When I used to return from Guanajuato, I would miss the noise here. It would take awhile to acclimate to quiet again. I like the noise. It’s fun to hear someone blasting ranchera or bolero as I make my way through the alleys. I love awaking to roosters crowing and the cacaphony of bird song.
So I thought our place up on the hill would be fine. When the wind howls, it passes through our three rooms like a freight train, shaking the windows and howling up our stairwell. I like this. The sounds of Guanajuato-music, traffic, and chimes-waft up the hill and settle in the hem of the mountain where we live. I often hear horses pass by, their hoofs like stiletto on the stone and dirt.
But I was completely unprepared for the sounds I heard the other night. Sometime past 2:00AM, I woke up to the sound of barking dogs. There were so many, a pack perhaps of 8 or 9. I thought they were barking outside my bedroom window, so I went to see what was happening, and there was nothing there. Then I went, half asleep, into the living room area and the sound of barking was so loud, it was as if they were right there, a pack of demonic ghost dogs, invisible, loud and angry. It must have been the combination of near-sleep, the dark, the way sound travels through our place, and so many dogs, that made them sound as if they were barking in my living room. It completely creeped me out, but I felt a thrill of frisson shoot through me at the same time.
