Oliver seemed perplexed. He looked back at me, then at El Muerto again. A light drizzle was in the air, moistening everything around us, making things damp and sticky. And it was just as well, since Oliver decided to mark El Muerto with a swift, most irreverent, casual squirt, his right leg lifted half way, as if death didn't deserve more than that. Then he circled around El Muerto, resumed his afternoon walk and never even looked back.