In the late 90s, the last time I went to the colonial city of Sucre, Bolivia. I remember seeing dogs–strays–everywhere dozens of them, wondering around solo and in packs. They walked around, did what they wanted in a place where people and dogs live together as if they were of the same species.
This time around I looked for the dozens of dogs that occupy any street in the city. As I strolled around, I saw an occasional dog here and another one there–not nearly as many as the last trip.
What happened to all those dogs and their puppies? Well, I don’t know.
On the few dogs I saw, some of them had a green scarf wrapped around their neck, a cloth collar, if you will, kind of like a bandanna that hip guys, Muslim women and chilled women wear.
The first thing that came to my paranoid mind was the green cloths were a symbol of a future in heaven or wherever dogs go, by being forced into a tragedy of the likes that some groups of people have faced through history.
Naa, that’s not it.
Here’s the dogs. Please let me know why dozens of them had green scarves.