What do wrestling, trenches, and dog meat have in common?

The answer is simple. They are the topic of my brief blog for today. What name is professional wrestling going by these days: WWE or WWF? Regardless, this is the sport to watch in Guyana apparently. Well, that and cricket. I think I finally got the rules down; I am just waiting to test out how well my soccer skills transfer.
On a non-related note, the trenches in Guyana are quite a sight. Trenches is more appropriate than ditches because trenches provoke a more accurate visual. Trash strewn about, random cattle chilling out, and black liquid bubbling with unidentifiable diseases/objects/creatures. Did I mention that a fellow trainee happened to fall into one the other day? He has not transformed into the Boogey Monster yet, but I am keeping my eye under my bed.
Actually, I do have to keep my eye under my bed due to a different imposter. The other day, I happened to reach to the back of one of my drawers to retrieve some clothes, and instead I wound up holding a handful of newspaper shreddings. A nest-like clump of them. Now, my drawers are lined with newspapers, and my superior detective skills allowed me to infer that I was entertaining a guest.
Around 3 am the other night I awoke to a crunching sound. I am the only human in the room, and I was not crunching on anything. In my disorientation, I was able to identify the crunching noise coming from my purse. Using the light from my Kindle (the Kindle is more useful by the day) I tried to pinpoint the perpetrator. And the crunching (and my concern for the issue) promptly stopped.
The following morning, I inspected my bag. What had the mystery creature been hunting? A pack of cheese crackers zipped in a baggie of course. I can’t help but speculate that I might be housing a mouse, or a Lizard with a craving for salt (or identity crisis). All in all, I ended up setting a trap that my host mom gave to me. Don’t worry; it is human as traps get: a piece of paper with stripes of glue on it. So far, the only thing I have caught is a naughty four-year old that keeps creeping into my room. A dual purpose trap, if you will.
Finally, I will address the dog meat. As far as what I had been told, Guyanese people do not eat dog meat. Iguana sure, but dogs, no. Therefore, when I saw the sign stating a farm was selling dog meat for 70GD, I gagged. I reported my horror to my host sister-in-law, only to find out that the sign is a joke. Joke or not, that place is going to freak people out. Get a better marketing technique because grossing people out is not quite an effective tactic for sales.