A Fair Fight
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Gringos in Mexico do well to take whatever odd jobs they can find, last year I had a cement gig for a week with my friend Tomàs, and at his house is a large pit bull belonging to Tomàs Jr. Really mean son of a bitch, a thousand times meaner than any American pit bull; this is a Méxicano pit bull and, dear reader, don’t even get close.
There are lots of roosters and chickens running around everywhere in Mexico, so many one might assume them a wild species, and, well, chickens and roosters and pit bulls go together like cement shoes on a hang-glider – works out badly for the birds every time. Roosters are also incredibly valuable in Mexico, they fight them every Saturday night, often gambling immense sums. It’s not uncommon for a rooster that won a fight, convincingly, to fetch to fetch upwards of ten thousand dollars U.S.
So we’re mixing cement one morning and this neighbor comes running up yelling, “Your dog killed my rooster! Your dog killed my rooster!” and then all the women came running up yelling and crying, all converging on Tomàs, Tomàs Jr. and Tomàs Jr.’s dog, whose name is “Puto,” roughly the equivalent of calling the biggest, meanest 300 lb. biker in the bar “Tiny.”
(Incidentally, nothing was to be seen of Puto the entire time this altercation was unfolding, curled up so tight in his doghouse I didn’t even glimpse his tail.)
Fortunately for Tomàs and his son (and Puto) I’d seen the dog kill the rooster earlier that morning at first light, long before the neighbor was out of bed, so I stepped up to the plate, y recuerdar, mi español no es perfecto.
“NO, no, no amigo,” I told him, lots of friendly emphasis, “that’s not what happened at all. I was sitting over there, right there,” I pointed, “and what happened was that your rooster came over here real early like he always does, you’ve seen him do it a thousand times, and this morning he was CROW – crow – crowing all over creation and kicking dirt around everywhere and acting really loca, and then he walked over to the dog – who was just sitting minding his own business – and he starts CROW – crow – crowing and kicking dirt at the dog!
“Well, Puto got up, and I admit he didn’t look a bit too happy, and as soon as he got on his feet (paws) that crazy loca rooster charged him and, naturally, ran into about a thousand snapping, snarling, chomping teeth.
“But it was a fair fight amigo,” I assured him, “nobody interfered in anyway.
“All that really happened was,” I laughed, “your rooster lost the fight. But you can be proud of him, I think, he was very brave, muy bravo…
“No problemo, eh?”
The neighbor walked away, and I’m a welcome dinner guest at la casa de Tomàs.