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Beach Dogs, Dogs on the Beach

Zapata, Dog of the Beach

Zapata, Dog of the Beach
Oh, my name is Zapata. I’m not named after a shoe or because I love to chew on shoes, which I do, but because of the famous Mexican revolutionary and freedom fighter, Emiliano Zapata. He said, “It’s better to die on your feet than live on your knees,” which I agree with, especially since I have four of the two. I’ll tell you how I got my name, but first let me tell you what my life is like now. The present is so sweet, and we dogs appreciate it much more than humans who like to live in the future or the past. The past is like a tail that follows you and only serves to scare away flies, and the future, what will be will be.

I live in Samara, a beautiful little town on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. I meet many tourists there, from Canada, Switzerland and the United States, among other countries, who come to study at our Spanish School. They have lessons in the morning and have free time in the afternoon to lounge on the beach, eat at one of our delicious restaurants, shop at our quaint shops, paint, ride horses, or travel to other wonderful places in Costa Rica. I haven’t been out of Samara myself, but I hear wonderful stories of trips to Monte Verde and the cloud forests, and to the Arano Volcano, where there are zip lines, hot tubs for bathing, and rafting. One day I hope to travel to my beautiful country with my owner, who is the proud manager of a Spanish restaurant in Samara. It is one of many charming restaurants, but more exotic than others. People usually come to our establishment if it’s raining and they want to get off the beach. We have a great wine that I heard, and I can recommend the Paella and the bones

I met my friend from the United States when he was lying on the sidewalk outside the restaurant taking a nap in the afternoon heat. The gringos do not seem to notice the heat and walk under the midday sun like rabid dogs or English dogs, of which there are some of the latter in Samara. There is little water to fill their plates in England or so I hear so they come here where our water plates are full and our rivers cascade into the sea. They often complain that they can’t drive their four-wheeled monsters through the fast-flowing rivers along the coast. They should be happy to lap up the clean, fresh water, but back to my story. The gringa lady saw me and immediately fell in love with me, which is not unusual for the great Zapata. He was lying on the sidewalk, very relaxed, and she thought he was sick. He tried to get me some tacos and water, which I gratefully accepted. I didn’t tell him the truth, the truth. I think she wanted to take me home, but she was afraid to move. I’m good at playing possum.

The next day I saw her again while she was taking one of her paintings to an art gallery. It was a painting of the beach and it wasn’t bad, except that it contained a cat, a despicable creature. How could she prefer the cat (cat) to the dog? But she kept prodding me by asking her husband, in her strange language that I have learned a little about thanks to the touriststo look at me He didn’t seem very impressed, but I loved the attention from him, especially the treats. That afternoon I saw her and her husband drinking an Imperial on the beach and admiring the horses that came from the fields in the afternoon to enjoy the Pacific. She seemed very surprised to see free animals on the beach. She wondered why, but she hoped she had never found out. I would have to fight for my freedom, if I were ever in danger, just like my namesake, Emiliano. They didn’t see me, but I followed them down the beach where I saw them feeding my friend, Migo. He’s a lanky black hound who lives in a beach restaurant and is even better fed than I am. Tourists on the beach love it. They miss their dogs at home, I’m sure.

Another morning I saw her waving wildly at a friend she knew from home. This was very surprising to her as she did not know that her friend would be in Samara. I guess she doesn’t have many friends, or the world is much bigger than Samara. I see my friends from the city all the time. Another day, her husband took a surfing lesson. He wasn’t very good, but he tried very hard. Many tourists do not know that it takes him a long time to learn to ride the waves. I would like to try it too, but my owner won’t let me, a little freedom that is denied me. But I like to swim in the waves, and tourists do too However, the ocean has many moods and one should swim when not angry.

The couple befriended the family at the beach who had given them surfing lessons and bought them a large fish. They took him back up the hill to his house on top of the mountain to cook. I would have eaten it raw, but humans like to grill fish. I was hoping to get some. Later the family offered them a puppy from a litter that had just been born. I tried to meet her dog with the beautiful black hair, but she would have nothing to do with me, saying that he was a beach bum. That may be true, but how could he resist my thick white fur and brown lion’s mane? Many people say that I look like a chow dog, and I certainly like chow. Like Emiliano, I am very attracted to ladies, and they to me. But, “Comrades, you can’t win them all”, or as the gringos would say, “You can’t win them all”.

After several weeks, I saw my gringo friend on the beach one night drinking an Imperial and looking very sad. I heard her say that it was his last night in Samara. He said that he would miss the beautiful beach and the friendly people. He also said that people here care about the environment and have resisted the efforts of large companies that pollute the landscape to build in Costa Rica. We also use renewable energy, which I think means we bury our bones to use later. This made me happy, but a little scared. I expected our beach to always be the same. We are often called the greenest and happiest country. We have plenty to eat and we still have plenty of trees to lie down under.

As my story is coming to an end, I will tell you how I got my name. Once, when I was a younger dog and living in the city, I freed several of my friends who had been rounded up by the dogcatcher and thrown into a truck with a cage in the back. There was also a beautiful baby dressed in all white fur with a diamond necklace in the cage. When I saw her I fell madly in love, but how was I to know that she belonged to a Great Dane that belonged to the mayor. I just knew I had to rescue her from her, which I did by jumping up and pulling on the ends of the rope that bound the cage doors. The dogs burst out of captivity barking: “Zapata, Zapata to the rescue.”

I followed her to her house where she gave me a sniff but said it belonged to someone else. Still, my reputation was built and she stays with me to this day. I have made many conquests based on that lucky day that I also earned my name. Now I decided that I should use my powers to cheer up my gringo friend. I rounded up my friends, a bunch of strays, with a few haughty chihuahuas in the group, and led them down the beach to their bench. He jumped to his feet, crying, “There he is, my sick curbside dog leading a pack of dogs. I’m glad he’s feeling better, but I hope they don’t attack us!”

I was very surprised to hear her say this, but proudly led my friends down the beach in full parade formation for her enjoyment, stopping only to bow in front of her and wag my tail. She exclaimed with delight, “He is the leader of the pack and he has come to say goodbye.” Yes, she had recognized my greatness and my appreciation for the gringos had grown by leaps and bounds. While the red sun sank below the white-capped waves, and the coconut palms swayed gently in the breeze, I, the great Zapata, said goodbye to the nice gringa lady. Even though she called me Sam, I’m sure she’ll never forget me.