It(they) happened twice daily, right at noontime, and again at 5p. Both on the sharp and both as though our lives depended on them. Over the course of 85 days, Quinn and I performed this routine 170 times. That’s batting .1000 in my playbook.
This procedural labor of love took us 20 human minutes from start to finish, beginning to end. This wasn’t ones typical dog walk because Quinn isn’t ones typical dog, and Puerto Escondido isn’t ones typical place. Time and time again, here’s how it seemed to pan out.
First thing I always did was top-off her water bowl and stick it in the freezer. It took Dog a while, but she finally figured out that equation. For over a year now, I have been dialing-in that pitch black, lights out internal clock of hers with assorted drills and daily routines, yet it never had anything to do with me putting her water bowl in a freezer.
She came to know in a very short period of time, that right at noon and again at 5, her dog bowl(which of course she can’t see) was going in the freezer, and that in turn meant we were headed out for a walk. It became a sense. My take is that she felt the water bowl being removed and then heard the sound that the freezer door makes, and that was all she needed. If freezing her water didn’t ready her, certainly the dangling sound of the keys did. The invisible leash. The prompt of all prompts.
Second, I ran the scalding hot water out of the fifty foot hose until it got on the warmish side of cold enough. Dog liked to play, “Hard to Find” as hose time approached. Her way of hiding has become pretty funny. She basically stands close by but looks the other way.
Anyway, I’d call Girlfriend over and super-quickly hose down just her back. Obviously she had her reasons why she wasn’t so fond of that part of the process. Maybe they are theories. I told her every single time that it only lasts three short seconds and that she really does appreciate it despite not being able to see twenty or so dog seconds into her future.
Last but certainly not least, we had to slowly maneuver between my van his truck her car and their motorcycles, sometimes two. Once Quinn was through the vehicular obstacles, I always skipped ahead so I could hopefully unlock and open one side of the two-sided giant black iron gate before her arrival in order to seamlessly guide Ms. No Eyed out to the dirt street. That was the goal anyway.
Usually what ended up happening was that Dog got to the black iron gate before I had enough time to safely get it unlocked and fully opened for her, and like so many door maneuvers that have opened and closed before us, she would bonk a time or three, and/or position herself on the closing side of an open door, in this case a monster iron gate. Ultimately she would feel her way around the hard obstacle, finding her way through to the street.
With the prep and the pinball out of the way, we were ready for the walk itself. This walk never involved a collar or a leash. This is how it broke down:
Out the gate, we’d go left for about 150 meters until the dirt road ends. At the T, we’d head left again for another 150 meters. Right about the time this half road becomes more of a dirt path, we’d veer left once again for say 75 steps or so. A final left-hander down a bumpy one lane dirt road for another 150 meters before making the only right hand turn of the walk, and 75 additional paces, putting us right back in front of our black iron gate. In simpler terms, it’s a small-sized, rectangular block with a few extra steps coming and going.
It didn’t take long into our 600 some-odd meter routine before we would encounter the four barking dogs on the right hand side. To say they always barked at us is still an understatement. We never made it past this doggie gauntlet without them going berserk. Tip-toed, the whole 9. I even bet Quinn some treats that it couldn’t be done. Treats?
We hated it. It was the most savage canine sound compilation imaginable. It deafened our ears which often angered me and confused Quinn’s sense of direction. It prompted all the neighborhood dogs within a tropical radius to pile on. Thankfully it only lasted ten seconds and always tailed off the very same way, with the smallest and scrawniest mutt of them all hitting the final few notes.
I never made eye contact with this pack of bandits, and obviously Quinn didn’t either. Every once in a while I would gesture at them to shut the fuck up. And to be fair, every once in a while, so did some Italian male voice from somewhere inside the house. As bad as it always was, it was also par for the course. The alternative is them being given permission to be outside their gate, bullying anything and everything that walks by. So for the great most part we accepted the protective ruthlessness. They were just doing their job, and a damn fine job at that.
Now I know from experience that all four of these dogs aren’t all junkyard. Likely it’s just one. The others just tag along. Yank the ring leader out of the equation, and many times you are left with curious, often even submissive dogs that are finally being given a chance to be themselves. Put them behind a gate with a loudmouth, and you get four barking dogs.
Before I forget, there was an instance where ‘all four’ were on the street because the owner and his buddy were also on the street likely talking fettuccini recipes. When Giuseppe saw us coming, which I suppose would have been either at 12:07pm or 5:07pm I forget which, he smiled a friendly gesture and began to semi-coral his pack, in particular his main trouble maker. With Old Blackie locked away, his friend Cenzo might have even begun the process of a total corral, yet I stopped him in his tracks.
“Oh you don’t need to do that, it’s probably a good idea that everybody gets a good old fashioned meet and greet,” I suggested.
Bad Idea! Meet and greet my ass. A three second, one-sided brawl broke out, and like always, Lady Miss No-Eyed was on the receiving end. She bled a bit near her right back leg. We scooted away without making it seem like we were aggravated. I tried to baby her but she didn’t seem affected whatsoever. Dog didn’t want my babying. It was written all over her face that she had already moved on. Worked for me. I love that about my Quinnie. Forgive and Forget. She had fully adopted our motto: What she can’t see can’t hurt her so long as I am by her side.
Our first left hand turn happened right at The Pancho Villa Estate.(that’s just what I call it) The entire property is surrounded by a 15 foot high, white concrete wall, and it’s bad ass! The two-sided wooded gate to get behind the wall and onto this majestic property makes my monster gate look considerably less monstrous. There are cameras that say “Smile, we have you on Video.” My initial thought was that it should be written in Spanish, though I’ve come to learn why that isn’t so.
It’s a powerful spot alright, and clearly the vortex of the dog walk. Remote & Enchanted, Colorful & Raw! A picture could never capture its essence. It has to be felt, and we felt it. From this spot, the warm and always mighty Pacific Ocean is still in plain sight, as are stacking panoramic views of massive Sierra Madre peaks. Everything in between is for ones imagination only. It was here when things got real.
Batting leadoff was Pluma. She wears a red, power collar. She is young. She is long. She is local. She always appeared about 100 steps away and immediately assumed her position of playfully still and calculatedly low. She waited for us to get 75 steps away, so that we could then get 50, then 25. That was her queue to begin flying up and down the rocky dirt road about as fast as you will EVER see a canine rocket back and forth. If there was ever a dog that could immediately showcase what it is they do very best, then we were witnessing it. At least I was.
Pluma has no bad blood, and never meant any harm. It was just that her mind bending velocity, combined with her ability to come inches from us as she went screaming by, well that can be quite dangerous for Quinn. Pluma too. My take here was that most dogs she encounters can always make sure to step aside or turn a cheek, or properly tilt themselves in the right direction as she sped by. Quinn, not so much. I foresaw unfortunate consequences in this style of hyperactivity, and it came in the form of a nasty collusion which might even cause a dog or two to die on the spot. Taking no chances, we would stop and wait it out. When Pluma’s tongue was just about hitting the dirt ground, that’s when it felt safe to continue.
It was here that the horse shit mounted. It was here that the mango, ficus, and parota trees overwhelmed. Small birds seemed to be everywhere, and full of song. The predator birds circled above. With a couple of burros to prove it, there was a low lying, rusted barbed wire fence tangled in bougainvillea to our right that separated us from hectares of Maguey. Ant hills everywhere. Lizards galore. This portion of the walk took the most time. Quinn couldn’t go two steps without fixing her nose on something. I tried to hurry her along, never letting her fix on something to the point where she was curious enough to try it out in her mouth.
With Pluma out of our picture for the time being, and two left turns behind us, I would prepare my dog for the quick 75. I called it that because I hurried this section along as quickly and as quietly as was possible. I did this because we were often faced with sharing the right of way with full sized horses. Usually four of them. Beautiful specimens. Well behaved. Always busy chewing.
The only rule I know about horses is probably the golden rule of all the rules which is to NEVER approach a horse from behind. Easier said than done on this overcrowded path.
Every single time we’d get to this portion of the gauntlet, I stopped, squatted down to what would be Quinn’s eye level, and I told her that these are enormous creatures she was about to encounter, and she needed to be extra smart and extra careful. We’d then proceed with the utmost caution. Me personally? I made zero noise. I never got too close. I quietly prayed that my zero eyed animal didn’t walk into one of them, god forbid one of their back ends.
We logged this exact walk about 170 times when all was said and done. I’d be lying if I said those horses were always on this portion of the walk, but they were there at least three days per week. When they were there, Quinn usually ended up nose to nose with one of them. Nose to nose! Freaked me out every time. As priceless as I suppose it was, I could barely look. There was nothing I could do but get out of the way and let animals be animals.
As we made our way down one of the final stretches, there were several other areas where barking sounds were being felt. We had come to understand what that meant among other things. One thing it meant was that we are about to see the Pluma show once again. Yes, Pluma has full access to be completely uncontainable , so of course we always let her do her thing before proceeding.
In the strangest of dog ways, Pluma looked after Quinn. I went to a neighborhood BBQ around the holidays, and Pluma somehow showed up and Quinn recognized her. They were even spotted spooning on the cold tile. She’s our good friend.
With the ocean back in plain sight, and with just 75 meters to go, we once again had to deal with the infamous Four Tops, but by this point we both could have cared less. And we had come to find that the chaos definitely toned down a notch as we passed them for the second time in ten minutes. I would dangle the keys extra loud and Quinn followed my that lead. Regardless of whether it was 12:20 or 5:20, she was panting, I was sweating. She needed some ice cold water, I needed an ice cold shower. Thankfully, I knew where to find both.