Embaixador de Chocolate

Jake, the ambassador of chocolate in this little village, gets a raincoat

I guess it’s spring - it’s March, so winter is officially over according to the calendar. Como um leao (like a lion) as the saying goes - the wind positively howls, rushing through the corridors formed by the walls and the house with a sound like a train. The roosters stand in the courtyard drying their wings, their tails blowing around like colorful feathery tornadoes, all emerald greens and peacock blues, mottled browns and whitest white.

On the cusp of winter and spring we had a respite, with temperatures rising to the 70s for a week, and suddenly there were people everywhere - walking their dogs, pushing strollers, or just sitting on park benches enjoying the sunshine and mild air. Portuguese houses are built to stay cool in the blasting heat of the long summers, and they do their job so effectively that in winter it’s necessary sometimes to step outside to warm up.

The respite was swept away with coastal storms that dropped the temperature to a low of 47-55 at night (I’ll know I’m really acclimated to my new home when I think in Celsius instead of Fahrenheit) leaving us shivering and layered to the gills in sweaters, fleece and down.

On a sunny blue-sky day I took Jake for an extra long walk, and we passed through the village park just before lunch. We stopped and spoke to Margarita, who lives just off the park and has become very friendly, chatting with me at a pace that is hard to keep up with, but thanks in part to my new in-person Portuguese lessons, I mostly do. It’s not too difficult as out conversations center around the weather and Jake. Tao bonito, she says, patting his brown head. Jake wags, agreeing that he is indeed so beautiful.

A bus has stopped and discharged a few dozen passengers into the park, most of them older. A line forms at the ladies restroom and Jake heads straight for it. I keep him on a short leash, mindful of old bones, but Jake walks up confidently to a lady in a blue plastic rain scarf like the kind my mom used to make me wear as a little girl. The lady pets Jake and without the slightest hesitation Jake thrusts his nose into her purse.

Jake, I gasp, and try to tug him away, but Jake has a powerful neck - it takes a real yank to move him when he doesn’t want to be moved, and a gaggle of older ladies were gathering around him, petting him. The owner of the purse removed a small zipper pouch and like a magician doing a magic trick (which indeed she was) she removed a strip of beef jerky. Jake sat his brown butt on the ground with such alacrity that everyone burst into laughter. The lady tossed him the jerky strip and Jake wolfed it and then sat down again, his eyes glued to the zipper pouch. The magician lady laughed and gave him another strip and when he finished eating it this time I did pull him away, thanking his benefactress. Jake kept turning to gaze back at her, and each time she waved, and the ladies around her waved too. I am confident he was the main topic when everyone re-boarded the bus.

The spring rains are different from the winter rains - not as cold, not as hard, not as long, but of course just as wet. Jake does not object to not taking his regular walk when it is raining, but he doesn’t understand “chance of rain” too well. If the air is not full of drops then it’s time to walk past the shops (because shop owners might have treats), that’s Jake’s motto. About half the walks we’ve taken for the past two weeks have found us in the park under a tree when the rains come. Once, we got lucky and were walking right past the bus stop when the rain started. I sat in the shelter and Jake looked up at me with laughing eyes, clearly understanding it was raining out there while we were dry under here. He tunneled under my legs and smooched a little boy who stood nearby staring, before the boy could do more than take one step back. The boy looked up at his mom, then back at Jake. Cao! he yelled. Jake clowned for the people sitting nearby. When the bus arrived, Jake received goodbye pats from everyone boarding the bus.

Jake has not liked being pent up in the house; lucky for him, our visitor brought him a raincoat, so we can walk rain or shine. It’s a bright optic yellow and fits well; Jake barked after it on, then took a few steps, walking in a comical way, as if I’d taped broken glass in his armpits. He kept starting and stopping, staring at me, his message clear: There’s something on me., get it off. Jake needs to be free!

Come on, I say, not tugging the leash, just waiting him out. Trust me, you’re going to be glad (and he will be - for a dog that loves swimming so much, Jake really hates getting rained on). Wait til Carlos sees you!

At the name of his friend, the grillmaster of the churasqueria we frequent, Jake brightens and trots ahead of me. Ele precisa de um casaco, Carlos said last week, as we stopped to chat on our morning walk. Ambos, I agree, meaning, we both need a raincoat, not just Jake. Luckily the friend brought one for me, too - a navy blue poncho with white polka dots. Together with Jake’s yellow jacket and my matching yellow raincoat, we look like an illustration from a children’s book.

The butcher, his wife, and his customers make much of Jake’s new jacket. As usual, Jake stands and stares at the meat counter in hope and admiration. Carlos and Elaina come out of their shop to pat Jake’s head and compliment him. Jake takes in all the adulation like the prince he is.

Often when we are out walking people coming toward us will stand still until Jake passes - in part because the sidewalks in places are quite narrow, in part out of uncertainty and, in a few cases plain by their facial expressions, fear. The yellow raincoat has an ameliorating effect; people make “aw” noises, or smile. Some bend to give a timid pat to Jake’s head. Jake will respond with a brief lick, or, if they have a shopping bag, thrust his nose inside. Mostly this makes people laugh.

We round a corner and nearly slam into a man walking a dog about the size of Jake. The dog’s eyes bug out comically and he barks very loudly, woof woof woof woof woof woof woof! Desculpe, I excuse ourselves, and head to a crosswalk to cross the street. The man smiles and calls Bom dia. His dog sits down and stares after Jake with a longing expression. I’m sorry! that expression seems to say. I saw that danger yellow and I freaked. I’m a friend! Jake takes a half step towards him, but I figure we’ve had enough interaction with this dog and should leave it at the win-win of “now we’re friends from a distance”.

This often happens when we encounter other dogs - the other dog barks, all bossy and warning, and Jake just wags or ignores them, continuing on his merry way sniffing things or having a nice roll in some fresh cut grass or on the warm sidewalk. The other dog then wants to follow Jake, curious and plaintive. I didn’t mean to yell, their body language suggests. You seem nice. Some of Jake’s best friends, like Pepper, are little dogs who started out yapping madly at him, only to claim him as their bestie.

On the way home Jake glances across the street and sees the door to the local veterinarian is propped open. He stops walking and stands and stares, his meaning clear: They’re open, they will want to give me biscuits. And they usually do, but one can’t go in every day expecting free biscuits, is how I feel - Jake disagrees with this one hundred percent. The traffic is busy today, a line of more than a dozen cars moving slowly through the center of the village. The car occupants get a good look at Jake as he stands stolid in his yellow rain jacket at the edge of the sidewalk, handsome noise pointed toward the crosswalk. The solo drivers laugh; passenger side windows unroll and cameras point at Jake. Maybe me, too - my polka-dotted poncho and Jake’s yellow jacket are the brightest things under a gray sky that threatens and delivers rain all day long.

How does it feel to be so famous, I ask Jake as he leads me down the long narrow walk toward home. Jake’s tail wags back and forth, back and forth as he trots confidently along. It feels good, his walk seems to say. Just like life should. As we turn into the driveway, the rain starts again. I’ll race you, I say and take off at a run and Jake, who likes to be spoofed, takes off after me barking and scattering the roosters who have walked down to greet us.