Growing Up with Dogs
A View from the Other Side of the
Border
We woke up before the sun, those summer mornings on the farm.
There wasn’t any electricity, so once the sky turned dim in the evenings, there
was little for us kids to do in the candlelight.
While the adults talked softly into the night, my older sister
and I would try to drift off to sleep in the stifling heat. We needed no alarm
clocks; our wake-up call was that first sliver of backlit golden dust streaming
through the unscreened open window. The first sounds to reach my ears would be
the chickens—their insistent clucking in competition for the grain my
grandfather was already spreading around the yard. If I lazed in bed long
enough, I’d smell the coffee brewing on the stove and hear the swishing of the
water in the ceramic buckets my grandmother carried up from the well. Before she
came into the house, she would softly sprinkle some of the water onto the dirt
road in front of the doorstep, so the cows wouldn’t suffocate us with the dust
they churned up as they passed by on their morning parade to the river.
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Most days, however, the last thing I wanted to do was stay in
bed. I couldn’t wait to get up and go outside. The only place I really wanted to
be was among the animals. From as early as I can remember, I loved to spend
hours walking with them or just silently watching them, trying to figure out how
their wild minds worked. Whether it was a cat, a chicken, a bull, or a goat, I
wanted to know what the world looked like through the eyes of each animal—and I
wanted to understand that animal from the inside out. I never thought of them as
the same as us, but I can’t remember ever thinking animals were “less” than us,
either. I was always endlessly fascinated—and delighted—by our differences. My
mother still tells me that from the time I could reach out and touch any animal,
I could never learn enough about it.
And always, the animals that attracted me most were dogs. In
our family, having dogs around was like having water to drink. Canines were a
constant presence in my childhood, and I can’t overstate their importance to my
development in becoming the man I am today. I wouldn’t want to imagine a world
that didn’t have dogs in it. I respect dogs’ dignity as proud and miraculous
animals. I marvel at their loyalty, consistency, resiliency, and strength. I
continue to grow spiritually from studying their seamless link with Mother
Nature, despite thousands of years of living side by side with man. To say that
I “love” dogs doesn’t even come close to describing my deep feelings and
affinity for them.
I was very blessed to have had a wonderful childhood, spent
living in proximity to dogs and many other animals. Since I also grew up in
Mexico, in a very different culture from the one you have here in the United
States, I had the advantage of seeing your country and customs from a newcomer’s
perspective. Though I’m not a veterinarian, a Ph.D., or a biologist, I have
successfully rehabilitated thousands of problem dogs over the years, and it’s
both my observation and my opinion that many dogs in America are not as happy or
as stable as they could be. I’d like to offer you a more balanced, healthier way
to love your dog. A way that promises you the kind of deep connection you always
dreamed of having with a nonhuman animal. I hope after sharing with you my
experiences and my personal story of a life shaped by dogs, you may begin to
have a different perspective on the relationship we humans share with our canine
friends.
The Farm
I was born and spent most of
my earliest years in Culiacan, one of the oldest cities in Mexico, located about
643 miles from Mexico City. My most vivid childhood memories, however, are of
spending every vacation and weekend at my grandfather’s farm in Ixpalino, about
an hour away.
In the Sinaloa region of Mexico, farms like the one my
grandfather lived on operated on a kind of feudal system. The farm, or ranch,
was owned by the patrones, the richer families in
Mexico.
