But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m not out of the woods yet (or in this case the mountains) and just to make that point abundantly clear, Saturday was a whole new adventure! Jeff, Dan, Jeff’s friend Mike Jones (who was in town visiting) and I were invited to go on a little trip into the mountains by Juansito, one of the groundskeepers at the school. We got an early bus out, and Dan had them stop to drop us off at the beginning of a red dirt road in what I can only describe as the middle of nowhere. Surrounding us was a sweeping landscape of green fields and copses, nestled up against the foothills of the mountains. We were met by Juansito, who lead us to his house to pick up the “tools” needed for our little excursion.
By “tools” I mean three, rather loud, dogs. Why did we need dogs you ask? Well you always need dogs…when you’re going armadillo hunting! That’s right, I was off to catch me a varmit fr dinner. I was told they taste quite good if you cook them right. But alas this was not to be. Due to all the rain we have had lately the dogs were unable to pick up the armadillo’s trail, so we only found two holes. Armadillos, you see, are nocturnal. To catch one the easiest thing to do is track down its burrow during the day and dig it out. But the little shelled rodents seemed to have known we were coming, and chosen to sleep somewhere else that day.
This left us traipsing around the Honduran countryside for the better half of the day, during which we all got thoroughly drenched in sweat (it looked like I had just climbed out of the river) and with a wicked sunburn (did I just say “wicked”? Oh goodness I’m starting to talk like Maki. She’s from Boston you know. Next thing you know I’ll be throwing teabags into the ocean *grumble grumble tea party grumble how uncivilized…*)
Anyway, the adventure wasn’t a total loss. The views alone were worth the hike, and there were plenty of other things to see. We learned about these massive trees called “ceiba” (pronounced say-buh) which have these large, cotton-filled pods. You can use the cotton to clean cuts if you don’t have a first aid kit handy. We also spent some time resting under another wonderful tree, the mango! I tell you nothing beats fresh mango strait off the tree. Just throw a large stick up or shake a branch and it practically rains mangos. We all produced knives (it’s as if we were expecting to have to skin something) and nommed away to our heart’s content.
Things were interrupted when the hunting dogs, frustrated by the lack of armadillo, decided to harass a calf which was drinking on just the other side of a barbed wire fence. The calf ran for it…strait through the fence. Unfortunately for us, it turned out that the calf’s mother was on our side of the fence, and was none too pleased with the canines we had brought into her pasture. There was a tense moment as we all eyed the rater pointy horns on the cow’s head, before the dogs finally came to their senses and backed off.
Later the hounds continued to display their stupidity by jumping into a wide stream, which they could then not get out of. If they had just swam five feet to their right they would have been able to get onto the bank, but they insisted on trying to climb up the muddy slope they had just jumped off from. In the end one of the Hondurans had to drag the dog out by the scruff of the neck.
A funny thing about living in Honduras, it has not endeared dogs to me. Before, I would have been worried for the poor pup, however much the predicament may have been its own fault. But between the morning runs, the turf wars, and the cow incident, I find my disposition towards the canine breed slipping. I find them to be, not so much “man’s best friend” as “man’s meat-headed coworker who is often more trouble than he is worth.” I guess I need to return to the States soon and meet some less aggressive canines.
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