# Noises At Night

Our house is built of earth, close to the earth, with no
second story. Adobe they call it, mud mixed with straw. It
dries hard. The same kind of earth is around the house in what
we call our yard. The path from the kitchen to the privy, packed
hard, is sound carrying. Dogs trod or scurry along this path
at night. The sounds of their steps, like taps on the earth,
come into the room where I lay awake.

All of the Mexicans have dogs, strange creatures of a mixed
breed found only in this region. Large yellow and white dogs
with deep growls, long lean fellows that yelp and wail, little
creatures of indescribable shapes, bullish looking animals that
make you start and stop short when you suddenly see them even
in the day time, creatures with some Collie, all of them used
to a language you do not use, bold and urgently to look at but
frightened and cringing when you drive them away.

The family across the road must have at least three. During
the day I never notice them. Maybe they are kept locked up. I am
sure they are supposed to be watch dogs. All the families along
the road for miles down have dogs. All the families in adobes
along the cross roads have dogs. We too have one, a little
cocker spaniel puppy we brought with us from the East as a
playmate for the baby. Now he has learned to growl and bark. A
rustle in the grass, a horse moving on the other side of the fence,
a tree shadow, particularly the barking of other dogs at night,
will set him off.

We feed our dog meat and bones placed in a pan outside the