Sombra & The Federales
As our dear Golden Retriever, Mi Sombra, was spending most of her formative years in Baja, we found it prudent that she learn her commands in English and in Spanish. This was never more evident than the time our landlord had to scare her off with birdshot when she wouldn't obey his command of " Cuestate!"
We pulled out the Spanish/English dictionary and began her lessons immediately. Of course as mere humans, our grasp of the language took a bit longer. Sombra had to work as our ambassador on a couple of occasions.
Springtime in Baja is a glorious metamorphosis - the brown and beige landscape comes alive after the winter rains, scrub grass and barren dirt give way to wild grasses and flowering succulents. Cacti produce fragile blossoms amid thorns. By May, the freshness is off the first bloom, only a memory of color remains as grasses begin to fade from vibrant green to tired yellow, and the flowering desert becomes just a desert once more.
It was in May that we decided to go exploring. A dirt road beckoned to us, winding off the highway. A sign suggesting a pueblo at the end of the road just made it that much more tantalizing.
It was wide and fairly well graded and began by meandering through a meadow. Our going was slow at first as livestock; fat from eating spring grasses crossed the road at irregular intervals. We crested a small hill and gazed down into the prettiest little valley. A large barn stood at one end, its weathered boards looking more like New England than Baja. A stream ran through the center of the valley, shaded by ancient live oaks, and at the far end of the valley there looked to be a small pueblo built up on the valley wall.
As we worked our way down the hill Dick mentioned that there was a man with a gun near the barn.
"I think we'd better turn around" he said as he suddenly pulled a U-turn, scattering dust and rocks in his wake.
We began retracing our trail. As we took the first hard bend in the road back up the hill we were confronted with what seemed to me at the time, a militia of Federales, all toting some kind of machine gun and wearing frowns. We were ordered from the truck. This we knew, not so much from the words used, but the highly effective use of the guns as pointing devices. They tried to ask us questions, but at that point the dog knew more Spanish than we did, and we just had to step back and helplessly watch as our truck was thoroughly and methodically searched.
Sombra, still just a puppy, but highly intuitive, sensed our distress and began her "puppy prance", the playful jumping up and barking that we knew was friendly, but we suspected our captors would find threatening. Dick was understandably preoccupied with the dismantling of his dashboard. Sombra was my responsibility.
I ordered her " Sientate!" and she immediately sat down at my feet.
The captain looked up from inside our car where he had just taken the speaker out of the dash, " Your dog, he know Spanish?" he asked.
I nodded and as he got out of our truck and looked at her quizzically, I had her go through her motions. The captain seemed impressed.
"Your dog know Spanish. But you, no?" He shook his head while asking the question, as if he was thinking "These crazy gringos"
"I go to school now." I said apologetically. " Escuela." I added lamely.
"This is good." He pronounced. The atmosphere, which was thicker than the noses of the guns pointed at us, seemed to lighten just a bit. The captain again tried to question us, this time in English. But truly our attempts to communicate were frustrating, the idea of a Sunday drive and exploring dirt roads "because they're there", in answer to his repeated question of why we were there, just couldn't be translated. We resorted to petting the dog and putting her through the hoops again as the soldiers continued their search of our truck. Finally, with nothing found, our truck was put back together and we were sent on our way, back to the main road.
Once back in the states, our curiosity over the search got the better of us. Dick made a few inquiries at the consulate in San Diego, and called in a few favors from business associates in Tijuana to find out why the heavy military activity in a sleepy little pueblo. As it turned out we had stumbled on to the site of a major drug smuggling operation where just days before there had been a dramatic bust with a shoot out that left dead and wounded on both sides of the drug wars. No wonder the repeated questions about why we were there!
**Part 1: " Las Adventuras de mi Sombra."**Part 3: - Sombra in the Tijuana Jail**
