Tag: dog walk

Sad, pathetic people

Generally, I try to keep things here upbeat. But walking daily in a sprawling area whose owner or owners are unknown, that is sometimes difficult.

Consider this: from one day to another, a dumped load of furniture and windows appears in the middle of nowhere.

open air dump, Uruguay

They could have left all of this near a trash container. They could have left some of it near a recycling container. Instead they just dump it carelessly. In fact, I would argue contemptuously, since they managed to smash at least one of the windows.

open air dump, Uruguay

It’s not a spot where other stuff has been dumped. There are several of those. No, just a new, random location.

Update — per Syd comment. I took a marker with me on our walk today. The person who did this might pass by again, might not. But anyone who does will read it:

cerdo humano, Uruguay

“Left by a human pig.” Play on ser humano, which means “human being.”

 

The bug

Walking dogs yesterday, we got into a discussion of bugs, as in garden variety. Syd and Gundy had a bunch of green spiders, and he wondered what they were, and whether they would hurt his tomato plants. He also mentioned a long green beetle with long antennae with balls on them. They were all over the blackberries, but apparently not harming anything.

Returning 45 minutes later, within a few meters of his front gate, returning, one landed on his arm, as if to say, “Welcome home!”

strange little beetle, Uruguay

Kind of cute. I guess.

 

 

The last box

Since we have to go into Montevideo, today was a beach walk day. Strong wind. Heading back, near the zoo, I saw a trash container that had apparently been blown over. I decided to right it, a bit of a challenge with one arm, since I had Benji on a leash. But I did it.

One shoe box remained on the ground. I picked it up, noticed keys, old photos and a copy of a cédula.

box with personal items

The cédula number is 698,315. I didn’t see the birthdate on the back, but seeing as my cédula number from seven years ago is over 5.8 million, and Uruguay’s population is only 3.5 million, I’d say she had a pretty long life.

 

 

Yellow flower season

yellow wildflowers, Uruguay

Well, that’s what Syd called it. Season? Maybe a couple weeks? Couple days? But lots of bunches of yellow flowers in the sandy scrubland where we walk with dogs almost daily. A few weeks ago it was purple flowers on ground-hugging succulents, but they’re past now. And I didn’t take a picture.

For some reason, I expect it would benefit me — or at least be interesting — to pay more attention.

 

 

Strange animal spotted on dog walk

dog digging

OK, you figured it out: it’s not a strange type of animal, but Kiya the dog, with her obsession for digging holes (in the middle of the path, in this case) certainly qualifies as a somewhat strange animal.

She’s quite accomplished, though. This is phase 1 of digging. In a moment she will bag up for phase 2, kicking the sand she’s just dug clear of the hole.

 

 

On the dog walk

dog watering hole, Villa Argentina, Uruguay

Several months ago, Ralf and I (if I remember correctly), wandering far from the usual paths, encountered a little pond, apparently where someone at some point dug sand for construction. We’ve been fortunate to have decent rain this summer, so on this very hot and muggy day the dogs loved the stop. From left to right: Leah, Kiya, Sofia, Jordan (front), Benji, and what looks like a black lump in some grass, Lorena.

Trash in Uruguay

Further along, from one day to the next — in the middle of nowhere — appeared a pickup truck load of construction trash. Yes, even with abundant trash collection containers everywhere, some troglodytes decided the best way to deal with their trash would be to drive into a large empty area and start a trash pile there.

Which reminds me of a story. In nearby Parque del Plata, when the trash containers first appeared a few years ago, my friend Carlos and his wife embarked on the project of cleaning up the trash-dump empty lot diagonally across from them. They filled the “dumpster” over and over, until finally the lot was clean. Then Carlos spots a middle-aged man carrying a bag of garbage to the container. No, right past the container, to the middle of the lot, where he drops it on the ground. Carlos screams at him to use the trash container.

“But this is the way I’ve always done it,” he says.

Welcome to Uruguay.

Carlos, who is Uruguayan, tells me they did eventually “toilet train” that troglodyte.

It took the better part of a year.