Another instance where a xenophobic Colombian animal chased us for no reason other than the fact that we were three amigas having a good time.
This time, it wasn’t a (possibly) venomous snake, but a rabid hound hot on our heels.
To reach the 650-step climb to Guatapé, you can either take a bus or a dirt path shortcut up the side of the hill. We could see a group of people ahead on the trail and it didn’t look too far, so we set off behind them. About midway up a dog had appeared by the group, aggressively barking next to a fence with the letters “PROPIEDAD PRIVADA” crudely painted on a wooden sign, denoting the land beyond the rickety wire as private.
By the time the last member of the group walked by, it was standing right next to the path. Incensed by all these pedestrians who had just passed, it turned its attention to us, conveniently just a few metres away. I was at the front, in the firing line, P in the middle, N at the back. It came so close I could practically see the last human it had eaten still in its teeth. (This last point may or may not be an exaggeration).
I’m wary of rambling on… essentially we escaped unharmed, climbed to the top of the rock, admired the view, climbed down, momentarily debated taking the bus, decided to tempt fate… which turned out to be a bad choice. (See pic for view)
N led the way this time, with me in the middle and P bringing up the rear. We cautiously descended, taking care not to slip down the steep incline on the loose rocks and sandy gravel. We reached the point where the dog had lunged at me on the way up. Silence. No sign of the beast. Relaxing, we continued on our way and started talking about something that made us all laugh.
From what sounded like a mile away, we heard the faint, familiar bark. A little unnerved, we started walking a little faster but continued with our conversation. The manic barking became louder until within 30 seconds, the dog had appeared on the path behind us. Recognising us as the ones who had gotten away, there was no stopping it this time. It had had a couple of hours to go away and mull over its terror strategy. Bow-legged, evil yellow eyes and drooling (these are not exaggerations), it hounded us down the path. N asked if we should run, P said it was best not to, I agreed. N tripped as the ground was crumbling under our feet. The dog snapped at P’s legs and she swung at it with her empty plastic bottle, which didn’t really deter it at all. At this point, we all made the collective decision to make a dash for it, trying not to break our ankles. We managed to get away, with a bleeding gash on P’s leg the only evidence of our woes.
Once we were in a safe place at the beginning of the trail, we decided to hang around to see if anybody else would also have the same encounter. Kind Samaritans or sadists? Never mind.
The first walker who passed by was a nice older lady travelling alone. We all glanced at each other, wondering if we should warn her about the dog or whether that would cause unnecessary drama. In the end we did mention it and she said thanks, that she would be ok. We held our breaths as she disappeared round the corner and out of view.
No crazed baying. No snarling. No sound at all.
Sure enough, as we had suspected, and as a couple more groups came down the path, the dog didn’t appear again. Was it because we were young? Was it because we were women? Was it because N and I are Asian? Was it because N was wearing all-black? Was it because we were laughing and having fun? Was it because we looked like members of a rival cartel? Was it because we smell delicious? So many questions that day, so many unanswered. Pablo Escobar’s mansion is only down the road after all, so who knows what criminal organisations this mutant mutt could have been in.
What makes the story so much more tragic is how much we all love animals collectively. I was a devoted subscriber to BorrowMyDoggy (for those of you not in the UK, it’s a service that lets you, um… borrow doggies, for a little fee every year. Yes, my friends did point out that people usually get paid to walk other people’s dogs, not vice versa, but it’s important to do what makes you happy). P owns five dogs and lives on a farm. Two cats who refuse to eat anything less than wild Alaskan gourmet salmon chunks for felines, at about £5 a pop, own N. N has also probably visited every animal cafe on this planet.
With that context, don’t you think what happened to us was unfair?? Oh AND it was my birthday.
Karma’s a bitch? No, karma’s an unpredictable inbred male dog on ‘roids.
[P.S. If you’re actually planning on going I hope I haven’t put you off too much. It’s definitely worth the climb, maybe even a nipped ankle at a stretch. I found a blog post with some handy tips here]
