Most of the dogs I meet in Mexico tell me that they have an important job to do: protect the property. It doesn’t matter if it’s a car, a store, a house or a beach, or all of the above.

Sometimes I get this funny feeling when we’re hanging out. Like, I’m supposed to be doing something too. You know, like a job? Anyway, no es importante. I mean, looking so darn cute is no small task.

I’m not going to sugarcoat things. Most of the local humans are afraid of me, and the dogs here look at me weird when I try to play with them. It’s like, I’m speaking some sort of different language or something.

I don’t let these differences stop me from being myself and mixing it up. I like to see the bowl as half full. I see no separation or line in the sand… just opportunities like chasing waves, catching frisbees, and seizing the play-time moment.

Anyway, let’s face it, street life, or camper life, life’s too short. I once learned from a wise feline friend, something I have practiced since I was born and it’s been really helpful on this trip: “Be here. Be Meow.”