HORROR SHOW

My main feeling afterwards was a giddy disbelief I emerged unscathed.

As late afternoon fades into dusk in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, I am usually found reading in the jardin (central square). Sometimes, I meet up with my American friend, Steve, and we chat for a while before I head home. I'll usually grab something to eat on the way or get something to bring home and eat.

I rent a modest apartment in the Colonia Guadalupe section of San Miguel. It is a working class neighborhood with very few gringos.

On this particular night I stop and buy a few groceries. I'm wearing a backpack full of books and a laptop, carrying a grocery bag in one hand and a large bottled water in the other. It's about three blocks from the top of my street - Calle Juan de Dios Peza - to my apartment. Dusk is slipping into evening as I walk along, and I reflect on my sense of safety in this essentially all-Mexican neighborhood. Nevertheless, it occurs to me never to take my security for granted.

The small Catholic church on my street is lit up and the front door is open, perhaps Mass has just let out. A group of señoras swaddled in dark layers sit on folding metal chairs in the small courtyard in front of the church. Next to the church, a short ways down a side street, a group of young men cluster around a car, chatting and joking. On my right, just before the church, is a six-foot high brick wall painted white and topped with tangled barbed wire. It surrounds a lot of some sort. There's a large metal door to the lot, big enough for a car to pass through. For a brief instant as I pass by, I notice it is open.

The dog is as scary-looking as they come. It flies into the street, slink-backed, with a vicious guttural growl. It's some kind of German Shepherd mix, but the hairs on its long coarse coat stick straight out. The demonic eyes fix me with evil intent as it charges.

I try an old trick, dipping down to the pavement as if I'm grabbing a rock and then feigning throwing it at the dog. The dog stops, retreats a few steps, then charges again. Meanwhile, a large white stray, emboldened by the German Shepherd mix, is also coming at me.

I quickly repeat the same maneuver and the white stray retreats.

The first dog is back. A third stone throw ploy barely deters its charge. The dog is growling, baring its fangs, and darting at me from a foot or two away. With no doubt in my mind I'm about to be bit, I swing my plastic bag of groceries at the dog. The bag bursts apart in mid-swing and the groceries spill out onto the street. I heave my water bottle at the dog and my glasses fly off. Now frantic, I start to kick at the dog's head.

Suddenly, it's over. The dog disappears back into the lot and the large metal door closes. I don't know what has happened. Maybe the dog's owner yelled out to it and I didn't notice in the commotion, but both dogs are gone.

It's pretty much dark now, but when I look up I see there's been quite an audience. The young guys around the car have watched the whole thing, as well as the señoras in front of the church. Inside the church, about a dozen or so people, mostly women, have pushed into the center aisle and crowded the entrance to watch. Of course, my being a gringo spices it up that much more.

As calmly as I can, I begin to gather up my groceries in the darkness. One of the young men at the car comes over with a flashlight and helps me find my glasses. I thank him. He repeats several times that the dog that came at me is "loco." He says it definitely bites.

I can't stop from smiling. Part it is embarrassment, another part is the unbelievable relief that I'm okay, and the third part...is just the thrill of it all.