I returned to site the other day, exhausted and crashed early. A thunderstorm shaking the house woke me a little after midnight – peeking outside I saw the sky lighting up, pulsing over and over again in a spider’s web of electricity. The light show in the pitch blackness of the blackout was eerie and at the same time amazing, but the rain we so desperately need never arrived. The 5:45 alarm was asking to be snoozed more then just about any other day that week. I almost got an hour out of it. And the came the pounding. Nothing pops you out of bed in the combined silence of the Paraguayan campo and a power outage, like a 75 year-old man banging on the flimsy tongue and groove front door of the house you’re trying to hibernate in.

This wake up technique is nothing new. Although it had taken what hoped was a permanent leave   about 3 months ago. Seems as though it’s back, along with the warm weather. Two minutes into conversation through sleep-crusted eyes and matted hair I find out what I missed the day before. , my neighbors dog, who might as well have been mine for the amount of time he spent in my yard waiting for leftovers gone bad, died. A snake bit to the head – nothing could be done. The news was imparted with a calm almost as eerie as the silent light storm the night before. I don’t even recall a forced frown after the simple, “Baron omono.”
Dog culture – there’s gotta be essays and thesis’ mountains tall written on this stuff – but I’d never really considered it that much before, other then to realize that there’s definitely some kooks in the US who take it a little far. Dogs here though won’t ever find themselves on a shrink’s sofa or even in an obedience class – let alone catching frisbees at the dog beach. They are, nothing more then security device. A living extension of the cattle fence, meant as much to keep out stumbling drunks in the dark as calves in the day. They are there to chase away other dogs when the señoras go to the fields to harvest mandioca – and for the second time now since I’ve been here, it would seem they’re there to take bites that could have easily been meant for their masters. They’re not petted, they’re more often then not underfeed, and rarely, if ever cleaned. Something tells me though that this one will at least be missed.