Zocalo Dogs - Episode 3

by G.A. Purcell

Porfirio woke from hazy dreams of his mother and littermates to find the small farm was beginning to come to life. “You are special, little one,” he remembered the woman whispering just before he awoke. He did not know who she was, but she was a regular visitor to his dreams.

He had no real recollection of how exactly he had come to this place. He didn’t even know his own age. What he did know, though, was that the family treated him as well as their modest means allowed, the breezes and the shade of the porch kept him cool in the hot summer months, and the couple’s daughter delighted in watching Porfirio and his brothers wrestle across the fields. For a dog’s life, his cup was filled.

From what he could surmise from his fellow denizens of the farm and their stages of life, he was probably one year old. And despite not having much context for what this status meant, Porfirio was nonetheless confident that he—above his other littermates—was the able creature entrusted with the task of protecting his home and his family. This he did with great pride. And so upon awakening each day, he took to walking the perimeter of the property, taking note of any incursions that might have occurred overnight. Then satisfied that he had executed this duty thoroughly, he turned his attention closer to the house, to the pens where the goats resided. One nanny in particular was always fascinated by him. But a year old herself, she marveled at his many liberties and so beckoning him over, they engaged in their familiar greeting ritual.

“Why are you allowed free rein of the farm while we are brought back to this pen every evening?” she inquired.

“I have been assigned the very important task of ensuring that our family and this property are secure. This includes you, for there are many predators about who might cause you harm. It is a task and solemn oath I take very seriously.”

“Hmmm,” pondered the nanny. “And these duties you mention: who assigned them to you?”

The canine thought for a long moment on this point. Surely his master had held a ceremony during which this mantle was passed, he thought, but remembering none, gave a slight huff and left the goat pen. For as long as he could recall he had made his daily rounds, proud of his service and aimed to continue to do so in perpetuity. After all, I’m special. That’s what the woman always says, he thought, and thus shaking off any further self-doubt, he continued on his way back to the house. This was, after all, a special day. For every week since he could recall being on the farm, on this day his master would call for him, and they would make their regular journey to the city. And it was the ride that was so perfect, affording Porfirio the time to delight in the familiar sounds and scents of the countryside. This was his reward for his dutiful service, he thought. Un regalo especial.

Jose finished his breakfast and prepared for the day. The weekly trip into Oaxaca from his family’s home outside of Ixtlan provided respite from the drudgery of tending to the crops and the chance to see his favorite cousin and her husband. And while Jose and his family lived a simple life on their farm, he was not unaware of the political currents both in the city and points south.  He himself took no position on these matters…after all, he was but a farmer. For as far as he knew, the political winds as of late had been quiet and even if there had been any problems, they would have occurred far to the south of Ixtlan, where the Zapatista movement had its base of political support.

He let loose a slight groan as he lifted his bones from his breakfast chair and preparing to depart, he crossed the porch to give his wife a peck on the cheek. She was busy doing their weekly laundry and accompanied Jose on these trips only for special occasions. He wiped his brow as he surveyed their modest homestead and was just about to call for his canine friend when he glimpsed the dog trotting an eager path toward the truck.

“My friend, I believe that you must be the most perceptive creature on the farm!” he said with a laugh as Porforio waited patiently for him to lower the tailgate.

Jose scratched between the dog’s ears and then watched as his companion bounded into the bed of the truck. With a wave to his bride, he opened the cab door and set the aging pickup on its path to the city. After all these years, the pickup seemed to drive itself, allowing his mind to wander as he thought of all the tasks needed on the farm. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw his friend gleefully move his head to the side of the cab to let the breeze flow through his jowls and send his ears flapping like flags at attention.

In this moment of reverie, Jose almost failed to notice the roadblock ahead. Instinctively slamming on the brakes, he felt a thud behind him as the canine was thrown forward in the cab. Just ahead behind a series of barricades stood a mass of soldiers, their hands lightly gripping their rifles. And just as Porfirio, still dazed, raised his head to peek over the bed of the truck, he saw several soldiers approach and grip his master by the shoulders, removing him from the cab.

Still dazed and unsure of what was happening, he searched for his master’s face seeking guidance on what to do, but saw only his back as he was dragged away and bundled into a nearby van. Porfirio’s instinct was to race home, but fearing this path might also be blocked, he reconsidered. His nose still keen, though, and smelling the scents of the city streets in the air, he knew he was not far from the city and his master’s cousin. As the van drove off, Porfirio leapt from the truck and quickly headed for the tree line. Stealthily making his way around the small trees, he was suddenly betrayed by a flight of birds he’d disturbed and one of the guards, startled, fired a shot from his rifle with a sound that sent Porfirio’s heart racing. Immediately recalling both the path home and the path to the city, he opted for the latter and raced for what seemed like an eternity until, tongue wagging and lungs pounding, he finally happened upon a wet arroyo and greedily quenched his parched mouth. Soon his tiredness overcame him, and he took a respite under a nearby shrub. 

Sleep came quickly but not soundly. Images of the day flashed across his dreams as he nervously pawed at the earth beneath him. It was all so beautiful—his morning of guard duty and keeping the goats in check, all culminating with the exhilarating drive in the truck as the wind ran over his ears. Then this. And his master, his poor master—would he ever return to the farm? These humans, even his canine friends, weighed heavily on him. When would he again take his place as the attender of the family’s homestead? Cabrita would not know her way in the goat pen without his watchful presence. It was all too much to bear. But then a sense of peace came over him. Again, the woman returned. She was seated next to him in a beautiful green field. As he began to rouse from his slumber, the dream became cloudy but again, just as he awoke, he heard the words, “Do not fear little one. Remember, you are special. You have a journey that only you can complete.”