A late afternoon 
sun radiated through the clouds that covered Playa Coyote. We parked our Montero SUV, caked with dried mud, under a palm tree and opened the trunk. The dogs jumped out: no more driving, it was playtime for humans and canines alike. Biela, the white and fluffy American Eskimo, was content running in the sand and sniffing the air. Who knows what scent the wind might bring today: iguana, coatimundi, agouti, or hwler monkey? Manly, the apricot Mastiff with gremlin ears and a chest like a horse, had a single thought on his mind: FRISBEE! As I pulled the coveted toy out of the pouch, Manly bounced in the air a few times and followed in my footsteps as we strolled to the edge of the surf. When I stopped, he trotted ahead, turned around, and sat facing me. Eyes locked in on the frisbee, ready to pounce.
It seems so long ago.
And now he is resting on his favorite blanket, his big old head so heavy in my hands. Complete surrender, at last.
“Manly is no longer with us,” the doctor says. “I am so sorry.”
His body lays right here in my arms. Still warm. Yet his spirit is already gone.
I hear Mai break into violent sobs. My heart rips open, unable to contain the loss. Tears pour in a tidal wave of sorrow. May it carry Manly’s soul to his beloved ocean.
Manly, the dog that never barked. Except the day he did.
It was in the little Mexican beach town of Sayulita, near Guadalajara. A delivery man walked unannounced into the garden of our rental house, carrying a big jug of purified water on his shoulder. A powerful, low pitch ‘WOOF’ interrupted my daydream. “What kind of dog is that?” I wondered. Only when I spotted Manly in front of the house, every hair on his back standing up porcupine-style, did I realize that the intimidating bark came from our very own dog.
We never saw the water delivery man again.
Manly, the Great Illusionist.
A few days after the Ocean frisbee incident at Playa Coyote, we drove back from the village to our rental house and found Manly waiting for us on the front lawn, wagging his tail at the sight of the familiar once-red, now mud-covered 4×4. We had left both dogs locked in the house. How did Manly get out?
Manly, the Iguana Hunter. The Pelican Whisperer. The Gentle Giant. El Tigre. El Gordito Grande. So many names, so many stories.
“Your dog’s got a chest like a horse,” a bodybuilder once exclaimed at Manly’s sight.
How could his thorax have been any smaller? It was barely large enough for his oversized heart.
~Cedric
Written in February 2020 (Dear Manly has been gone since February 2019)
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