Chile: Story of the Dog and the Nighttime (Day 9)

Here in Chile, there are un-claimed dogs all over towns, outside shops, in the street. Mid-size mutts, Golden retrievers with essentially dreadlocks, mail-box sized black dogs. They’re all quiet and sleep on sidewalk corners. Squares of cardboard with a pile of kibbles can be found on sidewalks. These dogs might sniff the bike and give you a polite inquisitive look asking if you might share your sandwich. I’ve never heard one bark. 

I am not a dog person (however, a few specific dogs I do like, looking at Charlie, Sara; RIP Wolfie). I have been chased, snarled at, and bitten on the bike. Their barking pains my ears and makes me feel anxious and mad. But I don’t mind the street dogs and one was cute enough to me I even gave it one of my cookies. 

But as soon as a dog has a person — they get barky and territorial. In rural areas, the dogs inside fences bark at us like they’re on fire. Only occasionally has one run into the road at us, and we yell it down; thankfully we haven’t been attacked yet. On a bike you are very vulnerable. 

We stayed one night at an “eco tiny house” (so-called on booking.com), in a rural area. The house had an adobo-artsy feel to it, with colored glass wine bottles as light portals, giant windows with house plants, and a wall painting that was built into the house. It was set behind another larger beautiful house, where the owner lived. Her lively black dog came to meet us as we pushed our bikes into the property. An orange and white cat regarded us from a distance. 

That evening Bike Buddy Jen and I made a lovely dinner inside. Eggs, which had implausibly arrived safely in nothing more than a plastic bag inside Jen’s pannier, a basil plant from a vegetable vendor in town (complete with roots), and tomato salad with more basil (I had saved a minuscule packet of olive oil from the flight’s airline meal and THIS was the perfect opportunity), all served with a side of basil. It was a large plant. 

After dinner we stepped outside to get our last items off the bikes, and found both cat and dog waiting for us on the stoop. How nice to have a little visit. While I fixed a flat tire, the cat rubbed against my back and purred roaringly for head scratches. The dog snuffled my tire levers unhelpfully. 

Later, after dark, I went outside again to look at the BRILLIANT stars. Orion was just standing there, with so many more buttons and adornments than ever. And the cat and dog were still there. 

The big house was completely dark. Jen figured these animals had decided we must be Their People now. 

Bedtime. After a long biking day. Sleep can come in 20 seconds and it’s so delicious when you’re exhausted. Just as I was falling into the abyss, BARK BARK. Oh no. I took my ear plugs and rolled them into torpedos. That should help. BARK BARK. Ouch. It was like he was barking inside the room somehow. I reinserted the earplugs and pushed them fully into the temporal lobes of my brain. 

BARK BARK BARK. Come on, it’s 11:20pm. I was so tired, and so near sleep, and every time he barked it was like jerking your head after falling asleep in the 2pm conference talk.  

Then I remembered something our vet had suggested for our cat for calming during carrier transport. “You can give dogs Benadryl, right?” I asked Jen. “…you can”, she said. 

I extracted myself from bed, padded to the kitchen, took a thumb’s worth from our sizable bike cheese, and got a Benadryl from my tiny “health” bag. Opened the front door. Everybody was still outside. “Hey you, want a treat?” Nom! 

I went back to bed immensely pleased with myself. 

10 minutes later: BARK. Bark bark bark. Why did these people leave their dog out in the world to disturb their guests?! 

I got up again, cheese, health bag, opened door. “Another treat?” I made this second dose a Double. Nom nom! 

And then: quiet. I had only a pinch of guilt drifting off to sleep. In the morning, though, bark bark! All is well.