That One Time That Dog Tried To Get To Second Base

Anyone who knows me knows that I am an animal heart. Animals are my passion and working with them was my dream for a long time pre-PC. Dogs in particular are God’s blessing to mankind. Then there are Ecuadorian dogs. Ecuadorian dogs are a completely different breed of creature! Honestly I was surprised to find that there were actually a variety of dog breeds here. In my experience in foreign countries, the dogs are usually a nice blend of mutt, are typically pretty scraggily, and a lot of times not very well taken care of. But here, though there are a few scraggily strays for sure, a lot of the dogs are fairly domesticated and some even have sweaters and haircuts! Though they may sometimes appear cute, don’t be fooled: they aren’t. Like the children around here, dogs don’t receive much proper discipline. For whatever reason, no one seems to mind when their dog is barking up a storm for no reason and you rarely hear someone tell their pet no (btw, the word for pet here is “mascota”, one of my favorite Spanish words; it literally means the family mascot). Case in point, our demon dog, Pinky. From day one of my arrival, this dog has not stopped scratching, itching, scooting, rubbing, or biting her backside for whatever reason is ailing it. Lucky for me this sneaky little snot seems to prefer my room and has, on more than one occasion, snuck in and made herself at home when I wasn’t looking. Disgusting doesn’t even begin to describe it! But the worst part of all is the barking! Omylanta so much barking!! If you go into the bathroom and shut the door, relentless barking. If my family goes into their room and shuts the door (common situation), occasional relentless barking. If any of the 7 or so dogs in my compound start barking, Pinky gladly joins in or sometimes even tries her pipes out at singing (equally as loud). For whatever reason, no one in my family seems to mind (although I have no problems with the word no!), dogs will be dogs.

Then there’s my neighbor’s dog. Now this, this dog might quite possibly be the spawn of Satan himself. From day one, this dog has terrorized me from behind his beat up chain length fence and the make-shift door formed by a couple 2x4’s held together with practically dental floss. This vicious guard dog is the head honcho of the canine cul-de-sac crew and whether you’re friend or foe, he has your number! To top it all off, this lovely creature just happens to be named Oso (or Bear in English). Cut to May 24^th and that’s where the story begins.

Since I cook my own food, I get to make weekly trips to the local grocery store about 5 or 6 minutes walking distance away (this store isn’t exactly my favorite place in the world, but it serves its purpose). This particular day was the first time I had gone to the store (or really anywhere) by myself. My house is inside a little gated community with about 7 or 8 housing units lining either side of a driveway. Usually there are people out doing whatever or kids playing together or at the very least, front doors open while women clean the house, etc. Ironically enough, that was not the case this day. As I walked through my gate carrying my bags, I started to walk all the way down my street like usual (my house is at the very end). And that’s when it happened. Normally when I pass in front of Oso’s house (incidentally the one right next to mine), he runs back and forth barking his head off. But that day was different. There was a bit of barking but then all of a sudden he stopped. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the “door” being nudged open, ever so calmly actually, and within a matter of seconds, this escapee was charging at me ready to attack. – Here in Ecuador, one of the first strategies we were given in order to handle aggressive dogs (because apparently they’re common enough for us to need the warning) was to either bend over and act like you’re picking up a rock or to hold your fist in the air like you’re about to chuck a rock. They say you never actually have to throw the rock but that the action is enough to scare the dogs away. I have my own reserves and issues with the way these dogs have been conditioned like this…but that’s for another day. – So here was Oso coming at me like I had just kidnapped his favorite family member. Though the thought of the rock trick had crossed my mind (despite my opinions on the issue), somehow in that split second I realized this probably was not my best option. Immediately I slung my bags at him as my only means of self-defense (good thing it wasn’t a day I needed eggs). He got the hint and turned to run away back into his gate. What I didn’t take into account was the kilo of raw ground beef and the 7 or 8 pieces of raw chicken in the bags with which I had just hit this dog. Oso, however, did not miss a beat and as soon as he realized the nature of the “weapon” he decided he wasn’t quite finished after all. Even though he had turned his back on me, I still wasn’t quite confident enough to turn my back on him and run away behind my gate. This proved to be quite helpful as all of a sudden Oso turned and came back for round two. Unfortunately by now he was even more determined…and went for the jugular! Though I don’t, by any means, consider my barely 5’8” frame tall in the US, here, this makes me a near giant. It gets a bit old to be honest (especially on bus rides when standing in the aisle). In that moment, I have never been so grateful for my height as this dog was about 3 or 4 inches short of what could have been a much greater disaster. As it were, the only contact made was right below my shoulder as I attempted, again, to beat him off with my bags (old lady style I’m afraid), all the while hollering trying to get someone’s, anyone’s, attention, not knowing how long this could potentially go on. As it turned out, this apparently did the trick as Oso once again retreated, this time giving me enough time to take the few steps to get to my gate. Interesting thing about disasters in a foreign country, your first communicable instinct isn’t exactly the local language if it’s not your own language. And so, as I was mentally trying to process what the heck just happened, the first thing I physically did was to run to my room, grab my Spanish-English dictionary, and look up the word for “bite” so I could tell the first person I saw what had just happened (well, that is after figuring out myself what had just become of this minor attack). First came my host sister who had apparently either heard the screams or could somehow sense something was up as I walked back to my room almost in tears of terror. She then ran to grab my host mom once she saw my face (and possibly even the bite-mark holes in my, coincidentally, favorite shirt I was wearing). Next came my mom out of her room (at which point I had just learned she was actually home). And finally, by the time I emerged from my room ready to declare, “perro muerde” practically the entire neighborhood was standing outside my gate wondering what the heck this new gringa was freaking out about. The other trainee, Spenser, who lives in my neighborhood was doing his laundry on the roof when he heard the commotion. He was now among the neighborhood crowd at my gate and as soon as I saw him, I lost it! Finally here was someone with a familiar face, who would understand, and who spoke better Spanish than me even under normal circumstances. I immediately pulled him inside my gate and began explaining to him through sobs (like a child…oh it was a proud moment for sure) just what had happened as he tried to relay everything back to my now incredibly worried and slightly confused mother. Peace Corps has plenty of protocols that volunteers and trainees must follow when practically anything and everything happens. With any medical issue whatsoever, there is a duty phone we must call to report any problems (even if you’re simply sick with a stomach bug and just can’t make it to work). While Spenser was hard at work conversing with my mother, and she was speed reading the packet of “What to do”s PC had given her, I grabbed my phone and called the duty officer to explain my situation. It was an interesting phone call, one that began with the Dr. on call asking me if he could call me back (which, sensing my reluctance, he quickly explained was so that I wouldn’t have to waste my phone minutes (we pay individually for if sending a call or text) on the call if it ran long) followed by him asking me if the dog had been vaccinated and explaining what the protocol was to make sure he didn’t have rabies (aka keeping this monster alive for 10-14 days). I was not particularly thrilled by this news but after understanding I was probably not going to die from this incident, I hung up the phone and proceeded to do as he directed.

The rest of the day was a fun period of icing and nursing my wound while Spenser kept me company, doing laundry (because apparently, according to my mom, this was a necessary thing to do after being bit by a dog), and finally getting to see my fellow gringos who wonderfully sympathetic and supportive. It took much nursing over the following days and even weeks after. As it turned out, Spenser’s dad is a holistic doctor and after hanging out with his family one night a few weeks after, I received a nice herbal treatment with the prognosis that my shoulder had, apparently, been slightly dislocated in the incident (a diagnosis that made sense to me as there had actually been a considerable amount of bruising and it had been difficult to carry my bag on that shoulder and even reach up to hold the bar on the bus). Apparently when Oso jumped and made contact, he punched my shoulder with his teeth knocking it slightly out of whack. A few rotations, forceful pushes, and an arm rub or two, it was back where it needed to be and I could continue the healing process.

So what happened with the dog after this incident? Well, as for Oso, he’s still alive and well (shocker). I have since been given many stories as the fate of this creature. I was first told he would be killed (after the weekend was over). When that came and went I asked again and was informed something about municipality. A week or so after that a woman came into my room one night asking if she could take a picture. This then turned into a bit of a town hall meeting of sorts in my room as my host mom, brother, neighbor, her granddaughter (Samantha), and Samantha’s mom (who took the picture) were all standing around in my [slightly messy] room discussing what I could only assume was the fate of this dog. As it turned out, I apparently was not the first victim of this demon seed’s teeth but had actually been the third! Samantha had been one of the ones attacked before a few years ago when she was bit in the face (at about 4 yrs old or so). Apparently the picture of the latest incident – aka the shoulder of yours truly – was for the judge, lawyer, police, whomever is handling the case (slightly unclear to me). A few weeks after this I was told by Spenser’s mom that apparently Oso’s owner is none other than my mom’s sister who is now mad at my mom for going over her head after the incident and going straight to the municipality to report the incident. This has apparently fueled an already ongoing feud between my mom and her sister as now municipality is involved and, I’m told, it would cost about $600 to put this dog down (don’t ask my where the connection is in all that, I have no idea). Talk about your family drama! This is the stuff Telenovelas are made of folks! It’ll be interesting to see what happens although I’m willing to bet this fluffy German shepherd/chow type mutt is still alive and well when I COS in two years. Welcome to Ecuador!