damn dogs!

I’ve never been afraid of dogs. And after 4 months of being a surrogate parent to to a little rascal with a big bark (and jump) but no bite, I tend to just roll my eyes at dogs who seem unfriendly. Of course maybe I should have felt differently about Bolivian dogs. They tend to roam in large packs. Gravity Pete said he once counted 18 in a pack somewhere in El Alto.

peruvian dogs apparently like me more (pic from 2006)

I went to Alé’s today to try to get some writing done in a quiet place. Unfortunately some pack of dogs outside kept barking and the quiet I was looking for wasn’t to be found. Alé was heading out to meet his parents in El Alto, but told me to stay as long as I wanted. Around 4 I decided to head back to El Centro and gathered up my stuff. Alé had been adamant about making sure I closed the outside gate (after apparently some night last week when no one closed it), so I double checked and then headed down the alley to Calle 14. And then I saw the pack of 7 dogs that had been making all the racket. They ran at me so I yelled at them. A few nipped at me so I kicked them. And then I felt one pierce my skin. I just kept walking and yelling and they backed off, but once I rounded the corner I pulled up my pant leg and found a big bloody gash. 

Ah the sting of freshly sliced flesh. 

I cleaned it with alcohol and a swab and am going to a doctor tomorrow. But in the end, I'm excited at the possibility of it scarring. There's something about the ways that experiences make marks upon the body that I love. As if they remind you that this body is really yours. That you have lived together and been through shit and though maybe you don't always get along perfectly, you love and appreciate each other. And I can't wait to someday tell some relative of a younger generation how I got that semi-circular mark, the size of half a dime, just below my knee on the outside of my right leg, that fateful day while doing fieldwork in Bolivia.