Friday, January 26, 2007

AELOPEAN AESOPIAN Mexican Moral ET Tale With Fornicating And Stuff...

When Arnold Schwartzenegger ran for public office for the first time, it was often mentioned that there was a girl who had been in movies with Arnold who claimed he “groped” her in her trailer on several occasions while on a shoot, meaning, he grabbed her boobies and she let him, but her politics and his were evidently different and SO NOW it is a problem and not just back lot shenanigans. (There is a moral to this bit of human tapioca but it is not what I am trying to say, so that’s your nugget to polish if you want to.)

Arnold responded by saying he didn’t live his life as if he were going to run for public office. If he had, he may never have put those two naked girls on his shoulders and paraded around in a mini Speedo getting his picture taken.

I feel the same way.

Had I known I was to one day write in a blog, I would have taken more pictures of myself with two naked girls on my shoulders (but I would have just said “NO!” to mini light blue Speedos).

And I would have taken better pictures of other stuff too. And I would have taken better care of my negatives and not over-groped them or let them see the light of day. And when someone asked for a nice picture I took, I would have liked to have said “I’ll email you a copy,” instead of “sure, take it if you like it”, leaving me short on good photos for my blog posts.

But Arnold and I did not plan ahead. We were too busy groping for answers to deep questions and getting in touch with our feelers. As it turned out, Arnold made a few more bucks than I, but that’s OK, he had to overcome an accent and I didn’t.

This is the only photo I have of Akumal, down in the Yucutan. I worked on a house down there for several months and then was invited to come back down to vacation by an American family that had moved there and bought this place right on the beach. They came over every day to watch me work and feel sorry for me--they shouldn’t have-- which led them to put their offer on the table like a foot in a mouth.

I accepted.

The house had a Casita on the street side where help could stay, sort of a mini house all self-contained. It was empty and Cory told me I was welcome to stay there as long as I wanted, just keep an eye on their female black lab mix as she was coming into heat and they meant to have her fixed but if they could just get her through this next cycle they were sure to find a vet and get it taken care of.

Sure, I said. Okey Dokey.

I can certainly do that.

Remember Aesop? The guy who told all those nice animal stories and then in the end ended it all with a moral?

Remember-- “the moral of the story… it is better…”

Well, he forgot one.

“The moral of the story… to get a piece, sometimes you need stealth, sneakiness, and lots and lots of patience.”

So true. So true.

Akumal is a small beach community about an hour West of Cancun. It is about twenty minutes short of the Tulumn ruins along the highway heading toward Belize. You turn on a street that leads to a dive shop and beach bar and real estate office, pass through a gate which consists of a guy standing on the side of the road holding a rope in the air, and then you drive or walk down a frontage road that sits behind one row of houses to wherever it is you are staying or visiting. The road leads to a fresh water lagoon, which is fed by fresh water tubes of water called “cenotes” and on this lagoon sat the house I worked on, but that is for another day.

Today I just wanted to tell you about the 135 pound Rottweiler that liked to hump my leg everyday named “Arnold”, and about the brown and white dog in this picture, and about the black lab in heat. And oh yeah, there was the 16 pound, scrawny, mangy, pointy nosed, three legged Mexican beach dog that hid in the shadows and hopped around beneath the bushes like frightened and tormented prey. He is the moral of this story.

He’s my hero.

Several times everyday I would take the black lab out of this casita for a walk to do her business. Her condition was occurring but it had not quite occurred, if you know what I mean, and I was able to get her out, get her emptied, and keep the giant Rottweiler named Arnold and the mid-sized brown and white Spaniel cross at arms length with a long leg and a foot.

And everyday I would spot this super scrawny, super mangy three legged pointy dog off in the distance, and marvel how it was always there but never there like spending money. I tried to talk to it. “Yo Quiero Taco Bell?”

He would slink off a bit like Gollum and I would be the poorer for it for awhile

And then I would head off to go visit with the girls on the beach, or the girls who worked in the condo rental office, or the two girls who worked as dive instructors. And each time I headed out, the big Rottweiler named Arnold followed me and sniffed me, and his amorousness overcame him like a swollen gland, and he would try to hug me from behind, grappling with my behind, and I would have to fend off the sexual advances of a big, muscular dog named Arnold whose thrusting was very off-putting to say the least.

The mid-sized brown and white dog belonged to one of the girls who worked in the condo rental office. I liked the dog and the girl as they were both very gentle and obedient and happy go lucky, and the dog’s name was Pablo named after the poet Neruda.

I tell you this because after five days of fighting off the attention of Arnold and keeping Pablo from climbing through a window to express his love, Arnold and Pablo got in a fight right in front of the casita and Arnold was about to terminate Pablo with teeth clenched around a throat.

Holy Crap!

I was in shorts and flip flops breaking up a drop dead drag out dog fight, complete with death grips on gurgling throats.

I grabbed Arnold by the hind legs and pulled on him, lifting him off the ground and back and away from Pablo, who had stopped saying much. Arnold would not let go. The more I pulled, the more Pablo was dragged backwards with Arnold crunching down. I needed to hit Arnold upside the head with something to make him let go. But there was nothing immediately near.

There was, however, the casita itself. I could hit Arnold with the casita and that would make him let go. Right on the corner of it. A sharp corner of the white stucco applied swiftly to the side of Arnold’s head and he would let go of Pablo, who belonged to a very nice girl who would hate to see her dog dead. I had to act fast.

The best way to use a building as a weapon is to pick it up and swing it. You have to lean back very far and be very strong to do this. Stronger than me.

The other way is to swing the head at the side of the building. This is what I ended up doing. I had Arnold by the hind legs and lifted in the air. He had Pablo by the dying throat and was holding Pablo half way in the air as well. The only way I could think of in those brief seconds of Pablo’s life to hit Arnold upside the head with the casita was to lean back and spin.

And it worked.

Remember ever grabbing a friends’ feet on a lawn and leaning way back and spinning them around and around? They do it in ice skating and call it a death spiral or something. This was much like that. A dog death spiral. Two dogs. About two hundred pounds in all. Me in my shorts and my flip flops, all full of adrenaline and trying to save a dog for a girl. I spun. I spun and spun. Just when I thought I was about to lose the handle, I moved the spinning threesome toward the casita and smacked Arnold’s head up against the corner of it.

My theory was tested. It worked.

Pablo was released and he flew well clear of Arnold, who had yelped loudly when struck by a building on the side of his head. I put Arnold down on his back by twisting his rear legs feet upward, and yelled and screamed at him, thinking this would stop the fight in him and he would return to his loving, amorous ways.

Never underestimate the tenacity of a love struck dog named after a poet.

I mean, Holy Crap!

Pablo came lunging back into Arnold and the two were at it again. There were so many gashing things flying around I was having trouble getting close enough to grab things without getting bloodied. Arnold grabbed Pablo by the throat again and I somehow managed to get myself behind Arnold again, and the three of us were spinning once again. One, two, three, four times around and then Thwack! Arnold’s head met the building again. Pablo flew away again and I twisted Arnold’s feet up again and put him on his back.

It was déjà vu all over again.

This time I grabbed a chunk of Arnold’s skin behind his head and kept him on his back. The noise of the fight was bringing help, I could hear them coming. If Pablo would just MELLOW OUT, it would all be OK. Pablo’s owner arrived, and Pablo was put under the leash. Arnold’s owner arrived and Arnold now had a rope on him.

I had some good bleeding scratches dripping down my limbs, making me look quite heroic. A small crowd of locals had gathered, and Cory, the owner of the casita, thought eventually to ask-- “Where's my dog?”

The black lab in heat. Oh shit. And I had left the door open in my hurry to break up the fight.

Was she even in the casita?

She was. And she looked quite happy at the moment we found her.

Her and that three legged beach dog, who had waited for his moment of glory the way Sylvester Stallone waited to make his movie Rocky.

And they looked very much like this--

As AESOP would have said…

…the moral of this story is…


Hammer said...

Hehe. Can't turn your back for a minute.

Cheesy said...

... strike while the iron is HOT!


Nancy Dancehall said...

As Stucco is my witness, Pablo looks like my dog Sam.

eizmarcos said...

Great story. For some great Neruda poetry, please check out the Essential Neruda.

"What better way to celebrate the hundred years of Neruda's glorious residence on our earth than this selection of crucial works - in both languages! - by one of the greatest poets of all time. A splendid way to begin a love affair with our Pablo or, having already succumbed to his infinite charms, revisit him passionately again and again and yet again." -- Ariel Dorfman, Pulitzer-prize winner author of "Death and the Maiden"

peace to the perro pablo,
mark eisner

whimsicalnbrainpan said...