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The Costa Rican chiwawa killer...

Last night, our taxi driver murdered a dog. One of those small, yappy numbers who frequent the handbags of rich “it” girls like Paris Hilton and whose death quite probably did the human race a favour… but still, it was murder, and not a very nice one. The thing is… it happened after we were all involved in a few murders ourselves and thus presents a bit of a quandary. Is it right to be disturbed over the death of a living creature, when just minutes before, I had fished a happy trout from a pond and handed its pleading, flapping body over to a man who snapped its head off and marinated it in deliciousness, before serving it to me on a plate?

We were driving home from another great night on the trout farm, bellies full and glad accomplices to fish murder, when our taxi driver mowed right over a small chiwawa, which was standing in the middle of the road. We’d narrowly missed him on the way to the farm – his tiny beady eyes narrowed briefly in confusion at our approaching headlights, before he trotted swiftly off to the side. On our way back, he wasn’t so quick. In fact, he didn’t even move at all…just kind of stood there with his Tom Jones tan coloured fur shining in the moonlight, watching his short dog years flash before him. And then, BAM. So tragic.

Perhaps it was suicide. Perhaps he was so depressed with his lazy life in the lush green land of small town San Ramon that he wanted to end it all. Or perhaps, like many chiwawas, he was just a little bit thick. Either way, he’s dead.

The worst thing was though, the taxi driver didn’t even blink!! The 4 of us in the back couldn’t BELIEVE it. Not a flash of recognition registered on his face as we all felt the chiwawa sized bump beneath our car. Our ice-skating champion wanted to go back to see if it was ok, but one of us heard it crack and squelch as our wheels ploughed over it, so we didn’t think that would be wise. Stray dogs are everywhere in Costa Rica… maybe the taxi driver views them as having zero worth, but seriously, he didn’t even slow down. On a clear road, on a clear night, he didn’t even swerve. Perhaps he actually tries to squash them on a daily basis, counting up his sick puppy killing score on a secret sheet of paper in his glove box. Perhaps, after he dropped off his witnesses, looking shocked and outraged as we walked to the pub, he drove back to photograph the evidence in order to brag to a troop of equally murderous dog crunchers. We can’t speak Spanish, so we couldn’t ask.

Costa Rica is lovely and so are its people. But I wouldn’t want to be a dog.

Posted by beckywicks 09:17 Archived in Costa Rica Tagged ecotourism

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