The Cute Creatures of Costa Rica

They were a sight for sore eyes, the Beagle Brigade — the first thing we saw back on U.S. soil at Miami International Airport. We’d read about them before in the newspapers, but here they were, up close and personal (see photo, right), sniffing and tugging and pulling — caring not one iota about where the security guards attached to them might want to go. The beagles, and their behavior, reminded me, of course, of Ricky.

Then again, you don’t have to be a beagle — or even a dog — to remind me of Ricky. You just have to be adorable. We were just back from 8 days in Costa Rica, and pretty much every cute creature I saw

reminded me of my own little doggy. The tiny, head-bobbing Semipalmated Sandpiper, who would spend hour after hour after hour on Playa Virador patiently pecking in the sand for food, undeterred by waves or jet-skis or flabby, sunburned humans . . . I mean, how Ricky is that? And then there were the dolphins cavorting right in front of our catamaran: The way they leaped out of the water in repetitive arcs was exactly how Ricky looks when he galumphs through the snow.

The iguana, standing stock-still alongside the trail in Rincon de la Viega, hoping we’d think he was a tree, made me think of the way Ricky poses, motionless, when he’s on the scent. And the the white-faced monkey who stared back at us defiantly as he loosed a torrent of pee and poop in our direction (our guide

called this a “golden shower”) was clearly channeling Ricky as he boldly stares me down when I tell him to “Come!”

And then there was that breakfast at the hotel.

My son Greg, his friend Brian, and I were seated at an outside table by the pool, feasting on papaya, mangoes, pineapple, eggs, and bacon. We could hear the monkeys pleasantly chittering and the birds happily chattering in the tree canopy above us. One bold bird (let’s call him a quetzal; he wasn’t, but that’s my favorite Costa Rican bird name) swooped down and perched on the chairback of the one empty seat at our table. He looked like a crow with a mohawk, and while everyone around us admired him, he made a brazen commando strike at Brian’s plate, snagging the biggest slice of bacon from the pile. Then he quickly winged off into the trees to enjoy it.

I’d seen the maneuver before. Lose the flying, and that move was right out of Ricky’s playbook.