We have met many nice people in Uruguay, some of them dogs. There are many dogs in Uruguay. They are not the half-feral beasts I hear about in parts of Mexico and Central America. They are well fed and looked after for the most part (our teacher cooks meals for her dogs), but they have a level of freedom you don't see much in the States.
In Montevideo few people use a leash (except for the occasional professional dog walker who may have a dozen or more) and many dogs seem to just take themselves for walks with no human companion. This is especially amazing because the traffic in Montevideo is fast and follows no discernable rules. I have come close to being run down myself, but the dogs seem to fare just fine. They also feel free to pass out in the middle of the sidewalk on hot days and speak their minds in full throated barks in the early hours of the morning.
We met our first dog friend in Colonia at a parrillada where we had much too many barbequed entrails for my taste. Early in the meal we were joined by a long black dog we named Panqueque, the local word for a pancake that is more of a crepe and is usually served for dessert with dulce de leche and ice cream. He had sad intelligent eyes, bent ears, and a dignified habit of crossing his paws to look up at us as we ate. He soon ruined the dignity routine by sprawling in the cobblestone gutter by our table and covering himself in sawdust. We fed him most of our kidneys, liver, and blood sausage only when he sprawled out and ignored us, so as not to encourage begging.
Later in Colonia, Hilary and I rented rickety and nearly brakeless bikes and rode along the Rio de la Plata and out into the countyside. On our way back we stopped at a wonderful riverside watering hole and ate a giant chivito and drank a couple liters of Patricia (beer pretty much only comes in liters here). It was the kind of place Matt McGregor would love and we relaxed relentlessly. After awhile a couple came down the beach collecting shells, with two cute little dogs in tow. When they sat at a table, the littlest one, only a puppy, came over to us and we played with him a while. In Uruguay, it seems, people just assume that you like or are at least comfortable with dogs. There is no apologizing when they come up to you and demand attention. This dog was friendly and fluffy and adorable, and when the smallest conversation is an effort and often ends in confusion, it is nice to meet a dog who understands only pats and the occasional "bueno perro."
Panqueque and the little puppy were nice aquaintances, but we fell in love with Bizcocho when we visited the northern beach town of Punta del Diablo. We camped behind a hostel named El Diablo Tranquilo and played with quite a few canine hangers on our first night there. The following day we started walking along the beach to a historic fort in a national park to the north. We saw one of the dogs following a couple of surfers from the hostel. When the surfers went in the water the dog started to follow us. She ended up following us all the way to the fort which turned out to be about 10 miles away over endless beaches and through a deserted national park full of eucalyptus trees with enormous nests of squawking parrots. We were thinking of taking a bus back, but with Bizcocho with us we didn't think it was possible.
Bizcocho, named after the little sugary pastries and croissants sold in the numerous panaderias of Uruguay, was amazing. So little and so smiley, bouncing along the sand on her little legs and sending the shore birds wheeling into the sky, or bounding off through the underbrush after a rabbit with her tail curled tight, the longer hair of her ridgeline blowing in all directions, and her bent ears flopping around joyfully. Even she seemed to find it amusing when she was bit by some sort of beach bug which made her jump nearly four feet straight up in the air. She kept our energy from flagging with her enthusiasm. Only occasionally, when her panting would increase and she would start drinking the receding sea water did we find a piece of beach trash, fashion a bowl, and pour her some water out of our bottle.
Whenever we encountered others, which was rarely, she would go over and introduce herself. We overheard one man at the fort call her "precioso." One smiling soldier in the park, standing next to a sign with a picture of a dog with a big red line through it willfully ignored Bizcocho and another gruff one at the fort said she could come in but couldn't go in the barracks.
On the long walk back down the Playa Grande, if Bizcocho was half as hungry as I was she must have been famished. She found a huge old rubbery fish steak after we passed some fisherman. She was unable to make more than a tiny dent in it with her teeth, and licking it didn't seem to give her much satisfaction, but she insisted on trying to bring it home even though it was bigger than her head and she had to put it down every few minutes. I thought about taking it from her and chucking it in the ocean, but the sight of her proudly bouncing down the beach with it in her mouth was heartbreaking and I couldn't do it.
That night after a few beers and a surprisingly ruthless game of Uno with some human friends, I sat up for a while petting Bizcocho. I wanted her to sleep in the tent with us but Hilary nixed that idea. The next day she sat in the long grass near our tent as we struck it and followed us around as we got ready to leave. Goodbye was long and painful. I would love to have that little dog with us right now and to take her on our travels, but I imagine being a beach bum and a dog in Punta del Diablo, Uruguay is probably pretty heavenly and we couldn't have offered her anything better. Still we miss her.
In its first century the town changed hands many times, control fluctuating frequently between the Portuguese and Spanish until the early 19th century when Uruguay was established. 
A white balustrade lines most of the road along the river. There is an old lighthouse built on the ruins of an older convent, the old city gate and walls, and scattered cannons. We moved in to the Hostel Colonia and were promptly accosted by a sun-scorched Australian who upbraided us for spending too much on Spanish lessons.
