A day in the life of a partner of a dog besotted person.

"Oh no, I think he's not well," cried Saint Cushion. We had just passed a dog that was lying on the pavement in the late morning sun. He was sticking out quite a bit onto the walking path but everyone was careful to avoid him.

My first reaction was to ignore the man. (Someone has to be the bad cop in this story). 

To help you understand the situation better, this was the 3rd dog-related stop we'd made since stepping out from our casa half an hour ago. 

The 1st was 100 metres from our front gate when he realised he'd forgotten his bag of kibble. "My friends will be upset," he grumbled, when I told him we couldn't turn back because we were running late. He meant Kanocky, Hambre and Timido (pictures in the last post, who are now so fat, they spat out the asado bones he gave them yesterday). "And I need some food for the dogs in the city," he continued grumbling. I had to be stern. "NO! You can get a bag in the city." 

The 2nd time was when we got off the bus in Salta city, almost on top of 2 dogs huddled against a building wall. One of them had a gash on his leg. (I didn't see this myself.) "We have to get him to a vet!" Saint Cushion immediately declared, oblivious of the crowd of people around him trying to board the bus. "¿Veterinario, veterinario?" He asked everyone. "HOW are you going to get him to the vet?" I wanted to know. "He's not a small dog." I thought it was a very sensible question. As it turned out, no one knew if there was a vet nearby. So reluctantly, he moved away from the dog, muttering under his breath about how the dog's friend was so good to protect him.

This 3rd dog, on the busy pavement in front of Plaza 9 de Julio, he was not going to move away from.

There was a tiny puddle of moisture on the dry pavement, just under the dog's muzzle. He was an even bigger dog. His belly was distended, somewhat misshapen. His fur was dusty and matted. His legs were twitching.

"He's definitely sick. We have to do something." Saint Cushion was adamant. 

I wasn't sure how he jumped to this conclusion. "He could just be sleeping and dreaming," I thought I'd mention. "Like Georgia? Having a nightmare?"

No. The man was convinced the dog was very sick.

By this time, he had attracted a few passersby. "El perro está enfermo," he told them. (The dog is sick - amazing how much his español improves in a crisis.) The passersby shook their heads in commiseration. They said stuff that neither of us understood. They came closer to have a look at the poor sick dog. "¿Veterinario, cerca de aquí?" (Vet close by?) But once again, no one knew.

Being the cool (and, dare I say, rational) one, I suggested he ask the policeman in his booth at the street corner. He bounded over, relieved I'm sure to at last be doing something useful. He came back armed with the knowledge that there might be a vet down the road and round the corner and he could go get him. (There was no way we could have carried that dog.)

Then Saint Cushion bent down to look at the dog, perhaps to whisper some comforting words to him in español. Right at that moment, the dog took a deep breath, let it out, shuddered. Then. Nothing. 

Saint Cushion was beside himself. 

"HE JUST DIED! OH NO! HE'S DEAD! WE'RE TOO LATE! OH NO!" 

"Calm down! How do you know he's dead? He could just be sleeping."

"HE'S DEAD!!!"

More passersby stopped to see what the turista was doing to their street dog. 

"¡MUERTO!" The turista told them.

Finally, after more than 10 minutes of this melodrama that was going nowhere, one man decided to give the dead dog's paw a nudge with his foot. 

The poor dog. He opened his eyes for the merest moment, then went right back to sleep and wouldn't open them again even when Saint Cushion gave his paw another few nudges. (I guess the man just wanted to be sure.)

I'm never letting you forget this, Cushion! Ever! Hence, this post. 

Of course, I had to be the one to tell the policeman in his booth, "Perro no enfermo, señor. Siesta sólo."  (Dog not sick, sir. Only siesta.)

*With apologies for the Spanish or lack of*