Three Types of Mexican Dogs

Starting at about 5 years old I used to ride my bike alongside my dad when he ran. I can remember vividly the first time a dog charged at us from someone's yard. My dad stood up to the dog, pointed at it and yelled in a deep voice, "No! No! Get down"...and it worked. I've stuck to his method ever since.

When I was staying with my parents in January my dad told the story of the first time he went running in Mexico. Within a few minutes he came across a dog on the street and started yelling at it. He said the dog looked at him in confusion and some old men on the corner started laughing at him. The dog had just enough energy to live, it didn't want to waste any calories chasing my dad.

I would say 90% of the dogs I've encountered here in Mexico are the way my dad described them. A perfect example would be the skinny looking dog in the bottom picture. I saw her this morning on a bike ride. She was soaking the sun into her cold bones after a chilly night. These guys don't even budge when I go by.

Another 5% of the dogs are represented by the two dogs in the middle picture who are literally scratching their fur off. These guys have a serious flea problem and seem to be generally irritated. I go out of my way to avoid these dogs.

The last 5% are represented by the two dogs in the top picture who are wrestling eachother. They are big enough to do some damage and well fed enough that they have the energy to start some trouble. In case you can't tell I took this picture from the opposite side of the street. There is a farm dog on my running route that confronts me a couple of times a week. I knew right away that he was a fighter by the battle scar across his back. He waits on the side of the road and as I get closer he starts to flex his shoulders and flash his teeth. When I get within a couple of feet he tears after me and barks like hell. In these situations I implement my dad's method. When I yell in a deep voice, my words aren't censored for a 5 year old. In fact, when I was on my cross country bike ride, I wrote a post about dog encounters entitled "Down Mothertrucker...Down!". I can tell you my language has gotten worse since then. Other than my language, my dad must have taught me well, because that dog backs down everytime...or maybe I'm not worth chasing more than 10 feet.