the others do it. I did my part to thank her, wagging my tail and looking up at her with what I dare say are enchanting eyes. She was falling in love.

After a while, satisfied with the pets, I headed out to attend to other business. They watched as I sauntered off, confident and with purpose mysterious to everyone but myself. 

The next time they saw me, I was meeting some friends for a mid-afternoon romp. I live in what humans call a tourist town. There’s a small pool of regulars that live around me, but the other humans come in and out, each one with their mouth agape, remarking on what a beautiful place it is. They act like this place is far better than what they’re used to and seem so excited that they escaped their regular homes. I’m not sure of where they come from or why their own homes make them so sad. They seem able to move around and get to places like mine, yet they come to my town for a few days at a time, get all starry eyed, and then return to their old homes and lives. They must have their reasons, but I sure don’t understand. This is the only place I’ve ever known.  

The main road in town attracts a lot of these types. And the 3 p.m. bus brings them in… by the bus load. Few things are more exciting in the day in the life of a dog in Monteverde than the 3 p.m. bus. I’m told that the roads into our town are pretty rough and it makes getting in and out an adventure. The country that I live in makes its living off of adventure seekers and so once a day, it imports a bunch of these people who have never seen trees or birds before into my town through a large bus. When the bus comes in, it’s a field day of new people to meet, endear, and beg from. Most of these folks don’t seem to realize that my friends and I have homes. They see us all hanging out on the street and their faces get sad and they accuse of us being homeless. I’m not really one to let pride get in the way of handouts, so I roll with it and give them my saddest eyes. The truth is, though, that my buddies and I aren’t homeless. We just have an understanding with our owners. We’re free range dogs. Like children in the 80s. I have heard that dogs in the US spend most of their time indoors, completely beholden to their human companions. We Ticos are different. Pura Vida (the “pure life”) isn’t found sandwiched between four walls.  

Every day at the bus stop, I meet a new group of people. They have a familiar theme. Backpacks, fancy hiking shoes, and at least one group always looks like they could use a shower. They look happy and excited; like they’re an American dog headed out for their once a day walk (I still can’t get over how sad that sounds). While there’s a general theme about them, they vary day to day and person to person. Some of them are aloof, others are curious. Some are bossy and others seem to be eager to do anything to make me happy. I like those. Some of them ignore me and others obsess over me day after day, giving me silly monikers like “Perrito.”

I don’t know what makes this particular human so enamored with me. She keeps remarking on how “scrappy” I am, referring to my wirey coat and small stature. She says that I have a confidence about me that she finds endearing. I suppose that part is true. Confidence isn’t something that I can say that I’m conscious of, but I also can’t say that I’m too familiar with the feeling of fear that seems to paralyze so many humans’ action. I don’t think about things too much. I just follow my instincts and my desires and it seems to do well for me. It’s brought me great friends, great food and a lifetime of adventures. I get the feeling that this particular human never stops thinking and that seems to bother her. She envies my care-free attitude. All of the thinking that she does doesn’t seem to be doing her much good. It seems to make her sad, like she’s on a leash and can’t get to the good paths. But there’s no leash there, just her own restrictive thoughts. I wonder if she realizes that she’s actually free? What is she even tugging against? She seems to have a rigidity to her even when she’s relaxing. It’s like she’s gotten so resigned to being on this leash of hers that she has just decided she stopped trying to tug and laid down. I think she created her imaginary leash out of perceived obligations and “what ifs.” This silly human is just as free as I am; probably more so if she was able to get from her home over to my part of the world, but she limits herself with things she’s totally made up in her mind. Me, I don’t have that problem. I don’t understand why it needs to be so complicated, so thought out.  

“What if?” I guess that’s not a question that crosses my mind. At least not with the tone I hear her say it. Why does she say it so negatively? In my world, “What if?” opens my world, frees me to explore. It suggests endless possibilities and questions to be answered. But to her, it seems to close her off and keep her from doing new things. She seems to be afraid of the answers.

She pets me and I think I even see her eyes well up with tears. I’ve met a lot of humans and gotten a lot of pets, but this one seems to think we have some sort of spiritual bond. She starts to cry the day that they load onto the bus that takes the tourists back to their home and says goodbye. I say my goodbyes as well before I get distracted by the smell of huevos y frijoles coming from the restaurant up the road. She seems a little disappointed when I saunter off to get some food, but c’mon lady. Huevos y frijoles…