Tread lightly, but carry a big stick.

It was a good night to own a guitar. Holding it by the neck, thrusting it around violently. At first there was just one, and then the pack joined in. When I saw Princessa I knew it was time to start swinging.

Every couple nights, when the town loses electricity, that´s when its the worst. That´s when the town streets are pitch black. That´s when dogs rule Todos Santos. I´d seen her eyeing me when I walked to my friend´s house at dusk. Princessa was peering from around the corner of her house, patiently waiting for the sun to set.

I knew she´d be there when I walked home. There was a big pile of rocks by the doorway reminents of a construction project, and as I left the comfort of my friend´s house and stepped out into the blackness I fumbled around to pick up 5 or 6, more than enough, I was sure.

I´d had discussions, near arguments. Everyone had their opinion. I opted for the aggressive approach. I´d seen the way locals handled the dogs: they threw rocks and lashed out with sticks picked up from the ground. And the dogs respected that: they ran.
I was sick of being afraid. They´d chased me too many times, and tonight would be different. Tonight I was going to make them run. And that´s where I made my mistake. I knew how the packs reacted during the days and during the nights when there was electricity and the street lights were working. It never occurred to me these animals might feed off the dark when the power goes out.

I left the house running, stones in my right hand and more in my pockets, guitar under my left arm, flipflops smacking the asphault with each stride uphill. Fuck em. They were going down. I saw the black one that hangs out near the house on the left, and started sprinting straight towards it, rock in hand and ready to rumble. As I got close it skirted away barking, alerting the others.

It felt good to be the attacker for once, but the battle had just begun. A tan colored dog came at me from the school driveway on the right, a little more aggressive than the last, barking and baring its teeth. A small mut quickly followed. The first dog saw that reinforcements had come, and ran back to join. I was scared, but doing ok. Throwing rocks and pretending to lunge at them as they began to circle around me.

And thats when she came. Her full teeth showing like a wolf, head tucked down, and those eyes just staring: Princessa.

I´d heard stories. She´d bitten more than 20 tourists over the past 4 years. One was lucky enough to have pepper spray on them and got her right in the eyes. She ran away wimpering but never forgot. Everytime that tourist walked by she´d stare pure evil.

The rocks had no effect and my shitty aim didn´t help. I ran out of stones just as Princessa joined the group, now 4 dogs, each trying to get a piece of me. I started swinging my guitar, trying to back off at the same time. But flipflops aren´t good battle shoes. I tripped, stubbed my toe, and the shoe fell off my foot. I tried to put get it back on, but the dogs were gaining ground and I couldn´t see the flipflop in the pitchblack street.

I heard more dogs barking in the distance, and knew that more might be on the way. Now or never. I made a lunging swing with my Goya guitar, my right foot anxiously searching the ground for my shoe. I found it, slipped it on, and took off running with the pack behind.

By some act of god, they gave up the chase after 30 feet or so, I guess I´d left their turf and that´s what they´d wanted. I stumbled home through the dark streets, grateful that all I´d received was a badly-stubbed toe, full of adrenaline, feeling defeated.