The Dog Cartel
it's all territory
The heat and the muggy has been more than usual this year. Or moving across town has put me in a bog, low spot. Having a concrete block wall all around your property is nice, but also perfect sauna conditions when you’re in a tight typical Mexican neighborhood in a basic pueblo.
It’s cheap, I have to give it props where they’re due.
But it’s mid September and I feel like the other years it was just convection oven hot, not bain-marie hot. (*I was a chef for twenty years to give context to my metaphors.) This is my 4th summer here? Ay Dios.
Five blocks from the Sea of Cortez is nice in theory but it’s full of flies in summer and weird to walk deep in pebbles this time of year and by the time we get down there I just want to face plant into the water until I remember all the sharks they pull out of there. It’s not the Baja side of Cortez, this is the fishing boats side and there are rip tides and some stuff sprayed out by the GeoThermal plant. When it cools off I walk to the East side, where it’s wide open, less flies and breezier.
That’s a whole other territory, tread lightly and watch out for the Chihuahua Pack. Seriously.
Street dogs are different than regular dogs. Mexican street dogs and beach dogs are built different still. The only way they can co-exist in this small town devoid of dog lovers and veterinarians, is to stay on your block, bro. That’s my trash can. That’s my butcher. That’s my fish scrap guy. Much like street gangs and rival cartels there are maps. Lines in the sand.
I remember a trip long ago in a time I can barely recall (2019) when some surfers were removing the hologram from one bag of weed in Nayarit because they bought it in Jalisco and that’s crossing enemy lines. And one bold Canadian dude had brought his from home and everyone was like WHOA, put that in the mason jar. They mixed all the herb together in a jar and got rid of the packaging. I was fascinated by all the street cred info I was getting. I’m not a doer, I’m a watcher. But you could get ‘gone’ for having weed from another area. Buy Local!
Street dog gangs are similar. I see as I walk with my pack on these streets we are given respect but barked at from hiding places. Keep it moving! And I usually have a couple three on leads and a gaggle following. I’m generally never alone even if I was intending to not Walk a Dog but go get ice cream or something important, I’m rarely not Walking With Dogs. In fact Never. Calico and her last remaining pup Border are my sidewalk girls after saving them and getting them spayed from living in the wet dirt hole in the abandoned lot on the corner, they are grateful but feral so they watch the front corners for food and water.
Pedro has a couple corners to watch and he’s a bigger older male. He goes EVERYWHERE I do. Even the toilet. And he proactively runs some MESS on other big heads who posture. Today he charged Big Donuts the low hanging Pit and his Ladies near the yellow motel. Like lawn bowling, he knows Donuts (real name Tequila I’ve heard) is lazy in the early hours so forks him up with a head butt and gator tail spin smack and then keeps running. I’m guessing he’s Big Pants because he’s walking with the pack and the 2 Legged DogLady. Alone sometimes I see him retreat and act like a Paper Tiger. But with some back up he’s a punk.
Calico is a cattle dog and gives zero figs about the male dogs in town. I’ll bet she was well abused going into heat and hiding under cars until I got here. She chases any and all for a two block square. Competing for resources, they know I’m topped out. She’s fast and cranky. Get. Off. My. Street.
There’s Hermano Brindle and Caramela and a whole bunch of border collies over by the vacant Marine base. Spaghetti and Coco the male and Oreo #2 and #3 (because I sometimes am not feeling creative)
The Chihuahua Pack is on the East side and there’s no housing over there and so they are hardcore guarding the trash from the weekenders who pour in to party near the Cabanas. They will have NONE of your New Dog in Town nonsense. Some look like they’ve been mixing with the coyotes and it’s a rough gang.
We walk the water line and make it known that we’re just passing through. I carry a backpack with kibble in it to pay the Tax. Just like driving through Mexico off the toll roads which isn’t recommended but can happen if you’re going to off the beaten path towns, there are many pass through taxes to pay to kids or just local ratas and I’m fine with it. It’s cheaper than the actual toll charged by the government. And if you don’t they’ll toss that rope of “rompellantas” tire busters down and that’ll cost you considerably more. I’d often give bags of chips or snacks or tshirts I had too. Might as well make it fun to see a tourist drive through. Yay! Don’t carjack me!
The cared for dogs and the used to be street dogs and the locked in the garage never let out dogs and the roof dogs and the super sad starving dogs who venture out of their barrio because the trash is better behind the OTSO (we don’t have an OXXO, everything here is off brand) and so they risk a beat down from Cranberry to get some meat wrappers or rotted cucumbers and hope they don’t get the Lousy Lottery of rat poison set out on purpose or by “accident”.
These dogs are so smart I’m honored to know them and give them salchichas (weenies) by hand so they don’t eat the trick hotdogs. I only regret that my vision of getting them out of here and rehomed is a difficult relay race of transporters, borders, new stupid rules and money.
But on days that I don’t worry or pick dead ones off the road, I enjoy their personalities and survival skills. They get along in spite of their situations. Good medicine.
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Thanks for reading and for supporting Lola’s Rescue. For more info about my efforts here in the Sonoran desert or to buy a hoodie or some food for the Chihuahua Gang, go to linktr.ee/lolasdogrescue
Good to know the score where dogs are concerned - they have teeth. And thanks for the weed tip, much appreciated. I bring mine from Cali, which I suppose makes me a marked man.