Just Say No

I had been schooled about how to say No, and why it is important around here. Around here, if you say No to a Mexican, it means No.  If you say No, and give a reason why, it still means No, and you also don’t have to concern yourself that they might try to weasel a Yes out of you.  Like if I said, “Oh sorry I can’t help you with X, Y, or Z because I have to go to that place and get that thing.”  A Mexican, male or female, would NEVER say, “Well what time are you going to free up, because maybe you could help thereafter?”  That’s not how it plays out around here. The inside trick is to say No, and give a lie as your reason.  This No is understood to be the most serious No of all.  Know what I mean?

When a half relative of my friends sister in law(seriously) showed up to my room with a bag of dog food, I knew I had blown it at some point.  I think I told her a few nights prior that I could maybe check in on a particular Rocky, BUT that dogs at the hotel were.., AND that I didn’t think it was such a good idea if…

It all went down in Spanish, and apparently I foiled myself once again.  I began hoping that maybe they wouldn’t come back with the dog.  By 2pm, still no dog.  An email out of the wild blue read, “Killed a Lagsna last night.  Big ‘un too.  Goina cook the bugger today. ok?”  I knew exactly what it meant.

You see I had been granted Lasagna for Life when I returned to Puerto Escondido with Papa Chango’s Mac.  I drove the hill several times into Los Gatos(pronounced Loss Gattis) to make this Apple warranty dream come true for him.  We played cribbage and laughed all about Dick Cheney.  I walked home at 7p.

I had forgotten all about that dog food drop off, and the grand prize that was sure to follow.  I just had a super fabulous meal.  Had a beer.  Bought a pack of cookies on the walk home.  The swell was picking up, and I knew that beginning in the morning, we were due to get a solid week to ten days of gigantic surf.

The ten month old dog was chained to a fence near my door.  He had food and water.  I knew Rocky.  He didn’t know me.  My least favorite combination.  Labs, Retrievers, Boxers, Lap Dogs..that’s one thing.  But a Semi-Albino, Male Staffordshire Bull Terrier?  Whole Different Breed.  I knew this was going to be a long 24 to 48 hours.  The hotel was full and Rocky was now in the house.  He was all cut up around his neck, and had a choking cough.  Surely due to being chained up hard for the past week or so.  He had a confused spirit to him.  He was thin.  He was all head, neck and jaw.  It was dark.  I clicked into survival mode.  I then began to help with ‘good Rocky’s revival.’  YeahYeahYeah.