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 24th 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!
