Chaco adopted me the moment I stepped off the boat. I’ve been staying on a remote beach on Las Animas Bay, overlooking the Sea of Cortez, in Baja, California, and Chaco is my new best friend.
Every morning we hike into the desert, and he weaves me through cardon, candelabra and old man cactus, and he shows me how to dodge the spines of the coachwhip, ocotillo and chuparosa bushes. He sniffs and growls at animal holes that hold rabbits and burrowing owls, and he marks his territory often.
We walk on the beach on the way back to camp, and see herons, ospreys, vultures, sea lions and dolphins.
At night I sleep in a hammock on the deck outside my hut, while he patrols the perimeter of camp. When the coyotes howl on the west side, he and Toby, the other dog in camp, bark to warn them to come no closer. He then passes by my hut, gives me a gentle woof to ask if I’m okay, then barks at the same coyotes now on the east side of camp. He is too smart to be lured into one of their hunting traps.
This wakes me up a few times a night, but I stare at the Milky Way, count the shooting starts and fall asleep again.
This morning I sip coffee, read, and scratch Chaco’s head. The sun is not too high yet, and dappled light ekes through the pergola of long cardon cactus spines that shade the deck. The Sea of Cortez is a flat mirror that reflects the sky and the mountains on the other side of the bay.
Chaco growls, leaps up and runs across the beach at top speed. I spot why he’s angry: a scrawny coyote is down by the water, hoping to find a dead oyster or rotting fish bones. The wily predator is perfectly camouflaged against the rocks behind him.
The coyote turns and climbs a vertical cliff like a spider climbing a wall. Chaco is right behind him, with Toby closing in from the other side. The coyote reaches flat desert, and Toby and Chaco chase him hard. If they catch him they’ll kill him, and the coyote knows it. I see their tiny dust cloud for five minutes.
Chaco doesn’t do tricks. No one trained him. Chaco lives outside, gets food and water, and guards camp, like dogs have done for humans for thousands of years. Our deal with him is simple: hang out with us, we’ll feed you, and you keep the bad guys out. Chaco loves his job and he’s damn good at it. He’s great company and he’s happy.
