We lived in Kingston, Jamaica in a gorgeous two-story colonial in a brilliantly hued tropical setting, with corn stalks and our very own banana tree in the back yard; but our versions of pets were filthy pooping pigeons living in a rickety cote behind the house and endless numbers of hapless rats being terrorized by a dozen or so vicious cats.

One glorious day, and I don’t remember how we acquired him, my sister and I “GOT A DOG!” After observing the little guy for a few minutes, my father (who as a child had a cat named ByChoo, named so because he did just that) suggested we name our puppy ”Fasaría,” the Greek word for “trouble” or “ bother” or “fuss” or “ado.”

In a self-fulfilling prophecy, the bouncing Fasa earnestly set out to live up to his name, chewing, mauling, and digging his doggie way through the garden, uprooting pineapples, snapping at wasps, biting the gardeners, and eating and throwing up things that weren’t food.

We loved him dearly but our parents’ meager supply of tolerance ran out well before his first birthday, and one tragic day our darling Fasa was wrenched from our tear-drenched arms to be sent home with the lesser maimed of the gardeners.

But, it was Jamaica, and we still had the rats…

One comment on “Fasaria”

  1. What a wonderful idea your photo archive and stories are! Someday, when I start going through the photos that my mother Antigone, your dad’s first cousin, kept, I will ask your help in setting up something similar. Since both families were in the U.S. Foreign Service, we had many common experiences. Much love, cousin Chris

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