He was one of the beach dogs ... one of those nice, friendly, starving dogs on the beach. One of the dogs looking for food, love, attention and, if they're lucky, a real home.
He was a nice dog. I don't know his name. Or if he even had a name. Fairly big, brown and white. I rather liked him and he would run and play with Oro if we were at the beach.
Curt and I headed out to Puerto Vallarta yesterday. Down Highway 200. Full of traffic, double tankers, pickup trucks carrying families and, sometimes, horses in the back. And there he was, dead on the side of the highway.
Curt said I should think about him while I was in church and I did.
Now, a lot of Mexicans don't think dogs have souls. I think if we do that dogs must as well. I thought a lot, in church and after, about that big brown and white, nice, friendly, starving beach dog that, for some reason, no one had adopted.
It sounds corny, but I hope he is in a better place ... on a big beach somewhere, with people to love him and feed him and give him a new home.