Phobias and dogs

Up until today I never knew how phobias developed, I've never had one, and really, while not particularly caring for certain insects, don't remember strongly disliking or fearing anything. I suppose phobia may be a slight overstatement, considering the implication of irrationality; however, I can confess, openly and honestly to a new found fear of dogs, El Salvadoran dogs.

Dogs? I know, how is that possible?

I didn't think it was, but after frantically lifting my knees and feet from under a restaurant table to avoid contact with a stray looking for food today, and nearly sending the table, my entire bowl of soup and six others into oblivion, I realized I might have a problem.

I apologized to everyone thirty-five times, and have been thinking hard about it ever since. I might have seen signs of it coming, just without the confidence nor understanding to resist such a thing.

Ever since I arrived in El Salvador, and in one community in particular, dogs have not taken a liking to me. In the past three months alone, I have been barked at, lunged at, forced to climb up walls, chased down four streets, and bitten twice....no lie, drawn blood from my upper calf and ankle, when I didn't see it coming; just a growl, pain, and blood.

My friends here think it's hilarious, and never cease to repeat in their broken english, "only you Michael, only you."

I don't like to stand near dogs, nor do I desire to pet them. I refuse to look them in the eyes and tense up when I have to walk past them, but if not forced to, I have become as patient as a mailbox, sincerely, I would rather be late, wet, and down-right publicly humiliated, then walk by an unfamiliar dog with teeth; which is all of them.

Perhaps not a phobia, perhaps a rational response to a very real threat to my safety, perhaps. Now teach me to explain that in Spanish to six Salvadorans wearing their chicken soup.