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hospitably, seated us around a wooden table in the yard, and served us ripe papayas and a beverage made from sugar cane and lemon. We rested for a while and then set out once again after ceremoniously thanking our hosts.

We came upon another ranch as noon approached. As Karl discussed lunch arrangements with the rancher, I wandered about the yard, passing fruit trees, chickens, a pig or two, and a few skinny dogs, who languished in the shade, too lazy even to acknowledge the presence of a stranger.

Through the door of the cookhouse I could see the rancher’s wife and daughter slaughtering a chicken. The poor bird lay on the floor with a broom handle pressed against its neck, fluttering helplessly. The women caught sight of me, blushed, and fled into the recesses of the cabin. The lucky chicken grabbed her chance to flee, screeching. I walked off, amused.

For lunch we were served a tasty soup and the unfortunate chicken, despite all that, cooked with rice. While we ate, the dogs gathered around begging for scraps. ‘¡Que flaca [so skinny]!’ Karl marvelled at a scrawny pooch that resembled a German shepherd. She was all bones with matted fur. She gazed at us, her eyes dull and lifeless.

‘What would you think about buying the dog?’ Karl suggested. ‘What! Are you nuts?’ Kevin exclaimed. ‘What would we want with a mangy dog?’

‘Don’t look at her like that,’ Karl said. ‘You don’t

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