My dog rolls in dung on the trail. I shouldn't mince words, I think it was dog shit.

Then he ate it.

…we found each other, and that led to the annual three or four night adventures in Puerto Vallarta overlooking Banderas Bay. A six-thousand foot deep Banderas Bay, waves breaking white over blue and shimmering to the horizon, where oceanside meals are easily found and trinkets constantly sold, where a beach-combing vendor dropped his rather large and alive iguana on my shoulder, then asked me for money. Where too much tequila can be easily drunk…

…Dry leaves rattle. Something scurries in the browned reeds. The camera raises, but that 'something' is no more. Late again. Not that it matters. If I've mastered any art in digital photography, it's the art of being late. A second is all it takes and I'm left with what I usually see, which isn't what I could have sworn I saw…