Stray Dogs and Sad Stories
Laughing! in Utila, Honduras I met the dog you see in the photos above in Utila; he was the sweetest thing, so happy and loyal and eager to please. I had seen him around town during the two weeks I spent on the island, always recognising him despite the hoards of stray dogs that live on the island. Belonging to nobody, they fend for themselves, inevitably relying on scraps of food found in rubbish piles or given to them by a generous hand. I never named this dog, but called him boy, as one does. If that can be considered a name, let’s consider it his. One day, Boy decided that I was his, or he was mine; either way, it meant he followed me around the island day and night, going so far as to jump on my dive boat as it was trying to leave the dock. He slept outside my door every night for three nights, and I heard him sniffing around or occasionally whimpering during rainstorms. I desperately wanted to let him in, but I knew I couldn’t – a wet dog covered in fleas...