Everybody loves Mango!

It's getting to be that time in Merida.

The heat of the pre-rainy season months of June and July is building; the sun shines brightly every day; and mangoes ripen and fall from trees all over Merida.

Merida hosts multitudes of two-to-three-story mango trees ... all of them literally dripping with ripe fruit these days. In some cases a tree is confined to a colonial courtyard or yard, which affords the owners hundreds of tree-ripened mangoes every year, some large, some small, but all perfectly ripe by the time they fall and hit the ground with a heavy, juicy thud.

One of our neighbors has a tree that shades her driveway. She lines up the ripe mangoes that fall on her retaining wall adjacent to her driveway, so she doesn't run them over with her car. She has 30 ripe mangoes on her wall at any given time, flaunting her mango fortune to the rest of us, just out of reach behind an iron gate.

We've dubbed Calle 57, which we often take on our walks to the main Plaza,"mango alley," as it is home to two huge mango trees that overhang the sidewalk and street. We are always on the lookout for freshly dropped mangoes ... you can claim them as your own if if you are lucky enough to get to them first. But competition is stiff.

The streets below the mango trees are lined with half eaten mangoes, mango pits, and mangoes that have been squashed by traffic: tropical road kill.

The street dogs love finding a fresh mango -- they'll rip right into them and are surprisingly able to strip them pretty clean. (Which sometimes I have a hard time doing with a sharp kitchen knife and two thumbs!) Also, people -- it seems nobody can resist a fresh mango. Just the other day, about a half a block away, we saw the perfect mango that had dropped from its tree. But suddenly, out of nowhere, a little old Mayan woman in traditional dress darted around the corner and scooped it up before we got to it. She examined it for about a second, and then took a large satisfying (and quite juicy!) bite from it, skin and everything.

There is nothing better than a completely tree ripened mango. They are delicious!

"It's a dog eat dog world, and I'm wearing Milkbone underwear" -- Norm Peterson, Cheers

Hello everybody: today we have a guest blogger.  It took some doing to actually get John to write this entry, ergo last week's missed deadline. (Like every good editor I hounded him till he cried... but I think you'll enjoy hearing about his daily adventures with Fidel.)

Walking Fidel in the States is a solitary experience.

Walking Fidel in Merida, on the other hand, is an exercise in PDA – Public Display of Attention.

First, let me explain the general dog situation in Merida.

The majority of Mexicans don’t own dogs. Those who do, however, tend to have small, “yippie” dogs who rarely leave the house and spend all their time barking at every person, animal, bicycle, motorcycle, car or bus that passes their perch, which is typically at the front screened door.

The majority of dogs in Mexico are stray street dogs who fend for themselves. They are almost all scrawny, unkempt, flee-infested, mangey, pathetic, timid and jumpy. Many also have a limp, punctuating their plight. They roam the streets, solo or in small groups, eeking out a subsistence lifestyle: ducking cars, sleeping in the borrowed shade of a doorway, and scrounging for food. They mostly eat scraps found on the street or dug out of the garbage, and, in a rare case of charity, someone might throw them a bone. (Literally.) It is a rough life for Mexican street dogs, and because their lives are so difficult, their bark is much worse than their bite.  (Typically they just scamper nervously away from anybody and anything.)

But all the barking in Mexico (and there is LOTS of barking here) has brought out the Alpha-Male in our Fidelito.

In the United States, Fidel has always been a big lug of a pushover. Though he looks intimidating, he has a temperament like Santa Claus, except Fidel doesn’t even care if you’ve been naughty or nice. He is much the same way with other dogs. Big or small, old or young, mean, sweet, slobbery or hyper -- Fidel loves them all. And will play second fiddle to any of them -- even a 10-lb Yorkie.

The second we entered Mexico, however, that beta-may-care attitude that Fidel had acquired in the States went, well, to the dogs. Fidel is now is a bona fide bad ass Alpha Male. The kind of dog that you see at the dog park and think, “Who are those crazy people with that aggressive dog?” At the very sight of another dog here he starts growling, very low and very loud. If that doesn’t scare the dog away -- it does about 7 times out of 10 -- he’ll actually snarl at them. And if that doesn’t work and the dog actually approaches? Well, just watch out. Fidel has snapped at a couple dogs here, and it is very ferocious. Needless to say, he has never had any takers, fight-wise. As soon as he unleashes his fury, they quickly turn tail and run, and Fidel continues along his merry way. Dum dee dum dum. Pant pant. Sniff sniff.

But our walks, at least two times a day, every day, are interesting. The sight of a blue-eyed, blonde-haired gringo walking a pure-bred, all black, 100+ pound Labrador Retriever frequently stops locals in their tracks. Their varied reactions makes each of our walks little interactive adventures.

Here are some of my favorite moments:

AWE AND ADORATION
Upon seeing Fidel approaching, the majority of Meridians stop and stare at Fidel. Like stop in their tracks and stare at him coming and going. They also utter compliments to/at/about him, which I can easily translate now.

These compliments, mostly said in breathless, unbelieving voices all punctuated with either an exclamation point or ellipse, include: enormous, gigantic, incredible, regal, beautiful, amazing, noble, huge, pretty, gorgeous, lovely, and “the best looking dog I’ve seen in years!” It’s all pretty over the top, but Fidel, or his breed, is absolutely, unequivocally revered in Mexico. Perhaps it is simply because he has an actual breed, where as most dogs here are mutts.

(So far Fidel hasn’t let all of the random compliments go to his big block head; we try to keep him grounded at home, often mentioning how much he sheds and how we wish he would stop his incessant panting.)

SHOCK AND AWE
When approached by Fidel, some people here get extremely distressed, cowering in doorways (not their own), quickly crossing the street, turning around abruptly -- one guy even literally ran from us. Some people do whatever they can to avoid crossing his path, which is pretty funny if you know how vicious Fidel is. (He is still loves all humans.)

Just today, when walking Fidel to the grocery store, we passed a construction worker taking a mid-morning siesta. Unfortunately, he happened to wake up just as Fidel and I were passing, about three feet away. I think he might’ve soiled himself as he jumped to his feet, exclaiming, “Muerde?” (“Does he bite?”) I think we shaved a year off his life in those two minutes flat, but it kind of serves him right. Everyone knows siesta doesn’t start until after lunch.

By the way, “Does he bite?” is a pretty common question -- we get it at least four times weekly.

AGILITY COURSE MANEUVERS
When heading out the door each day, we face a variety of obstacles. On one corner, we have the four “Junk Yard Dogs,” who guard a repair shop. They are quick to snarl and bark and approach Fidel, but even four of them are are no match for Alpha-Fidel.

Another corner hosts a dog-hating, man-hating Mexican lesbian (not that there is anything wrong with that) who constantly berates Fidel about peeing anywhere within her line of sight. She’s even had the gall to tell me that nobody else’s dog pees in the streets of Merida. Needless to say, I silenced her with my question about where the hundreds of street dogs pee. (Note: arguing on a street corner is not an ideal venue for practicing one’s Spanish but it is very effective for learning curse words, compliments of our neighborhood Mexican lesbian.)

Another corner has a house with a dozen dogs in the gated garage that ERUPT every time Fidel comes within 100 yards. We try not to pass by this house on our occasional late-night walks as the barking would wake the neighborhood.

Then there are the countless buses and cars that Fidel seemingly throws himself in front of while lunging in the street for a rotting mango or empty plastic bottle. Our walks are anything but boring!

IT’S NOT YOU, IT’S ME
Perhaps one of the most peculiar aspects of having the added element of Fidel in Merida isn’t how others react to him, but how they react to me. It seems most people here just can’t fathom picking up your dog’s ‘business’ with a tiny plastic bag. And I have to admit they are right: picking up poop in a baggie is a little strange, and a lot disgusting, when you really think about it.