My Dog Bastard

Maybe over my two years in Ecuador I’ve grown accustomed to the funny way people pronounce English words. Maybe I’ve just not noticed. But last week I was reminded of just how hilarious it can be when languages mix.
As you know, I own a dog named Buster. Leaving him to travel is sometimes a guilt-trip (no pun intended), though the last time I left Nono I didn’t feel so bad because the new volunteer had come for a visit. She immediately fell in love with my dogs, and I breathed a sigh of relief as Nono disappeared from view when the bus rounded the first mountain.
And I didn’t have anything to worry about. I returned two days later to find my dogs sprawled contentedly at her feet in the kitchen.
“ I sort of took over walking them while you were gone,” She said. “Susana took them out the first day, but I decided they needed more exercise. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not!” I replied. “ How’d they behave?”
“Great! I kept Samina on a leash, and Bastard followed me everywhere.” . . .
“Yeah, he...wait, BASTARD!?!?”
What did she just call him? And she had seemed like such a nice person! I was about to come to the defense of my unjustly wronged dog when I saw the horrified look on her face.
“Wait, his name isn’t Bastard? I couldn’t remember his name the first day and Susana told me it was Bastard!”
We had a good laugh (while “Bastard” slept blissfully unaware) over that little misunderstanding. And I listened carefully for the next time anyone said my dog’s name. Sure enough, the next day Susana came for a visit while I ate breakfast.
“Buenos días Bustard” she said as she stepped over his napping form.
So, no worries if you slip up and refer to him as an illegitimate pup or his actual name.
My dog answers to both.