Mierda

mierda n. 1 an impolite term for excrement: la mierda del perro es en la cama. Synonyms: caca (from v. cagar), excremiento English equivalent: shit

Mierda

Rooftop mierda

Caution: Men shoveling mierda

According to Ruyman, the Spanish take a rather philosophical view on the issue of swearing. The consensus is, there’s nothing good nor bad but thinking makes it so. “Mierda” is a dirty word because people think it’s a dirty word. If people stop treating it as taboo and mainstream its use, it will gain respectability. Therefore, it now makes public service appearances on local television networks. While I’m not sure how I feel about this line of thinking, I have gotten rather fond of the word “mierda.” When one is living in the proximity of four dogs that no one takes outside, it’s pretty much the only word that fits the resulting mess.

Before we moved to Tenerife, Ruyman’s mother Carmen built a room on the rooftop patio for us to live in. Carmen was poor as a child and literally grew up in a cave. Like other survivors of poverty, she’s taken to holding onto everything on the off chance she’ll need it some day. The bedroom upstairs had become a sort of storeroom. It took three days and a lot of clandestine trips to the trash to empty the room, but with nagging, teamwork, and a few angry outbursts, the whole family pitched in and did it.

After dealing with the crap on the inside, Ruyman and I tried to do something about the crap on the outside. (Mierda, incidentally, does not apply to useless or messy things. It solely deals with poop. The best phrase I’ve found so far to describe the other type of crap is “Esta sucio,” or it’s dirty. Definitely weak, but I’m still learning.) The dogs have had independent run of the rooftop since the house was built some 8 years ago. Because animals tend not to poop where they sleep, the patio upstairs has literally been a dumping ground. As you can imagine, the aroma of the rooftop was truly breath-taking. We spent two days scooping what we could and using a putty knife to scrape up what we couldn’t. Then we washed the whole affair with bleach and closed the gate at the top of the stairs. 

Unfortunately, when you can’t go where you’re supposed to, you go as close to it as you can. In this case, the dogs did their business on the staircase. The stairs, located outside, are made of slippery marble, which makes going up and down rather tricky at the best of times. You add the doings of a dog pack and it becomes a slip and slide of offal, which I had the privilege of riding the next morning.

So we opened the gate again. We’re grateful when the breeze is in our favor and that the stairs are safe to traverse once again, but the dogs are back to pooping on the roof behind our room. Though, judging by the screaming and retching, one of them just left a present in Carmen’s room.