Dog's life
My life once began somewhere in a ditch along a dry road of red dust. I still remember quite a lot of that first day, with my brothers, the girls and me.
We all lay there more dead than alive. Mother was really dead. And her milk for us had dried up almost immediately after she had breathed her last. She had just about been able to fulfill her duty as a mother, otherwise we would have simply gone out with her in the womb like unborn candles. The end of the exercise before the beginning of the exercise. We had each only been allowed to taste a few drops of milk, if you could call the frugal substance that. It was not particularly tasty, but it was still a nice memory of her. A nice gesture of farewell. If a mother does not get the necessary nutrients, there is nothing to give to her babies. At the time we did not understand that, now we do. Basic nutrition.
Talk about a lousy start. We didn't know why she was dead, apparently childbirth in itself can sometimes be fatal and if the circumstances are also bad, then you can prepare yourself. Figuratively speaking, because just like the cracked nipples and the empty mammary glands of our poor mother, the entire ditch was bone dry, dusty and just a hole along the road to crawl out of as quickly as possible or to stay in forever. Like our mother. But for us, although still alive at the moment, actually also a rather hopeless story.
There were seven of us, brothers and sisters, I don't know the exact division and I never will. Because we didn't all make it. You lie there squeaking in the burning sun and wonder how and why you ended up in such a hell as a newborn. Something must have gone wrong in a previous life, because no living being deserves something like that on day one of its existence. As the eldest, I automatically took charge of our journey to survival. Unfortunately, we had to leave two of us behind; they simply didn't have the strength to climb up the not even that steep slope of the ditch. The five survivors didn't look at them as they slid back into the depths, powerless and soon after lifeless, probably to end up motionless against the still warm body of their mother. I'll just tell it as it happened, what's the point of making it look better than it was?
The five of us. Starving, our fur full of twigs and all sorts of junk, glued to us with the amniotic fluid we had been floating around in for weeks. Not a pretty sight at all. Some of us still had a bit of the umbilical cord hanging from our bellies. Mother had already been reeled in by the Grim Reaper before she had been able to complete the entire birthing ritual.
We stood exhausted and indecisive at the edge of the red road. Behind us the ditch. In front of us the unknown danger, but perhaps salvation on the other side. I gave the signal to leave. One of us remained standing, or rather lying down. The weak legs saw no salvation in a long crossing. His or her fate was sealed. Then there were four left. Roaring monsters passed us on our journey, sometimes right above our frightened heads. But we marched bravely on, like Moses and his friends through the Red Sea, even though we were tired and terrified. And there was no water either. Until suddenly such a round black devil changed my youngest brother in the blink of an eye into a wet red spot in the equally red dust. His suffering came to an immediate end with that. In itself nice for him, given the lack of prospects for a pleasant future, but still painful for those who stayed behind, who were three. We were considerably thinned out
Finally we arrived, but we also saw immediately that we had risked our lives for an even deeper ditch, with just as much rubbish and just as little water. The eternal question presented itself: left or right. How could we know? After all, we knew nothing, only that we were barely breathing and alive. Some wanted to go right and others left, there was no middle ground. But I was the eldest and decided for right, which somehow seemed the best option. Without motivation or arguments, just on the sound of the word I went. But it was a long walk. Too long for our sister. We had to leave her behind after a few metres. She could no longer carry on and bravely waved us on, closing her eyes in resignation. Feel no guilt, brothers. The road ends here for me. She rolled herself with her last bit of strength over her right shoulder onto the big red path and a few seconds later she too was just a warm red spot in the hot dust, just like her little brother a little way back. Two boys left. The counter of our family composition was running rapidly backwards. Unreasonably fast. At that rate, the family tree would be reduced to zero within half an hour. Gone without a trace from this world, which had previously seemed only two ditches in size, with a wide red path in the middle, with two faintly glistening spots on it.
That realization of our transience gave us extra courage, but that courage was not supported by strength and so my brother and I also threatened to simply end up at the edge of the road. To bite the dust in the burning sun and disappear into timeless oblivion as if we had never existed. But salvation came. Two little boys saw us plowing forward in the dust. Two newborn babies we were, covered in dirt, our own excrement and some other rubbish that we carried in our fur on the short way to our end. Not exactly attractive at all. Despite that, each of them lifted one of us from the ground and looked at us attentively, as only children can do in their innocence. The spoils were divided and each continued his own way. I never saw my brother again. Then there was only one. Maybe still two, but I never knew that.
When my little boy's father saw him coming with me, my fate was almost sealed, but because my son started crying, I was able to stay and therefore to live. So far so good, even though it had been a hard day. I was washed in a basin and I licked up as much bath water as possible to replenish my fluid balance. Water had never tasted better, even though I had little to compare it to. In the days and weeks that followed, I recovered further and became stronger. Sometimes the family threw me some food, the waste from what they themselves could not eat, but I soon understood the gift horse's mouth. I slept behind the house under some waste and discarded building materials. There was no room for me inside. The little boy grew up to be a young man, just like me, but after our first meeting his interest in me had waned further and further and so I became a nomad in my own village. Without a name and without an identity. Barely any right to exist. Fortunately, I was not alone on the streets. There were many of us, and sometimes in the middle of the night we would cry and wail loudly together. But they left us alone, did not love us but spared our lives. And we ate their remains in gratitude. My boy had gone and I had stayed, my place still behind his house. It kept me dry when it rained and I had a place to call home. It was not a pretty life, but it was life. I was the last of my line, whatever that meant. I was a survivor. The only one who had made it this far.
I must have been six or seven years old when everything changed. Often I had narrowly escaped death, sometimes not unscathed. I had the scars to prove it under my fur. I had the strength of a wolf and the speed of a hare. The toughness of a mountain goat. The Supreme Being among the local four-legged friends. An old pick-up truck drove into the village on that fateful day, honking its horn. He had been there many times before. I would be lying in my hiding place. Not that day. Someone I didn't know skillfully threw a rope around my neck, like a cowboy from the Wild West. In no time I was locked in one of the many too-small cages on the back of the truck. I couldn't move. Nor could the other dogs. Some brand-new buckets and bowls were given away by the driver. Villagers nodded in agreement. Nothing more. He drove out of the village with me and a few others on the back in our cages, looking satisfied. My upstairs neighbor lost some feces from the fear. I was just able to crawl to one side. It fell on the back of someone one floor below.
A long journey began. Again that burning sun of day one. Again the red dust and again no water. But this time I was strong. No longer a newborn, vulnerable baby. I was a fighter, a survivor. The last of my family tree. I lay down on the uncomfortable rusty floor of my mobile prison. And waited.
Hopefully this time the road would lead to more happiness. I really needed it.
About this blogger
- Khun Rick dates from 1959 (currently 65 years old), grew up and still lives in South Limburg. After 40 years in the civil service, now almost 5 years with early retirement. Since 2001 he regularly visits Thailand as a tourist, but met his wife in the Netherlands and can often be found with her at his mother-in-law's in Udon Thani. Traveling together is his passion, eating (unfortunately) too and sports a necessity. And of course writing: used to be serious and now more light-hearted.
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Don't you ever want to do that again Rick and also include the photos.
Sorry Geert,
You are the last person here whose feelings I want to hurt. The only consolation in this story: the photos are AI.
Weren't you the one who recently came here to warn us about the danger of Pit Bulls released into the wild that are mixing with packs of wild dogs?
And now you're sitting in your chair crying.
All those street dogs are a terrible plague. I don't dare go outside at night anymore. And at night we are kept awake by their many fights among themselves.
But okay, I will start a topic here later to collect some money from our members. Then I can buy some food for those poor animals, then I don't have to pay everything out of my own pocket.
Dear Bruno, could it not be that one has nothing to do with the other?
In my response to the stray dog story I advocate a sterilization project like in Phuket. Dogs that end up on the BBQ in a neighboring country is not the solution I think and in my opinion something that should be severely punished.
It would help a lot if the villagers would not go for that bag of rice or THB 500 in the next elections, but for the candidate who proposes a sterilization program.
I am also a dog lover and an animal lover, but I honestly wonder what the difference is between a dog on the bbq or a suckling pig (and then it is not about the taste). I have no problem with an animal that is slaughtered in an animal-friendly way. But that is where it often goes wrong.
That's right. That's called selective outrage. We would bristle if we knew someone was eating a cat, but the bunny with prunes is not to be sneezed at.
Never tell a Brit you like horse steak or an Indian you like beef. Thais like grasshoppers, we shudder at them but then again they like prawns.
What we like or are allowed to eat is very culturally dependent
Nicely written Rick. My compliments, more of this please.
Rick beautifully written realistic story.
I wish I had 10% of your writing style Rick.
As an addition, perhaps it should be noted that the millions of street dogs are a plague for Thailand
In the Netherlands or other European countries you can take an evening walk or go for a bike ride after it gets dark
Outside the major cities in Thailand such as Bangkok, Huahin, Chiangmai it is better not to do this due to the risk of attacks by wild dogs possibly infected with rabies.
Once when I was driving to a big chicken shop in Chonburi at 0800am in the morning on my Honda Click,
I drove through a wide street Soi of 500 meters with tall grass on both sides and no buildings and to my horror street dogs came rushing at me from all sides as I was walking along at a speed of 15 km per hour enjoying the morning sun and the silence.
Then I went full throttle with my legs pointed skywards, this was my luck because the pack consisted of about 30+ street dogs.
When I arrived at the chicken shop where the dogs had disappeared, I was told that I had been very lucky because years ago a man on a scooter had died there in the evening and had been found after a long time.
There was also a sign in Thai with a big dog on both sides of the road saying this street should not be crossed by motorbike.
It should also be mentioned that in Phuket a Dutch association, I don't know the name, has sterilized 10 dogs throughout Thailand in 1000.000 years, which is of course fantastic work.
In our Nongthin Park in Nongkhai there are about 20 dogs on the walking paths, but they are used to people and wouldn't harm a fly during the day.
I think you mean 'soi dog'? My wife and some family visited there. Great place. For dogs and cats by the way. They really do great work. In Phuket you also have a lot less stray dogs and cats. Every few months there are sterilization and c
astration actions, often free for people who cannot afford it.
Recommended for visitors to Phuket. See the other side of Phuket. It is close to the airport.
We have 2 dogs that have plenty of space in our garden. But sometimes I want to take them for a walk to let them smell something different, on a leash. Absolutely impossible. You are attacked from all sides by dogs, street dogs or dogs of owners who do not care for their own dog. Many of those owners are not prepared to visit the vet in case of illness. Then you see dogs with a poorly healed leg, skin diseases or covered in tangles from front to back. No street dogs, mind you, but from an owner!!! From Buddhism one should profess love for all creatures, but if it costs, it is often the end of the story.
Very beautiful and sad story.
I am a dog lover myself, and I recognize this story.
But not everyone is bad to our four-legged friends in Thailand.
I regularly read on Facebook about a foundation called Soi dog.
If I may believe it, they do good work and provide help to animals, both dogs and cats.
Asking for financial donations, there are bloggers who are familiar with this organization.
Janneman.
I wanted to respond to Jan Beute's reaction regarding Khun Rick's story.
We wanted to buy a puppy but not from a breeder.
Contacted the shelter and asked if we could adopt a puppy.
With the condition that it would not be too large in size.
This is because my girlfriend runs a hair salon.
And told me that if it became a big dog, some customers would stay away.
Now we are on our way to the shelter. The puppy was from an old blind mother bitch with no teeth and not big.
The father also not big. Now we had to wait three more weeks because the mother bitch was still
milk. Now picked up after two weeks. But the shelter keeper called us. The mother bitch still has
too much milk and misses her puppy. Now our Beauty that's what we called her back. She is now
three weeks with us. And the shelter owner has been by three times with the mother bitch today too.
Purchase 10 bags of food. Think of this possibility. Tel. Shelter holder 0891588345 or donate.
I experienced at my friend's house near Hatyai that there were two young dogs lying in the middle of the road and when you came close the dogs reacted by growling so I left them alone.
My friend's sister's boyfriend decided to take them to a nearby temple because I understood that this happened more often and that the temple would then take care of it.
I haven't heard anything about it since then, so who knows, maybe they ended up in the right place