A Boy and His Dog by Sarah Garcia

A Boy and his Dog

fiction by Sarah Garcia

My dog is the best dog in the whole wide world! His name is Guapito, and he’s my mejor amigo. I know that name might sound ironic or like a lie, but it’s his real name — I swear! It’s part of my ongoing campaign to raise his self-esteem since everyone always says he’s “muy feo” (which I don’t think is very nice at all). However, looks can be deceiving. If you actually got to know him, he’s super sweet! Which is why, in this essay, I’m going to prove to you that Guapito really is the greatest dog that’s ever lived and should immediately be returned to me.

POINT #1: LOYAL People love to point out how loyal dogs are, but Guapito? He beats out every other dog in terms of loyalty by MILES. He’s stuck by me through thick and thin, no matter how hard it got, forever my brave protector. Do I even need to prove this point? I mean, isn’t this quality of his how we got into this situation in the first place? Anyway, Guapito’s the only one I can rely on. You may be thinking: but what about my parents? Surely I can depend on them, right? Nope! WRONG! I’ve never even met my mamá. Papá always said she dumped me on his doorstep and never came back, so that’s all I know about her (although, I will say that he’s not exactly an unbiased source since he always called her “that pinche puta,” followed swiftly by spit). And speaking of my papá, he was a mean, nasty drunk; check his police records if you don’t believe me. He never gave a damn about me my whole life. I’m sure you want some examples so I can prove my dog is better than my papá. You know what’s perfect? The night I met Guapito! I was five years old at the time. Papá had arrived home super wasted, screaming and stumbling all over the house. I don’t know, maybe he had a super bad day at work or something. Anyway, he threatened to beat me if I kept annoying him with my presence, so I got out of there quick. I had no clue where to go, literally no one else I could rely on. So I went to the one place nearby I was sure papá would never find me — the dark alleyway down the street. Stupid,

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right? However, to five-year-old me, it was pitch black and discreet and thus perfect for hiding. And regardless, I still think I made the 100% correct choice because, as I sat curled up in the wet, stinking alley, I met Guapito. He was so small then, clearly the runt of whatever litter birthed him. I hadn’t even noticed him there until he emerged from underneath a filthy blanket—his home and shelter—and prodded at my hand with his wet, overly large snout. He had big bug eyes on his tiny head and no fur to speak of, given his breed as a Xolo. His skin was a wrinkled dark brown, his perky ears already missing a chunk on the right side. He was an ugly piece of shit, but he was my ugly piece of shit. How could I NOT take him in then? He had been abandoned by his mamá just like me, so we had to stick together. It was practically destiny! Compadres for life! Plus, how could I resist his puppy charms after I saw him sink his fangs into a rat that night and suck it dry until it more resembled a raisin? Speaking of which, that leads me to my next point.

POINT #2: BADASS Guapito’s the coolest dog ever. Screw any pendejos who say otherwise! Haven’t they heard the phrase “don’t judge a book by its cover”??? Sure, age did nothing to make him cuter — exactly the opposite in fact — but how can anyone think he’s anything but badass? Ironically, despite being born a runt, Guapito got a major growth spurt over time and became one of the biggest dogs I’ve ever seen, over half my height tall now. His bug eyes only got buggier, and he developed a huge set of sharp claws and canines. His spine resembles the track of a rollercoaster, and what little hair he has shoots out from the top of his head and along his back like a hedgehog’s needles. So, yeah, he’s not pretty, but I would argue he still looks awesome! At least now that he’s all grown, no one messes with him anymore, not even papá. His puppy years where papá threatened to pick him up by the scruff and toss him out the window have long since passed. But anyway, the only thing more badass than Guapito’s appearance is his appetite. He has a huge hankering for some red meat like any dog, of course, but do other dogs drink blood? No, I don’t think so! Ever since that night in the alley, when I witnessed Guapito feeding for the first time, I knew I’d found someone special. I knew

I’d found something worth protecting. Despite what papá said, I’d found meaning to my life.

Guapito’s diet consists of mice, rats, rabbits, birds, squirrels, and occasionally raccoons. I used to catch meals for him, but since his growth spurt, I just let him outside and he always returns home with a full belly. Don’t worry though! I’ve trained him well. He’d never go after humans or other people’s pets without my say-so, unless he’s protecting me. However, he’s particularly fond of goat’s blood, which is why, whenever that cabrón Pedro beats me up and tells the other kids trash like “Chuy sucks my cojones like a puto,” I lead Guapito to his family’s ranch and sneak him out a nice and juicy goat delicacy to feast on as sweet, sweet revenge. Sure has Pedro and his family angry and scared, too, whispering a rumor about a fabled “Chupacabra” stalking the valley. Like true mejor amigos, Guapito and I share secrets, and that’s one I’m delighted to keep. But Guapito isn’t just a badass. He’s also my hero, which is the best reason of all for why Guapito’s the greatest.

POINT #3: HERO Guapito has saved my life more times than I can count. He’s bitten into my shirt and pulled me back from walking into an incoming car. He’s dived into oceans and pools where I’ve almost drowned and dog-paddled me towards safe, dry land. He’s sniffed the air when we’ve neared my home and nudged his head into my back until he successfully redirects me away from my drunken papá, waiting inside and smelling of cheap tequila. He’s done so, so much for me that I can’t repay. He isn’t only my hero in the physical sense, though, but emotionally too. After all, where would I be in life without Guapito? He’s the only reason I get up in the morning. He’s been my compadre all these years when I’ve had no one else sympathetic by my side. His licks and tackles and naps with his head rested in my lap make up all the outward affection I’m shown day-to-day. In his eyes are a true devotion and innocence that only a dog is capable of. He’s the one being on this earth that I love, and I know he loves me too, which is why I’m asking you, Señor, to reconsider, to know it’s not his fault, that he was just trying to save me.

If you must blame someone, blame me! I’m the one who went home without Guapito like an idiota, expecting to be alone and for him to return shortly from his hunt. I’m the one who found myself face-to-face with papá, more drunk and furious than ever after getting fired that day. I’m the one who failed to dodge his blows and got myself beaten and bloody. I’m the one who found myself lying on the floor, barely conscious, as papá raised his fist once more to strike me. If not for Guapito’s arrival, that next hit could have killed me! Guapito’s no villain; he’s my own personal Superman! And papá attacked him too, don’t you understand? He was so violently angry and drunk that he tried to abuse Guapito too, despite the impossibility of winning that fight. Can you really blame Guapito for clawing at papá’s chest until bone shone through and ripping out his throat when he was just defending himself? He saved my life! Why should my life be more worthy of protection than his own??? It’s not right! How can anyone think badly of him when he rushed to my side whining and whimpering, hairless body sticky with blood and gore, and curled against my bruised skin like a good boy as I fell unconscious? I’m told Guapito barely put up a fight when police walked in and found the scene. He only reacted when paramedics took me away, bringing me somewhere he couldn’t follow. Five officers held him back and still they struggled as he strained under their hands, muscles taut as he dragged himself toward my limp, unmoving self. His own collar betrayed him in the end, multiple hands using the neckwear to choke him out until he was near unconscious, pliant enough to be thrown into a metal cage. They said, even in his own awful state, he cried out for me, his big bug eyes glistening behind metal bars. Does that sound like an uncontrollable monster to you??? No one will say where Guapito is. Please, Señor, can you tell me where I can find my dog? Please, give him back to me! I’ve written all the other kennels, and you’re my last hope. Guapito’s a good boy! A marvel of the world even! You can’t kill him, he’s all I have! Please, Señor, I’ll do anything if you have mercy on my beloved dog.

If my words haven’t touched your heart, perhaps fear is more of a proper motivator. Think about it, Señor: what’s going through Guapito’s mind right now? He must believe I’m dead; after all, last he saw me, I was an unconscious, bloody, broken

mess. And once a dog is without its master, all rules go out the window. He killed my papá for hurting me — how do you think he’s going to treat you when he has nothing left to lose? Try to kill him, and he’ll bite you. He’ll overpower you with his unnatural strength and not let you go until he’s drained you of every last drop of blood and you’re more mummy than fresh corpse. He’ll go mad with grief and loneliness and run free, becoming the terror of the land until everyone is whispering “Chupacabra” under their breath at the mere thought of him. He’ll be a legend and haunt dreams forever. Is this the future you want, Señor? Are you hoping to doom mankind? No? Then, in conclusion, hurry up already and give me back my damn dog!

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