We returned from an afternoon in Punta del Este to find a new pile of sand (which, here, starts at a depth of 5 cm). I added the concrete top later to halt further work until proper permits were obtained.
The hole was surprisingly large, and the proud culprit was quick to demonstrate it. I thought he would start digging more. Instead, he disappeared underground before re-emerging.
The message seemed to be, See, human? This is how you get out of the heat.
And when you hunker down, no one can see you. Understand now, human?
Gita (origin Dogita, “little dog”), on the right, finds it a challenge navigating the boardwalk to the beach with continual flank assaults from the enthusiastic puppy.
Settled down, they have friendly a tug-of-war with a stuffed bear. Which, ironically (or not), was a gift from a cleaning lady to the third, and smallest, dog Bandito, the Shit-Zoo (Syd will appreciate this spelling).
If you’ve ever tried to take a picture of a puppy, you’ll understand this photo viscerally.
No image manipulation involved. We seem to have settled on his name as “Benji,” which was the name of the beautiful but personality-challenged dog we rescued (with permission) from our troglodyte property-squatting neighbors.
Suggestion inspired by our Uruguayan-American friend Isabel, who recalled that I once said all dogs in Uruguay were named Benny, because when owners call them they say ¡vení! (come!), which seems to be a Rioplatense Spanish conjugation. (If you can clarify, please do!)