In Puerto Rico, many years ago near the Condado Lagoon, there lived a poor fisherman. He lived alone in a hut, and his only companion was his dog.
The fisherman and his dog were devoted to each other. They were often seen strolling on the white sandy beach or walking along the road to San Juan. However, the fisherman never took the dog in his boat.
Each morning, as the fisherman prepared his boat, the dog would be by his side. When the man sailed out to sea, the dog would scamper up to the high ridge separating the lagoon from the open ocean. There he would sit and watch all day, never moving until he saw the boat return in the late afternoon. Then he would race back to shore to greet his master, and together they would go to San Juan to sell the fish.
Years passed. Both the fisherman and his faithful dog grew older, but their routine remained the same.
One September morning, as the fisherman was preparing his boat, the dog began to bark and howl strangely. He circled his master and tugged at his trousers. The fisherman, thinking the dog wanted to play, patted him and laughed before finally sailing away. The dog went to his watching place on the ridge, still barking.
That morning, the sky was blue and the breeze was soft. But suddenly, the weather changed. A wild wind began to blow, darkening the sky. Rain began to fall.
"It's a hurricane!" cried the fisherman. He immediately thought of his dog on the ridge. He tried to steer his boat toward shore, but a great wave swept over him and tossed the boat away.
The next morning, the hurricane was over. The sea was calm again. The families of the fishermen waited on the shore, but no boats returned.
The villagers eventually returned to their homes to grieve and rebuild their lives. No one thought of the fisherman's dog.
Several months later, some villagers gathering sea grapes noticed what looked like a dog sitting on the high ridge above the lagoon.
"Look," said one. "Isn't that the old fisherman's dog?"
"How could it be, after all this time?" said another.
To settle the matter, the first man climbed the ragged, stony ridge. When he reached the spot, he found only a rock—a rock shaped exactly like a dog, sitting alert, its head held high as if watching the sea.
The man came down quickly. But when the people looked up again, they saw the stone dog clearly. It just sat there on the ridge, waiting...
And there it sits today, for anyone to see.