Dude, I’d be the last person to consider themselves a dog person.
But in a lot of ways I am.
There was Ginger, the family pet. And man, I loved her. A lot.
It was like that kind of love that’s real innocent, and you swear kissing a dog on the face is heathen actions, but you stay doing it. It’s just how they make you feel.
Ginger had super long hair and she was a dachshund. Reddish hair, like the kind of dye job my mom’s cousins from Colombia used to get. I didn’t name her but it was a fitting handle and it really spoke to her vibe. Or, her aura. I don’t really know.
Thinking back, there was this one time someone was being creepy and trying to hit a lick on our domicile when Ginger kicked in the barks, multiple mad screaming barks. Whoever was out there split.
She saved our lives. And you know, maybe Ginger , and the fact she was an OG, renegade hot dog-dog, was prepping me to be a dog person.
God I love pizza.
A few years ago, I don’t really remember when I met this dog. I called her Frosty, because she had a stone-cold grill. She stayed near this apartment I lived in. My girlfriend at the time was talking to the dog and so was I. It was a ratty street dog with dirty gum in her fur and didn’t look healthy at all.
But bigging her up from time to time out in the street just made her friendly with us. We found out her name was Beba. She was the guard dog for the garage next to us. But on nights when she escaped the garage she followed us to people’s houses when we went out on Friday nights. And once or twice she followed us up to my crib.
My other, other girlfriend at the time was responsible for letting the street dog up in the crib. I thought it was nasty to let a street varmint up in the space you live and eat.
But Beba turned out to be cool. So cool, in fact, that some of my good, solid pals from a couple flights up in the apartment building also became friends with Beba.
Beba got super famous after I left her, they made her a star–cleaned her up, gave her haircuts.
Later, she became the mascot of some bar. When she died last week, a lot of people were hit by the loss. I mean, this wasn’t just a dog. It was Beba.
One thought on “A dog I met in Mexico City just died”
Oh, I remember Beba. Que lastima! I feel like I knew Beba from your stories about her. That dog had a personality and as big as she was she was gentle. (as you used to tell me). I am so lucky to have known dogs that are real special Ginger, Beba and Pecas (a Colombian dog). Pecas would wait for my brother at his favorite bakery until 1:00 am to walk home with him. If the two became separated during the day, Pecas knew the last stop of the night and there they would meet. Until she also went to dog heaven. So sorry to hear about Beba.