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July 5, 2011

So I will start this post, that if you consider yourself a dog lover, you might want to take a deep breath before reading on.
If you aren’t a dog lover, well, I have a surprise for you that you probably are by Nicaraguan standards.

The background of this little anecdote is simple, my family’s dog El Peluche is small (calf high) and hairy (my best translation his name is basically Fuzzball).
He’s the man. However two really big ass dogs (almost waist high) meander around our patio in the back and like to jump over the little wall we have,
at first they would fight with El Peluche, but then we started feeding them (so they wouldn’t eat El Peluche) and wandering in the streets. We always
get them out of our little backyard area by throwing water or a light smack with a stick or quick kick. However, even though they don’t fight, we still try and get them
out of the house just so they don’t get comfortable or anything. It took me awhile to get used to the kicking, but I have, water usually works better anyway so
I hadn’t been forced to do it that much but I am comfortable with a kick if necessary. Also, now that they don’t fight, El Peluche just sort of chills with them until my brother
or I, or anyone in the family start yelling and throwing water, which allows El Peluche to be super brave and fierce and he barks until they leave and then trots around
like he is the man. So last night was pretty routine, the dogs come over, they are in the house, we have to get them back. I’m getting the bigger meaner older one, El Bobby, out
and my brother is waiting in our sort of backyard area getting the other out and just making sure they leave. El Peluche is being super tough, barking at them and
trotting alongside while my brother and I herd them along. I don’t remember what El Peluche did, probably nipped and got too much or something, but whatever it was
El Bobby (probably 3 times the size of El Peluche mind you) did not appreciate it, and next thing you know we have El Bobby’s jaws locked at El Peluche’s neck, lots of barking, and movement.
Pretty much any dog fight you’ve seen in the streets, but incredibly mismatched. Now by Nicraguan standards, El Peluche is treated like a king, he has a very American role of what a dog is to
a family. My brother likes El Peluche. I like El Peluche. Both of us don’t really mind El Bobby, but El Peluche is about to have his throat ripped out. So we both grab brooms and start to beat the living shit out of El Bobby. Now when I say that, think of it like a pinata, but instead of someone pulling on the string, its a dog fighting another dog, so we’re both trying not to hit El Peluche, but a swinging as hard as we can to get this dog off of our El Peluche. I get about 4 or 5 smacks in, and then I literally break my broom across El Bobby’s back. El Bobby starts to move closer to the wall, but then they start fighting again, so my brother keeps hitting El Bobby maybe 5 or 6 times before he breaks his broom and then El Bobby pretty much belly flops over the wall. El Peluche is a little frazzled to say the least, he is limping, and so I pour water on him to wash him off. My brother says that El Bobby has a broken leg. After a few minutes, El Peluche has blood coming from his right eye. His eye is fine, but it is as though he’s crying blood or some shit. El Peluche doesn’t drink water for maybe another ten minutes, and basically just goes limping between all the people around him not knowing what to do. I am petting him when he is in reach, and my mom and grandmother are talking to El Peluche saying that’s what you get for messing with El Bobby, you should listen to us when we tell you to get inside. His breathing is pretty raspy from just having big ass dog jaws trying to find his jugular, and my brother isn’t sure if El Peluche is going to live out the night, and we are also having difficulty deciding where he should sleep (he normally sleeps outside) in case the hounds come back to finish him off. So fast forward to today, El Peluche is fine, a little sore, but he seems pretty ok, the blood has crusted up and looks nasty. I haven’t seen El Bobby yet so I don’t know if his leg is really broken or not, and I’m not sure if I would care if it was. A couple things I’ve thought about during this time.

I am pretty surprised at how easy it is to break a broom handle.

I am more surprised how quickly I shed a nonviolent animal lover type personna to protect El Peluche, I mean, I’d rather not do it again, but there are a couple things I’ve thought about,

El Bobby could have had rabies. Not likely, but if my brother is going to worry about that, I’ll worry about it too.

Dogs can kill people/ really really mess them up. It happens, people forget about that unless they see a pitbull, but big dogs can take care of themselves and you…

Sometimes it is you against them, if I have to pick between the life of El Peluche and El Bobby, it would be El Peluche without question, yes that is probably a shitty way of looking at it
but you know, life is shitty sometimes and if someone is going to hurt someone you care about and you can stop it, why wouldn’t you? The intent was not to hurt El Bobby, but to protect El Peluche.
Nonviolence intrigues me on a lot of levels, personally, socially, intellectually but so does pragmatism, and I’m not going to let my decision to be nonviolent end up allowing other people or doggies to get hurt.
(Please note this a thought, not necessarily a dogma though maybe my actions back up my thinking? who knows…)

Moral of the Story: Adrenaline breaks broom handles, and El Peluche is a dumbass and will probably still go causing trouble because he got backed up big time (hopefully not though)

I can’t upload pictures for some reason or another, but here is a link of a foto of El Peluche on my Facebook from my Immersion trip last spring, he hasn’t grown at all.!/photo.php?fbid=367756551303&set=a.363079051303.153294.571656303&type=1&theater

Funnily enough this only ties as shocking animal lover experiences with the time my bus in Mexico ran over a dog,

until next time,



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