I had gotten used to living here in the new place without Takut the dog. As I've mentioned before, I initially brought the dog with me, partly because we were close and partly at the request of the owners of my prior residence. Takut, however, had other ideas, and on the very next day made his own decision to the return to his old home. "Well, just leave him then," Sia said. "We'll take care of him here, and he feels more comfortable here." So I adjusted to that idea as well. It was what he wanted, and the people at the old place were willing, after all.
And then Sia called. It's been a couple months, right? I've gotten used to the freedom of not having a dog to worry about, of feeling more able to be out as often and as long as I pleased, of not having to constantly step over a Labrador in my small studio apartment.
"We've got a problem," she said. We.
Yes, one of the tenants has been complaining that Takut leaves shed fur on his porch all the time. He's happy to give the dog food, and he likes the dog, but he doesn't like his hair. Well, I myself might have suggested that he pick up a broom and spend the three minutes or so that would be required to sweep the hair away, but hey, that's just me.
"How can I give him a bath?" Sia asked. "I've tried twice, but he always runs away. He's too strong for me.
Well, sister, he's too strong for me, too. I explained that the only way I had found to accomplish the task was to take him into my own bathroom, shut the door behind him, and take a shower together. Seeing that there is no way out, and finding that the warm water is actually rather pleasing, the dog gives up the fight, more or less anyway, and submits to being cleaned.
But no, she could not do this, she said. These are private rooms. We can't use them for dog baths.
Hmm. Well, good luck then.
Later on that day, Sia calls again.
"Pak Will, can you take the dog?"
Oh dear.
The thing is, I explained, I've already tried that. He won't stay here. I can't always close him in, and I believe that as soon as he gets out, he'll run straight back there. It's what he knows. He lived there even before I was there. And besides that, this, too, is a private room. I don't own this place, my ex-wife does.
So, we kind of left it up in the air at that point. But of course the subject stayed with me, sort of haunting me the rest of the day. The problem is, there is no place for unwanted dogs to go here in Bali. As westerners, we bring with us various expectations. We believe that there is an agency to take care of things like this. In the US, we have the Humane Society. Here, there is nothing. A dog simply ends up on the street, scavenging for food, slowly starving, eventually ending up diseased with one malady or another, or, perhaps more mercifully, run over by a truck.
And so of course I called back. "Sia," I said, "I don't want the dog to be harmed or abandoned. If need be, just bring him here, and if he runs back, I'll just come get him again."
"Well … give me one more try," she said. "I've hired a home-visit groomer for this afternoon and have three friends coming over to help."
Ah Takut, Takut. Difficult dog.
So we shall see. I've not heard anything since. But that was just yesterday afternoon.
And then Sia called. It's been a couple months, right? I've gotten used to the freedom of not having a dog to worry about, of feeling more able to be out as often and as long as I pleased, of not having to constantly step over a Labrador in my small studio apartment.
"We've got a problem," she said. We.
Yes, one of the tenants has been complaining that Takut leaves shed fur on his porch all the time. He's happy to give the dog food, and he likes the dog, but he doesn't like his hair. Well, I myself might have suggested that he pick up a broom and spend the three minutes or so that would be required to sweep the hair away, but hey, that's just me.
"How can I give him a bath?" Sia asked. "I've tried twice, but he always runs away. He's too strong for me.
Well, sister, he's too strong for me, too. I explained that the only way I had found to accomplish the task was to take him into my own bathroom, shut the door behind him, and take a shower together. Seeing that there is no way out, and finding that the warm water is actually rather pleasing, the dog gives up the fight, more or less anyway, and submits to being cleaned.
But no, she could not do this, she said. These are private rooms. We can't use them for dog baths.
Hmm. Well, good luck then.
Later on that day, Sia calls again.
"Pak Will, can you take the dog?"
Oh dear.
The thing is, I explained, I've already tried that. He won't stay here. I can't always close him in, and I believe that as soon as he gets out, he'll run straight back there. It's what he knows. He lived there even before I was there. And besides that, this, too, is a private room. I don't own this place, my ex-wife does.
So, we kind of left it up in the air at that point. But of course the subject stayed with me, sort of haunting me the rest of the day. The problem is, there is no place for unwanted dogs to go here in Bali. As westerners, we bring with us various expectations. We believe that there is an agency to take care of things like this. In the US, we have the Humane Society. Here, there is nothing. A dog simply ends up on the street, scavenging for food, slowly starving, eventually ending up diseased with one malady or another, or, perhaps more mercifully, run over by a truck.
And so of course I called back. "Sia," I said, "I don't want the dog to be harmed or abandoned. If need be, just bring him here, and if he runs back, I'll just come get him again."
"Well … give me one more try," she said. "I've hired a home-visit groomer for this afternoon and have three friends coming over to help."
Ah Takut, Takut. Difficult dog.
So we shall see. I've not heard anything since. But that was just yesterday afternoon.
1 comment:
Long live Takut. He lives on. Possibly a good story for a children's book.
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