PERSONAL ESSAY
Unfiltered Voices
Where’s the beef?
Dear Shanti C K -
The big dog next door is complaining.
The whole neighborhood can hear him whine.
Some British guy used to come and take him for walks. I think he's gone back to the UK, the guy, not the dog.
The dog is still here complaining, several times every day, in fact. His complaints fall on deaf ears; he's tied to a tree and no one's paying attention.
I hear his words, even though I really don't understand his language.
He's lonely
He's bored
He's hungry
Or thirsty
Or wet because it's raining.
I'd complain too.
Sometimes he cries.
It makes my own dog worry.
She understands his language.
We go to the balcony to see if he's okay.
Someone does love him.
But not in the way that you or I would.
We used to see him loose on the soi. He was wearing a muzzle then. We assume that's why he's tied to the tree. He lives in an empty lot that's filled with a small community and an open-air restaurant.
We know the people and the people are nice.
They are kind to our dog and kind to us.
They aren't actively unkind to the big dog.
They're not beating him or starving him.
He probably eats too much.
I could intervene, volunteer to walk him.
I've got my own dog to walk.
She worries about him from the balcony, but she certainly doesn't want to spend time with him.
For God's sake, don't adopt him, is what she is thinking. She tells me to remember the muzzle.
I could call the authorities, but there's no one to call. Even if there was, there's no place to take him. And they'd probably say, "There's a thousand dogs just like him all over Thailand. What would you like us to do?"
I could be an activist, climb over the wall at night and set him free. He could roam with all of the other feral dogs and eat garbage or beg for scraps. Create another problem, with a problem.
I don't think I'm down with that.
If it was up to you, what would you do?
I could take to Facebook; it's still popular here.
I'd complain loudly for the whole world to hear.
There's tons of expats complaining there, whole groups, in fact, amongst all the AI flyers for this restaurant, that bar and all the other crap.
They’re actively complaining, often about fast-driving, shirtless, helmet-less, muscle-bound men on big bikes with big mufflers, racing up and down the sois. You can hear them complain in public too. From bar stools, with a beer in one hand and their phone in the other. Taking pictures of license plates, then they go online and actively shame. When one of those muscle-bound men dies in a traffic accident—and they often do—the whole group cheers.
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I think this is a sad commentary on life.
They complain about other things too: Thai girlfriends, the price of beer, visa extensions, maids, the homeless woman at the end of the block. None of these things bother me, and when the homeless woman is taking her meds, I talk with her and sometimes slip her a few baht.
At the moment, everyone is complaining about a tree, foreigners and locals alike. Thais call it Devil tree or ton teen ped, and what everyone is complaining about is the smell. It’s a yearly occurrence, like Halloween. The tree is associated with spirits and ghosts. They don’t bother me either. I don’t often see them, but I can feel them and hear them.
They sense the empathic me and they know I understand their language.
The smell is strongest just around dusk. We open all of our windows to let the smell and the breeze in.
Like lilies, it gives a lot of people headaches and they want to chop them all down. For me, the smell is a reminder that drier weather is ahead, and the undertones of cardamom and spice remind me of a warm cup of tea. There’s slightly sweet undertone that’s hard to place, when the wind is right it makes me think of decaying flesh.
In Thailand, windows don't often have screens.
The problem with opening your windows is you let the whole world in.
Facebook I can turn off; the world I cannot.
I try my best not to complain, although I'm aware that I'm doing it here.
I'm grateful that I can move freely and I'm not tied to a bar stool or a tree.
I hope November treats you well and the Singapore’s skies stay clear. I’ll look forward to reading your stories and hearing that you found those fresh spring rolls.
Minh
Moon & Deep shared this story about Alstonia scholaris that I really liked:
I’ve written about the big dog and his people before:
