Good Times In Argentina – Dead Dog

Clark April 16th, 2007

This was a very eventful second.

I was walking through a residential neighborhood in Tigre, where all the boat businesses are, about thirty miles north of Buenos Aires. I had just made another $2000 payment to the boat repair company, and was on my way to the train station.

I saw a crude sign on a house that said ‘Centro Antiarrabico.’ This is when the one second began. I thought to myself, Centro Antiarrabico? What does that mean? Anti-Arab center? I was crossing in front of the door just as a woman stepped out. We ran into each other and were frozen, our eyes about six inches apart. In this split second I noticed that she was very attractive, I saw that she held a dead dog wrapped in a towel in her arms, and I realized that Centro Antiarrabico meant anti-rabies center. There we were, this attractive girl and I, having a moment, with a dead dog mashed between us.

She pulled away, we both said ‘perdon,’ and I saw there was a car waiting with its back doors open to take the dog off to the crematorium. The dog was a sweet-looking thing, a beagle with floppy ears, its dead tongue hanging out oddly.

A dead dog mashing probably isn’t the best introduction—although it would make a hell of a story if we ended up getting married someday.

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