Uniformed Dogs

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In this life I have suffered from two phobias: men in uniform and dogs. As a child, that I remember, it already happened to me. My father worked a season as a janitor. Until she changed her clothes, she didn't want to laugh at him; I did not recognize it; panic washed over me.
As for the dogs, he only held the puppies, suspiciously. They paid me too much respect. I imagined them when they grew up. The neighbor of the fifth had a German shepherd. Once we met on the stairs. I would be eight or nine years old. I remember it because soon after I made my communion. He was coming down. I was climbing. Just noticing, the dog lunged at me. As much as his master hit him, he kept barking at me, drooling on me, scaring me with his barking. I pissed on myself. I didn't leave home for a month.

        I was celebrating anniversary after anniversary. But the terror provoked in me by the sight of any dog ​​or a poor urban guard ordering the traffic was increasing. My parents no longer knew what to do to me, what to say to me, what not to say to me. There was no middle ground. I was especially afraid of the Dobermans - my grandmother had two and had to slaughter them at the slaughterhouse - and the dark, sober and shiny uniforms. When I was ten years old, I went to the first psychologist; in vain, like all.

        The first diagnoses always pointed the same: epilepsy; the second, three-quarters of the same, I was going crazy; if it wasn't already.

        After throwing away a good wad of money at each visit, my parents opted to take me to a naturopathic doctor. They did not trust alternative medicine, but they had no choice but to try it. They tried, poor people, but the result was identical to what Freud's disciples preached: Lock her up, you'll do yourself a favor, believe me.

        But no, they didn't lock me up. Unlike. They continued to take care of me, protect me, removing any dog ​​from my environment, any acquaintance who worked in a uniform. Doberman, not one. Dark colors, out, away. We will save her, they told themselves. In vain, however. I can't blame them for anything. They tried. They had faith. I also.

        I spent the time corresponding to adolescence that way. I did not have any serious scares, but in the emergency department they had to attend to me several times because a Belgian shepherd or a postal official had crossed my path.

I couldn't go to the movies; he couldn't stand the man with the lantern. Even less could he be near a soldier, a male nurse, a hotel porter.

        I grew up, but everything remained much the same. We all thought that entering college maybe… But no. Nothing at all.

        I got busy with the study. In ten years, I passed three races. That is why I have been the Minister of the Interior. The most important woman in the nation after the First Lady. But when I had to participate in some public event, I had to place myself away from the police. Especially when they went to gala. They shook me. I'm terribly sorry, but he's totally handcuffed me. My Interior companion, a sweetheart it must be said, ordered that he did not want a dog near me. He always wore a civilian escort.

        I did not suffer any such incident for a long time. I was happy without dogs, without uniforms by my side. I knew that I could heal myself. And everything seemed to indicate to me that this was happening. But one afternoon I had to take the subway.

        Not a month ago the President proposed to mount a campaign to promote public transportation in schools. On the spot, a member of the government traveled with a primary school group and explained to them the advantages of the bus, the railroad, the subway. I had to go from Badalona to the University Zone with two ESO classes. We changed at Paseo de Gracia. That hallway was my hell.

We had already walked halfway down the corridor when I made out, in the crowd, a couple of security guards — all dressed in black — each holding a Rottweiler. The dogs smelled me, as always. They have always known that fear of them dominates me. It was not hatred, just a phobia that even today I have not understood why I suffer from it. They started running. When I had them to touch, I turned and fled, possessed, until I slipped. Once on the floor, disheveled, with the papers flying and her dress stained and wrinkled, the two Rottweilers looked at me, wicked, amused, animated. They wouldn't stop barking at me, a foot from my face. I had urinated on myself again, as it had not happened to me in years. It did not take two minutes for the two guards to arrive. It was worse still: a pair of black uniforms, impeccable, austere. They yelled and beat the dogs to make them recoil. But they did not obey them. Some were barking. The others screamed. And me in the middle. She cried, she moaned, she begged for it to all end. I suffered one of my seizures. Unconscious. Undaunted. Spasms Eyes rolling. They had to admit me.

        When I left, drugged lost, I was no longer the same. They had forced me to resign. Personal motives. The President did the right thing. What image could the country give with a lunatic adviser?

Until I came to this witch; seer, healer, slot machines; call him what you want. I have never believed in these things, in the afterlife, in spirits, in reincarnation. But I can't go on like this. This morning I bought the newspaper, as always. On the front page, highlighted, the President hugging the new Minister of the Interior. My successor is a medium-sized ass-licker who four days ago was hastily testing himself for level C of the tongue. An inept. A billet. One of the President's sons-in-law. No. I have decided that I will get my job back. With dignity, with her face held high, through the front door. I have earned it with enough merits. I will be back. And the President must abide by it.