Afternoon at Cholo's

Shelley and I dropped Tom off at Cholo’s, a beach bar, while we went to do girl stuff—you know, run by an ATM, pay the rent, buy a few groceries, and check on Anna, a Belizian friend who just got out of the hospital on the mainland—things like that. We were gone about two hours when we went back to see how Tom was doing. Amazingly, he was in exactly the same spot where we’d left him.

Shelley and I joined him even though there were no other dogs around. I certainly didn’t see any “No Dogs Allowed” signs, but apparently dogs don’t usually hang out at Cholo’s much anyway.

Cholo’s is, shall we say, a little rough. A pool table, lots of guys just off work drinking beer, loud music, and a flatscreen TV highlighting a soccer match, that kind of thing. Tom said that, in the two hours he had been sitting there, no one had spoken to him except the bartender who occasionally said, “Another one?” But that all changed once Bella the Boss arrived.

It always amazes me how big guys with lots of tattoos start melting and talking baby talk when they see me. Two of them walked over saying, “Aww, look at da puppy!” and patted my head. Head patting isn't my favorite thing, but I usually acquiesce (Shelley taught me that word) because, hey, they may have bar food in their hand. “Top,” a fishing guide, wanted to know if I bite (I don’t, but I fake it pretty good if people I don’t know get too close), and “Eddie,” a diving instructor, pulled out his phone and started showing us pictures of his Maltese. Drats, it appears I’m not the only Maltese on the island. I hope Poochy, his real name, sticks to his end of the island, because I rule on the southern end.

Well, after Shelley met another four or five people, we rounded up Tom and headed to the golf cart which Shelley drove. For those of you who have ridden with Shelley previously, add the concepts of no doors, no seatbelts, lots of speedbumps, and a dirt road! You get the picture.

Y’all come visit us. We’ll do Cholo’s. You’re gonna love Belize!