Devil Dog

You can feel the seasons change in Belize. An energy surges in the wind that sweeps through, smelling of sweet rain and awakening senses within that were previously hidden from the heat. For a moment, as I stand on the balcony of my home, I hear only the breeze rushing past my face and lifting my hair. Then Devil Dog begins her incessant bark.
Devil Dog is one of the many dogs on my block. She is the oddest looking dog I’ve ever seen, and the mother of what is most likely hundreds of strange looking offspring. Short and stubby, her legs move furiously underneath her podgy body as she explores her territory. For a while, whenever I road my bike past her house she would trail behind me, barking and snapping at my heels, wheezing from her longish snout. I would curse and lift my legs from the bike peddles and glide into my driveway, safely entering my own territory. Devil Dog would stand in the road looking quizzically, and rather evilly, in my direction, give one final bark and trot away. For Devil Dog and I, this became somewhat of an annoying game.
One determined day I went to the fridge and retrieved a piece of salami, walked outside and threw it in Devil Dogs direction. She leaped upon the meat, devoured it and looked back wanting more. I raised my hands and walked away. After that, Devil Dog never barked at me again. My salami peace offering must have ironed out the kinks in our relationship. This won’t change the fact that Devil Dog likes to stir shit up in the neighborhood, but at least we have our reckoning. Now, I can only shake my head as I watch Devil Dog race several times past other dogs locked behind fences, parading her freedom and sending them mad with frustration.
I have almost become used to the barking in Belize. Dylan and Anna barely recognize it anymore. It reminds me of how normal ambulance and police sirens became when I lived in Chicago. They are those things that become home, become oddly comforting. But, just as the normality of a siren wail in Chicago speaks for a larger problem, so does the bark of a Belizean dog.
There are just too many dogs here. They wander through the streets, stick thin and sickly. They become warped souls desperately looking for their next meal, so engrossed in salvaging that they seem unaware of the speeding cars that come devastatingly close. I once saw a brick of a dog bounce of the side of a car with a TUNK yelp and run away.
Most have recognized these dogs as a problem. They have visions in their heads of dogcatchers, taking all the strays away straight to a pound.
But, when they have voiced their concerns, their complaints fall upon frustrated ears.
“Dogs?!?” They say. “Dogs? You want us do to something about the dogs when we are still working on getting potable water to each citizen? Dogs! When we get more complaints ABOUT our Ombudsman than TO him? When our roads are broken and our government is corrupt. When our girls are pregnant at 15 and our boys in gangs. Dogs… when our constitution needs reworking, our people need more jobs, and we cringe at the thought of natural disaster – knowing it will rip at our economy is several ways? and you want to talk about dogs…”
That’s when a stiff finger points you toward the door.
The truth is raw. There are just too many other things to be done. Too much else to worry about, too much else to fix. So, the barking becomes ordinary and life ekes on.
When I flip open a Belizean newspaper, there is no question to the depth and girth of the country’s problems. The papers, written rather like American editorial pieces, are blunt. In the media there are two sides to each issue, which goes by the support of either the People’s United Party (PUP) or United Democratic Party (UDP). Depending on which party the paper supports, the content stories will full out bastardize their opposition. Currently the news stories are especially seething, as Said Musa, leader of PUP and current Prime Minister, gears up for elections and Dean Barrow, leader of the opposition UDP, struggles under the weight of the ugly history of his party and tries to gain steam.
While debates rage some are soothed by a Christmas ham or housing, others stand behind the hope of new fresh minds in power pulling the economy out of a rut and others wonder what difference it will make because both are corrupt.
It’s hard to organize priorities. Where do we start? I think about the puppy, dead on the road that I’ve passed several times this week. Swelling and rotting in the rain, guts halfway out and deteriorating into the road with each passing car. The overwhelming complexity of problems can swell up inside of you until you are ready to burst. You can feel them pushing up like a scream. And perhaps most frustrating is that at the point of bursting, they disperse - filling you up and then suddenly leaving you empty.
But then you can choose. You can choose to walk hollowed out and vacant or you can begin to fill the holes with determination. A favorite music artist of mine, Brother Ali, talks about facing hardships and sings about the advice someone once gave to him.
“She didn’t tell me to take it, she told me to use it”.
So, if frustrations fuel determination, I know there are many tenacious Belizeans out there.
When I was out one day I was about four blocks from the street I live on. To my left I heard the uproar of barking and howling. As I glanced at the crazed dogs jumping against a fence I caught the cause of commotion out of the corner of my eye. Devil Dog. Ears flopping and crossing the street in a zig-zag celebration dance. There she was, determined to claim her domain as far as her stub legs could manage. In a way I admire Devil Dog. Though she at the root of my barking annoyances, she is always out there with a cause of her own.