The Legend of Pinkey and Lovey

Let’s jump right into it…

Dog, man’s best friend, or should I say guardian

Before getting into one of the more impressive dog stories I have ever encountered I must explain a little bit about the differences between dogs here and back in The States.

As we all know, back in The States dogs have the reputation of being our friends, but here in Paraguay they are used to safeguard homes and prevent animals from entering your yard. (Cows, bulls, chickens, pigs and other animals can be commonly found roaming around or lost. That’s why every home has a 4ft high fence made of a few rows of barbed wire) With that said, dogs can still be incredibly affectionate to their owners but that is almost never seen because owners show no affection toward the dogs. Therefore, dogs are most commonly paid attention to when anything foreign approaches a house. When something does, the dogs shoot out from under the barbed-wire fence and start barking their heads off at the foreign object. That foreign object could consist of any animal but could also be a car or person. Regardless of the type of dog, it is absolutely guaranteed to be utterly ferocious in the defense of its property.

Ok, moving closer to the story here. I’m sure that you remember that before moving to my own house I was living in the pueblo* with the sweetest women and her four kids. (She’s still my best Paraguayan friend) During my two months I guess you could say that I became very fond of their two dogs, Lovey and Pinkey. When I first moved in I began to show them some “normal American dog affection” and throughout my duration they would get super excited to see me every morning. Upon opening my door they run up to me and in the midst of their exuberation it looked almost as if they were dancing as crazily as that super sweaty dude at a concert who bounces around like a pinball trying to start a mosh-pit but eventually realizes he’s at a rock show and not a Maralyn Monson concert. Ever since I moved out they still definitely recognize me but it’s never been the same…until I spent a ton of time at their house the last few weeks because I was working on a near-by project.

*(A pueblo being little town centers with shops and a market)


The day was like any other. I finished my business in the pueblo and went over to Gloria’s house to get my bike and start on my four mile bike ride home. As I made my way into the distance I noticed that Pinkey and Lovey were still following me, a very common occurrence had I been on foot. But I most certainly wasn’t on foot. In fact the first two miles of my ride are beside a road where cars, trucks and motorcycles pass quite frequently. As I rode my bike alongside the road, the dogs had no regard for the automobiles in the street and were running on top of the pavement in my defense. In addition to protecting me from automobiles they were simultaneously fighting off dog after dog. You see, every house I pass on the road has a dog and when they see these foreign dogs approaching their turf they shoot out as if they were a greyhound at the dog track in the defense of their house. Pinkey and Lovey were continually trying to keep pace with me while barking with all their might at oncoming dogs. I was sporadically trying to burn out in attempts to lose them but they stayed right with me as if I was Obama on his way to give his inauguration speech. We got a good mile in and I stopped to call Gloria. She told me to just keep on going and eventually they’d turn around. I tried everything I could to get them to head home but it was about as useless as trying to buy an individual lawn chair. A mile later as I approached my dirt road they were still with me every step of the way. I called Gloria again and she told me she’d send one of her kids to come get the dogs once her kids got home…which wasn’t soon enough.

I entered the dirt road that would take me the next few miles and was witness to one of the more amazing 15 minutes I have ever seen. As I passed the 60 or so house that lay ahead of me, EVERY SINGLE HOUSE seemed to have a dog fly out of its yard and bark its ever living guts out at Pinkey and Lovey. Every 50 meters a new barking match, and super high intensity. We’re talking about only the kind of intensity that can been seen at a little league baseball game when the umpire makes a tough call and two opposing parents start in on a yelling match. The one outraged parents throw their lawn chair to the ground and start yelling. Seconds later an opposing parent throws out a “O why don’t you sit down?!”. The outraged parent then maturely replies with a “why don’t you make me?”. As they realize they’re the only two lunatics this worked up by a little league baseball game they begin to justify their actions by walking toward each other and yelling. As they get closer, sleeves are being rolled up and an embarrassing comb-over is exposed as an Ellisville Sharks baseball cap is thrown to the ground by a gust of wind and a bulging vain. Both faces light up bright red and a call from a disgusted wife says something like “now this really mature”. Their faces are almost smashed together as they have now entered “the zone of detectable bad breath and unwanted nose hair”. By now, spit it flying out so liberally from both of their mouths that if you could somehow capture it all if would constitute a productive step in combating the effects of global warming. That’s how intense each of these confrontations is.

And for me, I was like that parent in the top row of the bleachers just looking down on it all. This is because I was up on my bike going down a hill and I could see every situation developing as we continued to make our way to my house. With every finished barking match, they would move on but they had also just notified the upcoming dogs that something was a comin’. It made me feel like I was in the press box watching a football game where one team has just done a reverse, trying to run from one side of the field to the other. Those players close to the guy with the ball are darting over to try and make the tackle but the defensive backs who are far from the ball are sloooowy but surely make their way to other side of the field, or in this case, the road. Still on my bike, I was watching as each barking match developed, fall behind me, and catch back up with me without fail. Every new house we reached I was biting my lip that much harder because I was sure, as my mom would say, “somebody is going to get hurt”. The obviously ironic part of the ride is that they were acting as MY body guard yet I was the one scared out of my mind for them.

As we made our way into my yard 15 minutes later my heart began to slow and I took a glance back to see two limping dogs still running after me. By now it was slightly raining and I felt pretty sure that Gloria’s kids were not going to be coming out that night. I walked up to my little gate (see previous blog hammock picture), and closed it behind me as to leave the dogs staring up adoringly at me. I turning around looking out and once again felt like Obama, except now I had arrived on the stage, with my protective shield and two bodyguards by my side. I licked my lips, raised one finger in the air, and started in on a speech about how providing unsolicited security on foreign land is exactly the kind of action that leads to more violence than if no security was provided for in the first place.

I went inside and began to boil some pasta for the dogs and as I did they were STILL as ferocious as ever, except now they were defending my yard against the cows and bulls that are constantly around my house. These animals are ten times the size of these dogs and yet at the first sign of making a move toward my barbed wire fence, which they stand no chance of entering, Pinkey and Lovey were constantly darting out and barking at these giants until I woke up 10 house later to find a super rainy day and two dogs that had made their way home in the middle of the night.

It’s 1pm on a Friday afternoon

and I have left the house only to get milk and eggs from my neighbor. My laziness can be attributed to the fact that it’s been raining all day-- and when you life in a world of dirt roads there’s nowhere to go in ankle deep mud. I would say is about the equivalent of a sleet storm in the states, completely debilitating.

Luckily, the senora with the eggs and milk was making beans and since she and all my other neighbors think BEANS is my favorite food I was offered a plate to bring back to my house. You may be asking “How could beans be anybody’s favorite food?” Well I’ll tell you. The honest truth is that I really don’t like beans that much BUT I’ve made it very clear to anybody that asks me what I like to eat, I LOVE BEANS. The reason for this goes back to what I’ve mentioned about a lot of fried food and fatty meat being consumed by my neighbors and to put it nicely, I simply prefer the beans. It’s also really comical to my neighbors that I love beans because beans are kind of a “poor man’s” food. According to the stereotype, they are what you eat when you don’t have money for meat. There is a popular saying in Guarani “hendy kavaju resa”. It means that the eyes of your horse are lit up because he’s starving. It’s used to mean “times are tough right now”.

The reason for even writing right now is because I’m waiting for the rain to stop so I can head into my pueblo and finish painting a huge world map with a bunch of kids on the wall of my cooperative. But, before getting into that project I’ve got to backtrack a bit and explain why I’m doing the map in the first place.


Like I mentioned in the last blog, it’s hard for us to get integrated due to language and cultural constraints. Therefore, a common project that volunteers have done in the first part of their service is paint a world map in a visible place. It is a very educational, low cost, highly interactive project-- so for someone like me who can easily lose themselves staring at a map, I knew this was definitely a project with my name all over it.

My first of two recent maps was done when I went to my buddy Eric’s site a few weeks back. He had decided that he was going to paint a big map right on the front of his house and so I went out to help him. Can you imagine how outrageous painting a map on your house would be if this were The States...absolutely absurd. Anyway, my buddy lives about 10 miles from the nearest pueblo. The only way for him to get out to his site from the pueblo is by taking a 4:30 AM bus or in this case at Noon on Sundays.

I arrived on a Sunday morning so he met me in the pueblo. We went and bought a ton of paint supplies and also a ton of groceries for his new house. As we began to schlep several heavily loaded bags to the bus stop it started to rain. We both knew what this meant…the bus may not come because when it rains the bus doesn’t drive on the muddy road. We started asking around town if the bus was going to come and it seemed every person we asked said yes but gave us a different departure time. When it was all said and done we had waited 6 hours for a bus that never came. Por suerte, there is another volunteer that lives in this pueblo and we were able to go crash at his house. We popped in a DVD on his laptop and were instantly transformed to another world—a world where instead of busses being cancelled because of rain, you watch DVD’s on the bus.

So we wake up at 4am to once again schlep all the paint and groceries to the bus stop (a mile or so) and begin waiting. This time we only waited an hour and a half to give up on the bus and went back to our buddy’s house to get some more sleep. We knew another bus wasn’t coming later that day so we started the trek on foot so we could hitchhike out to his house. After a bumpy ride in the bed of a late ‘80s model F150 we got to his house and began working on the map.

Drawing a big map is actually a lot easier than it sounds because we had a book with great instructions that makes it pretty easy. Almost 36 hours later the map was done and we had a crowd of about 10 of Eric’s neighbors watching us apply the finishing touches.

This crowd I just mentioned is the exact reason for doing the map in the first place. To spark interest in not only Geography but the million other questions that come to mind when looking at a world map. In the case of these very rural Paraguayans, the chance to look a map is actually quite a rare thing. I’d say that in the course of our 36 hours of map making about one third of our mostly adult onlookers could not find Paraguay on the map and another third couldn’t indentify Paraguay’s neighbors. Most shockingly, there was also a fair percentage that weren’t exactly sure what was before their eyes—meaning there was no little or no connection between the painted colors on a wall and a world map. Many knew it was a map but didn’t know of what. They were literally that unfamiliar with a world map. I hope it goes without say that I’m not trying to put down Paraguayans but highlight the incredibly learning opportunity a map can present. They are incredibly smart and have incredibly large skills sets. Access to education is clearly where this unfamiliarity comes from.

As we sat in front of the map taking pulls of boxed wine, we were almost brought to tears seeing our group of onlookers still standing around discussing the map hours after coming up to see what we were doing. I was witness to a million amazing questions about religion, culture, attractiveness of the opposite sex in a particular country, animals, history and many other things-- all because the map was there to spark enormous curiosity in Eric’s neighbors. To say the least, we felt it was a huge a success—even if that one night is the only learning experience that comes out of the map.

So of course, the first thing I did when I got to my site was ask the manager of the cooperative if I could paint a huge map on the coop wall and draw lines from Paraguay to all the different countries that the coop is exporting it’s sugar. He gave me the OK and I got to work.

My idea, a little different from Eric’s was to first draw the map in pencil and then go to the radio and invite all the kids in town to come and paint the countries. That way, while they painted I could share what knowledge I have of the map and quiz them on what country/continent they were painting. As I write this I can say my map is about 95% done. It’s missing the exportation lines and the names of the countries but all the hard work was done.

When I refer to hard work I guess you could say that I’m referring to drawing the map, directing the kids, organizing all the materials, fixing a million coloring mistakes and setting up and taking down the stage every day for two weeks. We needed the stage because the map is huge and we needed something for the kids to climb on to reach the map. To be honest, I only mention the stage to share what was running through my head every time a kid climbed up or down the ladder to get on or off the stage.

Well first I was thinking, “ojala no se caiga”/“please god don’t fall”. But then after that I was repetitively thinking that if we were in the The States I would have had to jump through a million hoops to get all necessary permission and insurance to be able to let a group of sometimes seven or eight kids stand together on a four foot high stage that is literally right on a road where cars pass. I was just amazed at what life is like without permission slips or the thought of getting sued if someone were to get hurt. It’s literally not even on their register. I am oftentimes incredibly perplexed by a lifestyle that doesn’t involve so many rules —which is a lifestyle that can only be properly brought to life on a bus ride in the country’s capital, Asuncion.

Taking the Bus in Asuncion

You may remember me talking about crazy “bus life” in a previous blog. That part was about my bus rides during training when I was going to and from the training facility and my site. As crazy as those rides were, some of the rides in the capital of more than a million inhabitants are even crazier, but in their own way. The following paragraph will take you through an actual bus ride that I had between the Peace Corps office and a shopping mall about two miles down the street.

So I scoot out of the PC office and make my way to the main road, a four lane busy street with all sorts of stores, restaurants, and supermarkets on both sides. I look back and see that my bus is coming so I throw my arm up to flag it down. It doesn’t matter that I happen to be right in front of an intersection or that there is an actual bus stop 30 meters ahead of me, flag the bus down wherever you so please and it will stop to pick you up. So I pull my money out and hand it to the driver. Before even looking at the money he starts driving again. He shoots a glance at the money and hands me my receipt. We’re off and driving on a busy four lane street and meanwhile he throws my money in his little drawer and begins to make change…still while driving. This skill has been mastered through an ancient Paraguayan art which involves the counting/sifting of money while driving a bus full of passengers on a busy road. I finally get to my seat and look out the window. I see a pick-up truck with, wait…count em, 8 POLICEMEN sitting around the outer edges of the bed of a pick-up truck. No, that’s no misprint…I did write POLICEMEN. The actual police in the most progressive city in Paraguay stuff themselves 8 deep into the cab of a pick-up truck while on a busy road and ride around looking for beautiful women. (That’s a personal opinion) It actually reminds me a lot of my high school days, expect in the case of the policemen they actually end up talking to the beautiful women. Anyway, my eyes shoot to the front of the bus and a man wearing what I call “an actor’s book bag” puts his bag down and wipes the sweat off his brow. (An actor’s book bag is one of those bags that is kind of like a male purse and is worn with the strap cutting the chest in half. It’s almost like a laptop bag but only more stylish) So the actor’s book bag man starts in with his routine… “disculpa la molestia senores y senoras…” He then continues for the next minute explaining the counterfeit CDs he’s got in his bag. He describes how every CD is a different genre containing hits from the previous year and a hodgepodge of 80’s classics—Paraguay’s favorite decade of American music. He finishes up and tells us the price, 5 Guaranis/$1 for each CD which contain more than 100 songs each. Then he waits for that crucial second for everyone to look away and he gets right back at it “But, but , but!, today I have the special privilege of offering you three CDs for only 10 Guaranis or if you buy four CDs it will only cost you15 Guaranis PLUS, I’ll throw in a special CD containing all sorts of Regaeton you’ve never heard--for free!” It’s all very entertaining and these guys who sell the CD’s are very good at what they do. I’d almost put them on par with the people who run those late night infomercials about slicers and dicers. I can’t tell you how many times I made a move toward the phone after seeing a dozen different fruits and vegetables get diced or blended up in the matter of seconds. Late night infomercials never fail to make life seem easy. But getting back to the bus yet staying with fruits and vegetables—as the man with actor’s bag makes his way towards the exit in back, a group of fruit venders spay their respective fruits with water as if it were a produce section on wheels. The only difference is that those nice little sprinklers hanging from glistening mirrors have been replaced by dirty 12 oz spray bottles. In one hand their basket of fruit and with the other they shake the hand of the bus driver. That hand shake symbolizes: “I’m not here to ride your bus, just here to take advantage of the market you’ve so kindly gathered up for me”. As they file in like a pack of ants they try to make eye contact with every person on the bus in an attempt to sell anything from apples and watermelon to tomatoes and strawberries. Seconds later the line has made its way to the back of the bus; they all hop off and begin to flag down the next approaching bus. Meanwhile, I haven’t yet made it to my stop but the guy next to me has. He gets up and pulls the cord. The driver would gladly let him off here but because he has to make a left turn he’s moved to the center lane. We’ve come to a stop in a now six lane intersection and the guy who just pulled the chord simple walks straight off the bus through a door that was never even closed. That’s right. The front and back doors of busses quite often stay open all the time. That means not only can people potentially hop off whenever they want, like this guy, but it also means that when the bus is crowded (quite often) that people are literally hanging on for dear life as they stand in aisles and doorframes as the bus is moving . I eventually get off and walk into a mall full of gelled hair, food courts, McDonalds and a movie theater. For me, the last 15 minutes of my life has just defined “being in a developing country”.


Looking for a good most embarrassing story

One of the most commonly used ice-breakers is going around telling new people your most embarrassing story. In my case, I feel like I can never think of a good one and always get frustrated because I know I must have some good ones out there. Anyway, this next little story is about how I think I may have found a keeper…that’s if I get caught.

Let me begin by saying that many situations like the previous bus story don’t even begin to faze me anymore; it’s just how things are now. But sometimes I catch myself laughing at myself, and that usually means its fit for a good blog story. This particular story has to do with that little spray bottle that the fruit venders use to spray their fruit. Although I haven’t become a fruit salesman quite yet, I am consistently using one of those spray bottles. I use it on really hot nights to douse my bed and body before going to sleep. I do this to help me stay cool as I try to fall asleep. The part of the story that still makes me laugh is when I spray myself down with the water bottle. I stand there under my fan wearing nothing but my boxers and my glasses I begin to pulverize my neck, arms, chest, stomach and legs with water-- and for those few seconds I feel like a model preparing for a photo shoot. But in reality I can’t help but always think that if my friends back home saw what I was doing right now they’d probably be crapping their pants laughing. And the kicker is, because the next thing I do is read, I’m usually too lazy to take off my glasses and while spraying myself I end up waving my head around in all sorts of directions to prevent the water from blowing up into my glasses. It makes me think of when I was in camp in the 7th grade and one of my friends caught another friend examining his biceps in the mirror. We joked about it forever and I remember thinking how embarrassing that was for my friend who got caught. I have no doubt that if I were caught pulverizing myself with that spray bottle that I would absolutely have my new most embarrassing story.

That’s it for today. Any questions…honestly, do you all have any questions?

I have to say that I recently read an absolutely fascinating book called “Confessions of an Economic Hit Man” by John Perkins. I highly recommend it. Ya esta.

Hasta luego.