My friends Rodney and Wayo were enjoying a quiet night at Wayo’s eponymously named beach bar in the Boca del Rio neighborhood of San Pedro, Belize. Typical off-season night. Nobody else around.
Except for Rodney’s little dog, Miss Pearl.
Miss Pearl is like an appendage to Rodney, himself a burly good old boy from Texas. If Miss Pearl isn’t sitting quietly at his feet, the Jack Russell Terrier is perched contentedly on his shoulder. Where Rodney goes, Miss Pearl goes.
“I think we should go club hopping,” mused Wayo, while closing up his bar.
So Rodney, Wayo and Miss Pearl piled into Rodney’s golf cart and headed into town.
Naturally, after stops like the Latino Club, they ended up at the biggest nightclub in town, Jaguar’s across from Central Park.
But before they could enter through the giant fanged jaws that lead to the pumping beats and crowded dance floor, a Jaws-sized policeman stepped between them and the entrance.
A very large policeman, with an all- business look on his face.
“Excuse me, sir. You can not take that dog into the nightclub. Dogs are not allowed.”
Rodney wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to just leave Wayo without a ride and he wasn’t about to leave Miss Pearl outside in the golf cart.
While Rodney mulled his options, Wayo picked up Miss Pearl and put her on Rodney’s shoulder.
Then he sauntered up to the policeman, a mismatch in size for sure. Wayo raised his hand high and poked the policeman in the chest. “That’s no dog,” he said. “That’s a parrot.”
The policeman looked at Wayo. He looked at Miss Pearl on Rodney’s shoulder.
“OK, then. It is a parrot,” said the policeman as he stepped aside, still not smiling.
“Have a nice night.”
This is Belize.
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