I want everyone to
think know that everything is amazing and happy here so I post a lot of this:
|By "this" I mean "two sad lonely spinsters somehow making ends meet despite all the|
irrefutable obstacles of loneliness"
and not so much of this:
Hi, would you like to have a stomach-ache for the majority of the day?
But man, today/last week... was a bad dog day/week. Those are all the details I'll give. Because this is a this blog:
|Girls in hats! Ukuleles! Smiles in need of whitening!|
Not a this blog:
|image stolen from http://us.history.wisc.edu/hist102/photos/assets/photos/1014.jpg|
image stolen from http://events.colostate.edu/export/225153058holocaust_calendar.jpg
|image stolen from http://divorcevirginia.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/divorce-sml.jpg|
But our canine companions were on my mind nonetheless. So, here is an old dog story I wrote in Thailand... and just remember, humans: it's not that I love you less than dogs; it's just that I less frequently don't love dogs.
I had only been in Thailand an hour when I saw the first one: the packs of stray mangey dogs that wander the streets and alleys of Thailand all day and night.
None of these animals are spayed or neutured which, uh, takes some time adjusting to when you're used to the "aesthetics" of American dogs. Some of these animals are in rough shape. I mean like rough rough shape. Like, Look away, Summer Grimes shape. Some of these have collars on- strange metal oxymoronic bands around their filthy, neglected necks.
The first time I encountered a group of them I got a little nervous. As if I was walking towards a pack of wild ferocious wolves. But even though they were mangey and dirty, they responded to my presence like any other dog- wagging tails, smiling faces.
One time a group of them followed me towards my hotel and I got pretty agitated, but then I, again, realized they were responding to me like any other dog- wagging tails and smiling faces.
I couldn't help but take notice of these sad creatures. I spoke to them in a soft cooing tone with aww dats a good boy-s and who's da sweet puppy-s... trying to coat my voice in extra sweetness to compensate for the guilt I had knowing there was no way I was going to actually pet them. Sometimes-sometimes- I would poke the top of their head with the tippy-tip of my pointer finger (and then purex it into oblivion).
I drew the following assumptions based on these dogs:
Thailand doesn't beleive in pets. And perhaps just doesn't have a very refined regard for animals in general.
But this conclusion was shot to pieces when on our third day Kady and I visited the largest outdoor market in the world. We saw dozens and dozens of fluffy tiny adorable dogs in silly outfits and bows and feathers.
Later that night as we walked back to our hotel (the part of Bangkok where there are no tiny fluffy freshly-groomed dogs- only the mutty mangey flea-ridden type) I started lamenting... "I wonder where they get water. I mean I know there's plenty of food for them with all the scraps they can eat off the ground. But where do they get water?"
Kady turned to me with a horrified look and I mean utter disdain on her face. Because she had just that second realized I was not talking about the sad pre-pubescent-looking girls wearing sexy clothes sitting outside the "sexy nude girl show" we had just walked past... But was talking about the dogs sitting a little closer to the curb.