Dogs are the Seagulls of Central America


I remember fondly those high school lunches, when friends would sit down to enjoy a lunch of nutritional void food together. After about 10 minutes, an orange stained Cheetoo scented finger would point skyward to the flying menace scavengers of the sky. The seagulls would unashamedly dive bomb me and my friends, in hope for a morsel of nachos or Subway sandwich on white bread. The battle between the birds and the bipeds would rage the entire hour of lunch. Crumbs were flying as Alka-Seltzer bombs were implanted in birds¹ bellies. Students on the ground, trying to protect their precious booty, were being retaliated against with bombs from bird butts. It was a nasty war zone... those lunch hours. In the end, a bell called us home to the classrooms of higher learning, as the birds took to the battlefield to feast on our abandoned morsels. No flag of surrender was waved on either side-- for it was an unspoken agreement that Monday through Friday, the war would be waged again.


Now in Central America it would seem I was safe from the bird wars of years gone by. Unfortunately the war still is on, but the enemy has a new face. Yes, it is true that dogs are the seagulls of Central America. These four legged creatures are not man's best friend, but rather his soccer ball, as he is kicked and punted away from every where he may roam. On the streets, the dog to car ratio is one to one. The cars careen and the dogs cower. Me, being one that harbors severe dog fear, don't even feel threatened by these dogs. If they are near as you wave to a friend, they jump back, in fear of being hit. In this aspect, they are not like seagulls, those unabashed bastards.


They are like their counterparts in their persistence for food and the ability to make a feast from the scraps of trash left on the street. Like those big bad birds, they take to the field once the army of humans have been called home. In late night hours, the dogs gather to worship at piles of tortilla scraps, cow legs, burnt bean dregs, and plastic bags. Covered safely by the blanket of night, the dogs root and scavenge like the most esteemed archaeologist, through these mountains of human waste. This is their sanctuary, their free zone, the one place they can go and not be attacked.


Of course feasting can not only be restricted to a nighttime activity, so the dogs roam at every hour looking for dropped morsels. In the central eating place, under the aluminum siding roofs, we gather to feast on chicken stewed in tomatoes, rice cooked in a fragrant broth, tortillas imprinted with fingerprints from a mother's hand. The dogs are there too. They are below the tables, below the chairs, they are the carpet of the food court. The owner of each stall chases the dogs away with a snakelike "ssssshhhhhh". The dogs run from one vendor to the next hoping to get a little something in between.


In this world where dogs are just like those winged rats of high school, it is rare to see one taken as a pet. In one month, I have only seen one dog with a collar, and it was owned by someone from the United States. The booming business of San Francisco dog walking would belly flop here. Dogs are like parasitic amebas--something to be avoided. However, occasionally someone takes kind to a particular dog¹s pleading eyes that peek out from ragged fur. Today I witnessed such a sympathy case (I found myself wondering if this was consorting with the enemy). I went to eat lunch in a tiny one-room factory for tortillas and tamales. While I was eating the typical heavy carbohydrate lunch, a dog named Princessa came to the door to see if she too could get served. The three women working there called out this fabricated name...shooing her out, to which she would leave for 5 seconds, and then return to sit on the floor again. This went on for about 20 minutes, until one of the women broke down and gave her a chicken bone. The gracious donors explained to me that her name was Princess because she refused to eat anything but meat.


While I walk around looking at these dogs, I can't help but think of San Francisco where people will be enormous amounts of money just to have one of these for legged pets. I think entrepreneurial type of city folk should fly down here and get some of these dogs to sell in SF. Yes, these dogs may be a little scruffy, but given a bath and some TLC, they could be worth a pocket full of cash. My eyes ring like cash registers when I look at the same breeds of dogs that are proudly being paraded around the streets of san Francisco, walking free...ownerless. Perhaps the dogs know the impending threat of humans coming to highjack them... because they gather in stray dog gangs. The favorite activity seems to be a humping/biting alternation. Bite...attempt to hump...bite...attempt to hump. You get the picture.


Truly I know the dogs don't fear their capture, but rather join together out of boredom and companionship. They form their own mini army divisions, out to attack the streets, in search of trash piles to pillage and humans to bother as they attempt to eat their lunch in peace.


Tomorrow, and everyday this week, the war will be waged again. It is human versus and dog... that seagull of Xela.


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