Jacey, the gallant Guillaume (product of Quebec) and I take a train to Tigre (Tiger). This is a small town an hour outside of the city, known for its waterways, cafes, and market place. Something about Tigers, President Sarmiento, and school boats. I can’t tell you much because the motor of our boat roared over our tour guide’s rehearsed narration. We enjoyed ourselves, though many of the things we wanted to see - the amusement park (all four rusty looking rides), and Tres Boca (a little network of islands) - were closed off for the day. I had the faint feeling that we emerged after a giant storm, for the vacancy and calm in the streets was not wholesome and peaceful. For AR $1.90, which is less than one US dollar, I suppose we could come back on a weekend when it’s supposed to be more lively.
But a curious thing happened in Tigre. While in the marketplace, a little stray dog wandered over to me. There was something graceful and genteel in its walk, and it had this tender look in its eyes. How could something so delicate have survived in these streets? For months, I had played the role of the rational one (imagine that) when Jacey fantasized about having a dog in South America. “It’s irresponsible, we would have to leave it when we came back,” and “It would tie us down so much,” and “Shut up about it already.” Jacey still salivated and / or whimpered every time we passed a dog, but I more or less held to my conviction. Then this creature nudged up to me and all logic dissipated. Two hours later, we were lying to the TBA officials, insisting that the dog had come with us on the train to Tigre and would have to return the same way.
We can’t keep him. It would be unfair to him, and dangerous even for our own relationship. (The last thing I want right now is to argue over whose turn it is to pick up dog shit. We have bigger things to worry about, like our psychotic neighbors who have probably chosen which window to shatter to enter our place. But I digress.) To leave this creature on the street, to forsake him when what initially drew me in was his vulnerability, would have been unconscionable. We’ve bought him some necessities, scrubbed away what may amount to more than a years-worth of grime, showered him with belly-rubs and kisses, and now… we are going to find Stanley a proper home in our new home, Buenos Aires.
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