In most of the world, every dog has its day; in Tarija, Bolivia’s sixth largest city, they get a week—and then some. Commemorating the patron saint of dogs, the Fiesta de San Roque runs for a full eight days, culminating in a massive, citywide parade on August 16th, the anniversary of San Roque’s death and reputed birthday of all dogs. During the celebration, pets throughout the city are adorned with ribbons and showered with treats and affection.
Bolivia RPCV writes: In most of the world, every dog has its day; in Tarija, Bolivia’s sixth largest city, they get a week—and then some
Every Dog Has Its Day
Caption: A street dog in Bolivia. Photo: ChibiJoshFlickr Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.0 Generic
Around the world, human-canine relationships vary, and sometimes it’s difficult to tell which species is dominant. As a Peace Corps volunteer in Bolivia, MATTHEW BALDWIN met dogs of a different breed.
Before I joined the Peace Corps, I thought I knew dogs. Loveable. Loyal. Affable. Man’s best friend.
In Bolivia, I met dogs: the canine id—not the superego-in-a-sweater I see today at my local suburban dog park.
I remember the moment of realization. I was in Tupiza, a small town just north of the Argentine border, visiting a friend and fellow volunteer. Wending our way back to his apartment, we rounded a corner to find the street clogged by an enormous clot of hounds.
Packs of dogs were not unusual. Neutering pets was practically unheard of in Bolivia, even in the larger cities; the idea would have struck the citizens of a small and struggling town like Tupiza as an extravagant waste of money. Consequently, strays abounded.
[Excerpt]
In most of the world, every dog has its day; in Tarija, Bolivia’s sixth largest city, they get a week—and then some. Commemorating the patron saint of dogs, the Fiesta de San Roque runs for a full eight days, culminating in a massive, citywide parade on August 16th, the anniversary of San Roque’s death and reputed birthday of all dogs. During the celebration, pets throughout the city are adorned with ribbons and showered with treats and affection.
The celebration leapt to mind later that spring, when I arrived in Tupiza and found the dogs—domesticated and feral alike—sporting colorful ribbons around their necks.
“What’s the deal?” I asked my friend. “I thought the Fiesta de San Roque was in August?”
“It is,” he said. “And they don’t celebrate it here, anyway.”
Some of the ribbons had disappeared by the following morning, but the vast majority of dogs wore them for three straight days.
Then all the ribbons vanished. My friend and I, curious about this turn of events, walked the streets of the town and saw nary a one. It wasn’t that the ribbons had been removed from the dogs, but that the dogs themselves were no longer roaming the streets.
Eventually we stopped to ask a merchant what had happened. “Yes, they do it every year,” he told us. “The city puts ribbons on all the dogs. If your dog comes home wearing a ribbon, you take it off. After three days, all the dogs still wearing ribbons are assumed to be strays, and are carted off to be killed. The truck came through here early this morning.”
Every dog has its day. For most of the dogs in Tupiza, that day had come.
