Just after the last school year I was admitted to the Physician’s Hospital in El Paso and underwent surgery, a total knee replacement. They kept me two days in the hospital and four days in Highland Rehab Center. I was sent home to deal with my pain and the healing process, and a therapist from Pecos was assigned to help me walk again. Part of my therapy required I walk at least one mile a day. Usually I walked all around the fence line encircling the baseball field, a distance of maybe a mile and a half. I walked slowly and deliberately, always looking down to avoid stepping on little pebbles that might cause my ankle to turn and hurt my knee. During one of my many journeys, Tony Velázquez’s dog decided to accompany me. He became a constant companion after that. I sensed he was not sure about the old man he was keeping company with, and I sometimes wondered if he wanted to be friends. However, I was afraid if I got friendly with him, he might jump and cause me a little pain, so I remained quiet and just allowed him to follow along, maybe ten, fifteen feet behind.

One day something out of the ordinary happened. I was well into my walk, keeping my eyes glued to the ground to avoid problems. I was directly behind the bleachers, very much aware that the dog was trailing behind. Somehow my peripheral view caught a glimpse of a dark shadow off to the right and ahead of me. Instantly I looked up and bam, right smack in front of me were eight javalinas. Three of them had babies, and at once my mind transported me back to the days when I had lived in Presidio. I had known the game warden there, and one day while talking to him he showed me what angry javalinas do to vehicles. I had my gaze fixed on the shiny fangs the javalinas exhibited and promptly froze. I was cruelly tormented by a particularly vivid imagination. I pictured the javalinas fangs biting through my arm, another chewing through one of my legs. I visualized one of them sticking his fangs up my…well, let’s not go there. Worse still, I could picture myself inside a cheap coffin, the only kind teachers can afford. My mind was informing me of something I instinctively knew - I couldn’t run! The only weapon I had to defend myself with was my cane, and the dog, of course. I could hear the little baby javalinas chismeando, “I smell an old mezkin, mom.”

“I know, dear. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

Another little javalina squealed, “I smell a mezkin danger dog, mom. He’s going to bite my ear.” The little runt in the bunch must have been bilingual. It sounded out, “Hay mami, he’s coming near and he’s going to bite my ankle.”

“Nonsense,” replied the mom, “can’t you see they’re just standing there?”

The last one swinishly grunted, “He’s going to bite our bottom.” I turned and glanced at my only hope, the dog that was supposed to save me. I was totally flabbergasted when I saw him sitting, seemingly delighted in observing the javalinas. He made no attempt at barking, nor did he demonstrate any sign of hostility; he seemed content at waiting to see what I would do next. I tried not to even breathe until the javalinas wandered off into the monte. I sheepishly turned back and went home, the danger dog right behind me, of course. I haven’t made up my mind whether we were either cowards, or just plain smart.