Colext/Macondo
Cantina virtual de los COLombianos en el EXTerior
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Otro de los escriticos de misiarubby, de ya hace casi 20 años... recuerden
que estoy haciéndole a escondidas un librito de recuerdos para cuando cumpla
años (el año entrante).
My Kind of Chocolate
Have you ever thought about what a dog's life, outside the United States, is
like?
My name is Chocolate; somebody gave me that name because that is the color
of my coat (it shows how original some people can be). I live in Silvania, a
small town where, as in most other small towns in this country, we are free
to roam in the streets. Some of us have owners, but I don't. I'm my own
master; I go and do as I please. I like my freedom even though life on the
streets can be very tough, and one has to be very smart in order to survive.
Take, for instance, basic skills such as taking a piece of meat or a nice
bone from the meat market, without getting caught and kicked; it really
takes lots of patience and rapid reflexes to get away with it.
I have two favorite spots, one is the only hotel in town, and the other is
the only restaurant in town across the river. I spend a lot of my time at
the hotel, as it's the most interesting place here. It's fun to sniff the
tourists passing by, and to see them looking back at me as if I were a
hippie. Sometimes when I get bored I visit other households; I even go to
the church now and then. I have gained enough respect from humans, so that I
always feel welcome when I visit them.
As I was saying, the hotel is an interesting place. I love to sit under the
table at the pool parlor, and listen to the judge, the mayor, the priest,
the doctor and the Peace Corps member exchange jokes and war stories while
they play. My own jokes are ignored most of the time; but then, how can they
know about what goes on inside a dog's head?
I've learned a lot from dogs and humans, and I'm glad I have decided to
maintain my freedom. Today I was listening to one of the Peace Corps
volunteers, who had received a letter from Hawaii. In it, his friends were
telling him about the dog they had purchased as a pet for their children.
They said it was a very fine Basenji dog, red and white, with curly tail,
and everything else expected of a champion.
While listening to the human, I couldn't help but wonder at how different it
is to be a dog in the United States. Here in this town animals have a
definite purpose; dogs and chickens, horses and cows, they all serve in some
way, and almost never are considered pets. Being one must be extremely
boring, and I don't envy them. I wouldn't change my favorite spot on the
hotel porch, nor my walks along the riverbanks, for anything in the world,
no matter how fancy.
I've spent a significant amount of time in my life protecting my freedom,
and I see with uneasiness the gradual advance of modern life, as this town
grows. I guess I'll have to go along with what Huckledoggy Rintinfinn once
said, and bark my way out to "...the Territory, ahead of the rest..."
because somebody's going to "...adopt me and sivilize me and I can't stand
it".
Rubby Angritt
Hum 310, 555 words
April 19, 1982
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