Dog Tales

Our housekeeper Irma’s dog, Lincoln, trots behind her as she arrives at our house. He is a fluffy Maltese whose hair is always tinged with road dust. He settles into our garden in the shade of a palm tree to wait for Irma to finish work. If he dares to poke his nose inside the house he will quickly receive a harsh reprimand from Irma.

Arm outstretched, finger pointed, Irma commands “Vete!” “Get out!” And Lincoln will slink back to safety.

“Dogs don’t belong in the house, “she reminds me as if I had invited Lincoln inside.

She knows me. Or, she knows us Americans. We treat our dogs like members of the family; they’re mascotas, pets, and we spoil them. Not so in most Mexican households. Irma and her family love Lincoln, but he lives outside, at times in their yard, but usually in the neighborhood streets.

But Cuchin, who repaired and painted our garden wall last winter, sees things differently from other Mexicans. Most days, he brought his “baby, as he called his dog, with him to work. Cuchin’s “baby,” a tiny Chihuahua, was never far from his father’s loving and watchful eyes. Cuchin was quick to condemn neglectful dog owners. His dogs, he assured us, never left the house without him. Oh - and his other “baby” was a pit bull! Fortunately, Cuchin left him at home.

Dogs hang out all over San Pancho. The majority are thin, their coats dull and matted. Some have injuries from unfriendly encounters with other animals. Most are sadly neglected. Stretched out and snoozing, they are blissfully unaware of traffic or pedestrians detouring around them. Others are in mad pursuit of moving objects, frantically barking, chasing cars, bicycles, horses, and other dogs. Running in a pack, they are formidable, though harmless.

One stray, Suzy, often accompanied Nancy, Ellen and me, uninvited, on our daily hike. She was known about town and survived on the kindness of strangers. But on our hike, Suzy only created chaos. She bounded ahead of us and then stopped right in front of us. She challenged other strays we met along the way to the point of teeth baring conflict. She ran into the path of oncoming trucks. Screeching brakes and our frantic shouts shattered any illusion of a healthy hike. When she disappeared for a few days, we were relieved.

Ellen’s dog, Lola, on the other hand, is Miss Congeniality. Everyone loves her! So when she began to accompany us on our hikes, we welcomed her. Nancy even brought a special doggie water bottle back from the States to keep her well-hydrated. Lola enjoyed our walks at first, waiting impatiently for Ellen in the morning. But soon Lola began to question the wisdom of trekking up and down countless hills. Besides, she missed being the center of attention. We barely noticed her, focusing instead on covering a lot of ground conversationally.

One day as we approached the first hill of the trail, Lola simply sat down and refused to go any further. No more foolish hiking for her. Our cajoling, demanding, or threatening moved her. Unlike Suzy, Lola knew when enough was enough.