a new dog named benny
05/04/2010 § 3 Comments
Last night, after my tango lesson, the roomies and I went out for a casual drink at our local San Telmo dive, Guebara. A live jazz band was playing, the atmosphere cozy, the bottles of artesanal beer a pricey $13AR ($3.50CA). Got to catch-up with Maggy (Iknow we live together, but nothing like cold beer and post-show New Order to get conversations flowing), got to watch an older Argentine boracha say “fucka yuuuu!”, chatted with some locals about, of course, politics and education in the country — I understand, now, why talking politics can be so boring for some Argentines. The conversations really don’t resolve anything, rather it’s a comparative pissing match of which country treats their citizens like shit the most: the one with the corrupt government or the one with the corrupt government masked with altruistic intent. I guess you know which one I was vying for.
Nevertheless, everything seemed pretty perfect, until, leaving the bar right before it closed at 5AM, we noticed a little shivering ball curled up at the door.
The temerpature has dropped drastically in the past couple of weeks. Yesterday, during the day, I caught people in down-jackets and scarves. Finally a chance to take advantage of Fall fashion, I sported my own pashmina and socked-up Vans. It felt really really good. I missed Fall. Never thought I would say that.
Nonetheless, unlike the porteños, the street-pups don’t have down-jackets, nor pashminas, nor gaucho panchos. They got what they came into this world with which would have been comfortable for this little vagabond if he wasn’t noticeably shaved. We tried putting discarded newspaper on top of him, some pieces of cardboard for heavier insulation, but he would not stop shivering. Being a roommate with animal lovers is amazing. They decided we were going to take him home and give him a warm place to sleep.
Dashing inside to buy a beef empanada, the homies stayed outside, consoling the curled little cherub. The bartender thought I wanted to empanada for myself, to eat, so he put it in the toaster-oven, I waited, he waited, then he tried to wrap it up nice and tidy in folded napkins, perfectly pressed. Sometimes, being the only people that tip in a bar can have time-consuming consequences. Maggy popped up behind me, grabbed the empanada before the bartender could further fold yet another napkin and walked out the door. So that’s how it’s done. The Mexican Way. TMW.
We used the meat empanada to coax the little guy the few blocks to our apartment, little piece by little piece, his eyes eager, his stomach yearning for every morsel. Obviously, since he is an Argentine deggy, we had to speak Spanish, actually castellano, to him.
Vení, mi amor. Vení.
We arrived at the apartment with the pup, gave him some food and water — of which he utterly anhiliated — and the roomies gave him some snuggles and scratchies.
Point of the story, whilst giving the dog some much needed affection, Jameson was thinking of temporary names for the little guy.
What about vení. Pronounced Benny.