The Dog Who Loved Tortillas. Benjamin Alire Saenz
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ne Saturday morning, Little
Diego’s big sister Gabriela
looked out her window and saw a
man singing to himself as he walked
his dog. People who had dogs were
always happy. They smiled more than
regular people. She wondered what it
would be like to have her own dog. A
girl dog, that’s what she wanted. A girl
puppy that would be all hers.
Just about the same time Gabriela
was thinking about a girl dog, Little Diego
was playing catch at Memorial Park with
his friend, Manny. As they were throwing
the baseball back and forth, Diego noticed
that a dog was sitting there watching them.
“Do you think he bites?” Little
Diego asked.
“I don’t know,” Manny said.
“Some dogs are mean.” Manny
stuck his hands out like they were
claws. “GRRRRRRR,” he said.
“GRRRRRRR,” Little Diego said. He
looked at the dog, so calm and peaceful.
He didn’t look mean, not mean at all.
n sábado por la mañana, la hermana
mayor de Dieguito, Gabriela, vio por
la ventana a un hombre que cantaba a la vez
que caminaba con su perro. “Las personas que
tienen perros siempre están felices. Sonríen
más que los demás”. Se preguntó cómo sería
tener su propio perro. Quería una perrita. Una
cachorrita que fuera completamente suya.
Casi al mismo tiempo que Gabriela
pensaba en una perrita, Dieguito estaba
jugando pelota en el Memorial Park con su
amigo Manny. Mientras lanzaban la pelota
de béisbol de un lugar a otro, Diego se dio
cuenta que un perro los observaba.
—¿Crees que muerda? —preguntó
Dieguito.
—No sé —dijo Manny—. Algunos
perros son malos.
Manny mostró sus manos como si
fueran garras. —GRRRRRRR —dijo.
—GRRRRRRR —dijo Dieguito.
Miró que el perro parecía tranquilo y
en paz. No parecía malo, nada malo.
Just then, a woman walked up to the
dog and put a leash on him. “He got away
from me. I hope he didn’t scare you.”
“No,” Little Diego said. “What’s his
name?”
“Pinto,” the lady said. “He’s very
gentle.”
“Can we pet him?” Little Diego asked.
“Sure,” the woman said.
Little Diego petted the dog, then
reached over and hugged him. The dog
licked Little Diego right in the face and
made him laugh. He wished Pinto was
his. But he knew the lady would never
give him away. When you loved a dog,
you didn’t give him away, because a dog
wasn’t like a toy or a glove or a baseball
bat. And then, all of a sudden, an idea
came into his head.
“I have to go,” Little Diego said.
“I have to go home, now.”
Justo en ese momento, una mujer se
acercó al perro y le puso un collar. —Se me
escapó, espero que no los haya asustado.
—No —dijo Dieguito—. ¿Cómo se llama?
—Pinto —dijo la señora—. Es muy
mancito.
—¿Podemos acariciarlo? —preguntó
Dieguito.
—Claro —dijo la mujer.
Dieguito acarició al perro, y después lo
abrazó. El perro le lamió la cara y lo hizo reír.
Dieguito deseó que Pinto fuera suyo. Pero
sabía que la señora jamás se lo regalaría.
Cuando quieres a un perro no lo regalas,
porque un perro no es como un juguete o un
guante o un bate de béisbol. Y así de repente
se le ocurrió algo.
—Me tengo que ir —dijo Dieguito—.
Ya me tengo que ir a la casa.
4
Little Diego ran into the kitchen where
his mother and father were drinking coffee
and eating marranitos. “I want a dog!” Diego
yelled.
Gabriela heard him shouting all the way
from her room. She ran into the kitchen and
yelled. “No fair! I want a dog, too!”
“You’re a girl. Girls shouldn’t have dogs.”
“Dad,” Gabriela said. “I want a dog!
Diego gets everything he wants. Remember
the time he wanted a Superman suit? He
threw it in the trash.”
“It was supposed to make me fly,” Diego
whispered. “And, anyway, I took it out of the
trash.”
Diego hated to be reminded of that
Superman suit. “Dad, I want a dog.”
“No, Dad, it’s me who should get a dog,”
Gabriela said.
Dieguito