Chile Dogs
Written and illustrated by Matt W
Pablo often settled for the night on the sun-warmed cobblestones of Cerro Concepción. As dawn broke, roosters crowed in the distance, and golden light crept over the rooftops, brushing his eyelids.
He was in no hurry to wake.
With a lazy stretch and indulgent yawn, Pablo finally opened his eyes to his favorite view: the cascading rainbow of houses tumbling toward the sparkling harbor.
Another day in Valparaíso lay before him, pleasantly unplanned.
Warm cobblestones and breathtaking sunrises weren't the only reason he lingered here. His nose led him down a winding stairwell to La Casa Fernández, early risers whose matriarch was just scraping breakfast scraps into a bowl for her favorite visitor.
Pablo trotted up, receiving a warm head scratch in exchange for his gracious acceptance of the meal.
Full and content, Pablo rounded a corner to find Roberto, hind leg raised, adding the final touches to his latest mural.
Pablo waited respectfully, then, as Roberto dropped his leg and turned, tackled him playfully. After a thorough sniffing of hindquarters, they felt sufficiently caught up.
Pablo admired Roberto's work, a stunning tapestry of scent and form that told the layered story of their community, its triumphs and, more recently, its troubles.
Pablo was honored to be the first to witness this masterpiece.
The moment called for a lunch by the harbor, where the fishermen would be unloading their morning catch at Mercado El Cardonal.
Once Roberto's mural had been properly admired, they set off.
Winding through the narrow streets, they came upon Plaza Victoria. In the archway of a shop, they spotted Cecilia, her face set with determination.
They sauntered over to investigate. She was mid-installation, defiantly flinging droppings across the entrance of the business.
The owner had been dumping waste into the plaza's fountain, poisoning pigeons and dogs alike. Pablo and Roberto praised her bold statement on both its aesthetic and political merits.
Just then, the door swung open. The furious shopkeeper cursed, brandishing a broom.
As he stepped forward, he stomped directly onto Cecilia's "artwork".
It's an interactive installation, Cecilia declared gleefully as they dashed away, the shopkeeper's shouts echoing behind them. Weaving through narrow alleyways, they navigated the city until they reached the market.
At their usual stall, where generous fishermen shared bycatch, a familiar figure performed.
Balancing on his hind legs, Victor delighted the crowd with tricks, concluding with a flawless backflip. Cheers erupted as fishermen tossed bits of octopus, which he caught midair.
Seeing his friends, Victor greeted them with an exuberant bow, offering a share of his well-earned feast.
The four ate their fill of octopus, squid, and smelt, their bellies full and spirits high.
A nap was the next logical step. The pack ambled toward Plaza O'Higgins, sprawling under the cool shade of towering oak trees.
They dozed, swapping bits of news between drowsy stretches, catching up on old friends—some lost, some missing, an unsettlingly common tale.
Late afternoon turned to evening, and a familiar, melodic howl drifted from the hilltop.
Instantly, the dogs rose. The voice was unmistakable—Violeta. Every dog in the plaza stood at attention, some adding their own howls in response.
A performance by Violeta was never to be missed. With tails wagging and ears perked, the pack set off, climbing toward her serenade.
Violeta's stirring song grew stronger as the pack climbed alongside the steep trolley tracks up to the cementerio de disidentes that overlooked the city.
As they reached the clearing, she brought her opening number to a rousing conclusion.
Dozens of dogs gathered, drawn by her voice, while uniformed men installing loudspeakers and placards nearby scowled at the performance.
Their heckles, however, were drowned out by the enthusiastic howls of the growing audience. Violeta sang well past dusk, her melodies carrying into twilight.
She closed with familiar anthems, and the assembled dogs barked and howled their appreciation. As the applause lingered, Violeta spotted Pablo among the crowd. Knowing his gift for words, she motioned for silence and invited him to recite a poem.
Pablo hesitated at first, but the rising chorus of pleas coaxed him forward. He began softly, his voice weaving through the night air.
He spoke of the kind-hearted people of Valparaíso, then his tone deepened as he lamented the growing harassment from the uniformed men and the troubling disappearance of many friends.
His words swelled into a powerful refrain, one familiar to all:
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of our shameless spirit!
After the applause faded, the crowd broke into murmuring conversations that stretched late into the night.
One by one, the dogs succumbed to sleep, curling together for warmth beneath a sky ablaze with stars. Below, the city lights flickered out, leaving only the soft glow of the heavens.
