While Carolina, my pet Dalmatian Picasso, and I were in Mexico City, Mexico, Carolina decided to go for a short walk to shop. She strolled off, leaving Picasso and me on the sidewalk to wait. I expected her back in about 15 minutes. When she didn't return on time, I continued to wait for an hour, until I became distressed. I gradually became sure something must have happened to her.

The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced Carolina must have been kidnapped. What would she be thinking? She would probably be thinking about me, about how I would be wondering what had happened to her, about how I would be realizing she had been kidnapped. I was unsure what to do; maybe I should go to the police. But, I didn't think the police would be able to help; and since Carolina had only been missing an hour, the police would probably not even care. I could go looking for her myself; but I would need to leave Picasso somewhere, and I would need help. I looked around me at the people in the street; the only person who caught my attention was a woman who looked as if she were homeless. She was probably only about 30 years old, very thin and aged beyond her years; but, I thought she probably knew the streets here. I called her to me we began talking. I told her I needed a place to keep Picasso. She pointed to a nearby house and told me I could leave him there; apparently she knew the people in the house. I hesitated, but the woman seemed trustworthy, so I gave Picasso to her and let her take him to the house.

When my thoughts returned to Carolina, I abruptly realized Louise (not Carolina) had actually been with me, and Louise was the one missing. I might have to call Louise's mother and tell her what had happened; would Louise's mother want to come to Mexico City? What a mess if Louise's mother came down here all nervous and excited.

Suddenly a black car pulled up close to me on the street. I didn't know if the men in the car were the same ones who had kidnapped Louise, but I knew immediately they were going to try to kidnap me. I began running along the side of the house where the woman had taken Picasso. At the rear of the house I encountered a mesh fence. I deftly jumped on the fence and climbed it. I needed a place to hide, but I also needed to retrieve Picasso. I could run into the house, grab him and then look for a place to hide. Maybe I could even ascend into the attic of the house – carrying Picasso under one of my arms – and find someplace there to hide.

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