Summary

The text is a humorous narrative about a man named Brian who enjoys day drinking with his chihuahua, Paco, and engages in whimsical conversations with him.

Abstract

Brian, a day drinker, finds companionship in his chihuahua, Paco, who he imagines as a Marxist with a penchant for philosophical banter and cooking advice. Their interactions are filled with wit and cultural references, including debates over whether Paco can eat Mexican food due to his heritage, despite being born in Transylvania and living in Romania. The dialogue between Brian and his anthropomorphized pet is both comical and absurd, highlighting the loneliness of day drinking and the creative ways Brian copes with it. The story ends with a playful exchange about parenting and pet ownership, with Paco cheekily acknowledging Brian's minimal efforts.

Opinions

Brian enjoys the rebellious nature of day drinking, likening it to a vacation.
Society's judgment of solo day drinking is humorously addressed; Brian avoids this by attributing his activities to companionship with his dog.
Paco is portrayed as an intellectual and opinionated companion, despite being a dog, adding a layer of satire to the narrative.
The author uses Paco's imagined voice to explore themes of identity, heritage, and the absurdity of humanizing pets.
Brian's internal dialogue with Paco serves as a coping mechanism for his solitude, suggesting a deeper loneliness beneath the humorous surface.
The story playfully critiques

Day Drinking with my Dog

The Chihuahua Conversations

I enjoy day drinking. It gives me the feeling of being on vacation, as if I am doing something only allowed on holiday, even in my apartment with the curtains drawn.

The only problem with it is the way people react when they find out you do it alone. If you and Mike are having a tipple at lunch, you are two rapscallions living your best life. If you’re doing it at home with day-old pizza and a bottle of reasonably priced vodka, people give you pamphlets and suggest a 12-step walk. My solution? We got a dog.

We have a three-year-old chihuahua named Paco. Now, when someone asks what I did yesterday, I can say, “Me and Paco made margaritas and binged The Outsider.”

If they ask me who Paco is I reply, “Oh, you haven’t met him. He’s cool.” Voila! No more pamphlets and no need to go looking for a higher power.

Chihuahuas make fantastic drinking buddies. They are literally pint-sized. Paco is not really a boozer, he prefers water, but this is fine with me since I’m usually buying.

I can’t speak for all chihuahuas but Paco is good company. He’s a Marxist, more so when he’s drinking milk — a milk Marxist. He also throws around a lot of Hegel while jumping on and off the sofa. He talks a big game for a tiny dog and constantly gives me cooking advice, despite never doing more than licking a pan.

This is yesterday’s kitchen conversation where we cooked black beans and enjoyed a lovely merlot from Moldavia.

Paco: What are you drinking there?

Brian: Merlot.

Paco: Little early in the day, isn’t it?

Brian: You can’t tell time.

Paco: You sure about that?

Brian: Actually, no. Can you tell time?

Paco: I can smell thyme. What are you making?

Brian: Well played. It’s refried black beans.

Paco: Sounds delicious. When do we eat?

Brian: It’s not for you, buddy. Sorry.

Paco: Why not?

Brian: It’s not dog food. It’s Mexican food. I have no idea what it would do to your belly.

Paco: Dude, I’m a chihuahua. I have Mexican in my blood.

Brian: You were born in Transylvania. You have lived your entire life in Romania and you don’t speak a word of Spanish.

Paco: Hablo Español.

Brian: Okay, two words but you don’t speak Spanish.

Paco: Technically, I don’t speak at all, you twat. This is all in your head.

Brian: Whoa, language, bud! Where did you learn that word?

Paco: You had the British guy on speakerphone last week.

Brian Ok, you should unlearn that word.

Paco: Fine. Back to the beans?

Brian: It’s full of peppers, cumin, and onions. It might kill you.

Paco: It’s not tragic to die doing what you love.

Brian: Look, I woul…did you just quote Point Break?

Paco: I am an F.B.I age…

Brian: Stop.

(awkward silence)

Brian: What makes you think you would like beans?

Paco: Dog nose, compadre. It tells me everything.

Brian: Maybe it should tell you to go eat your puppy chow.

Paco: That’s just demeaning. It’s bad enough when you call that slop in my bowl kibble. You’re having beans. I want some beans. What’s the fucking problem?

Brian: Language!

Paco: Right. Sorry. No beans then?

Brian: Again, I don’t know if you should.

Paco: Google it.

Brian: Do you even know what Google is?

Paco: I sense sarcasm and a rhetorical question.

Brian: You don’t know what Google is but possess a nuanced understanding of language?

Paco: Hey, you created me. I didn’t create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better.

Brian: First, harsh. Second, are you just quoting ‘90’s cinema today?

Paco: Have it your way. I’m gonna go poop on your rug and then chew on mom’s pillow.

Brian: Whatever.

Paco: Also, congrats on your stunning efforts at father of the year.

Brian: Hey, you’re still alive.

Paco: That’s literally the lowest acceptable level of fatherly achievement. Enjoy your wine.

Brian: I will!

Paco: I have a pamphlet for you, by the way.

Brian: (sets down glass) Paco! Get your ass back in here!

He scampered off, shat on the rug, and chewed on the pillow as promised.

The beans were delicious though.