A couple of mornings ago, while I was walking the dogs, we were walking by one of the apartment buildings on the Plaza (Plahza or Plaaza? You can always tell a local by the way they pronounce it.) I was listening to my current audiobook when I saw someone gesturing at me and calling out. I took out my earbuds and said “wha?” The guy looked like he was staying in the apartment building and had either stepped out for an early morning smoke or had just gotten home and decided to light up before going to bed. He asked me with a slight accent if Rosie was an Australian Shepherd. I told him, no, she’s a Catahoula Leopard dog.

“Aussies are the BEST dogs,” he said, “great for hunting, and so gentle with kids.” He started to crouch down to pet Rosie and Gus, who had, of course, wanted to say hi. He looked up at me and asked me if it was okay to pet them.

“Sure," I told him, “they love people!"

“Where are Catahoulas from?” he asked.

“Louisiana.”

He nodded slowly, working through my answer. “Oh, so American.” Not a judgement, just filing it away.

“They’re bred as working dogs too, specifically for hunting wild pigs in the South.”

That got his attention. He stood up. “Do you hunt?”

“No.”

“We do back home on my small Spanish island. There are too many rabbits, too much wild boar. We need to keep the numbers down.”

We talked for a few more minutes while Rosie and Gus found something more interesting and had to go sniff it.

He reached for his phone to show me a picture of a Spanish Galgo, a breed I’d never heard of, but his phone was dead.

“Sorry, I’m a little drunk, I just got home from a party.”

If he was drunk, he sure could hold his liquor.