Tongue Kissing a Dog Turd

1

“Gou” he says. It means dog in mandarin. Edric, an old Chinese/Malaysian man from the running club stops me from my usual warm up laps in the park. Edric is referencing the Rabies outbreak that has been circulating in Kuching for the past year. I give him a thumbs up and just run on the spot instead. A few minutes later Edric is back and hands me a blue tinted metal baton. Every week two of the younger guys bring a baton.  We use them to beat away street dogs if they chase after us when the club is running together. This week it’s me and Syaful.

2

I am 11 years old when our cat is run over. Our neighbor brings it to us in a white, plastic laundry basket. The crushed head is hidden under a towel, but I am allowed to pet the body one last time. I cry for two whole days. My mom yells at me to stop crying, ”you’re an eleven-year-old boy, it’s enough now”

3

I am biking across Kuching two hours past midnight. It’s dry now so my blue rain poncho is on the luggage rack, flapping. I pass a big intersection and start heading up the hill by Kuching municipal hospital. A pack of street dogs exit a parking lot on my right and start barking and chasing me. I stand up in the pedals to bike faster. The hill’s incline becomes steeper and pedaling becomes harder. The snarling behind me is getting closer. A glance reveals three dogs way ahead of the pack, too close. Panicked, pedaling as hard as I can, the bike chain skips out of the back wheel gear. I fall into the handlebars. Suddenly without resistance I pedal frantically, losing speed. Growling. Panting. With a clank the chain catches again, and I begin accelerating. A sudden pull to the right almost sends me to the asphalt.  I keep my balance by throwing my weight left and pushing hard into the pedals. The dogs don’t chase me into the roundabout at the top of the hill. I bruised my ribcage and lost the rain poncho.

4

 A senior colleague looking down at a printed out draft, tells me, “you were really worried about the dogs huh?” I fail to shrug casually and instead shrug demonstratively. “There was a rabies outbreak, everyone was worried about dogs. It was hard to ignore.” I say. She smiles, and with a small chuckle responds, “well, we can tell “. The rest of the seminar laughs along. As the room quiets, she continues, “just, seems like it shouldn’t be such a big focus in the chapter. A bit too many feelings, you know?”

5

Three men in bright yellow running club t-shirts stand a couple of meters away from a brownish lump at the edge of the park path. I join them. A dog’s head is stuck down a drain hole. Its body twitches irregularly against the concrete curb as chokingly wet yips come up from the hole. Patchy grey-brown fur clings tight to exposed ribs grimly decorated by cuts and scars. It has pissed itself and stinks of drying dog urine. A stub of half dried shit pokes out the anus of the creature. Its limbs are jerking in uncoordinated lethargic shudders, rustling the surrounding leaves and trash around it. The left hind leg, pinned beneath the dying body, has been scratching its foot half off against the concrete curb. The bloody stump has left a bright red smear on the curb and spattered red spots beneath it. The dog is obviously dying of rabies. I leave, trying not to throw up.

6

“This description is just really uncomfortable to read” Dana remarks, as the zoom call turns to feedback on my paper. She looks up from her printout at the screen. Dana is American and she talks a lot. She continues, “look, I like your argument and I think it’s strong, but I had to take a break after reding this first half page. I got really nauseous reading it, just thought like, what if this was Erina?” Erina is Dana’s German Shepherd. Dana keeps talking, “I get that the paper is about dogs dying, but does it have to be this explicit? At least I think it’s maybe a little too graphic? That was my take anyway”. The meeting continues. I make a note, “Dana – Nauseous, dog vignette too much?” 

7

I am passing through North Haven. I have been biking for four hours. It is a poor neighbourhood. Small adjoining houses with small, messy front lawns. Two kids, a boy and a girl, are running around after two big bulldogs, cris-crossing the bike path up ahead, just past the road crossing. I slow down to avoid a car, but kick hard into the pedals to get past the kids and dogs quickly. The dogs start barking loud and chasing me as I pass. I glance back. The bulldog in front is white with a mottle of grey-blueish flecks of colour along its flanks. Behind it is a slightly smaller, brownish bull dog. Way behind, both kids are running after the dogs. I have to stop for three cars at another road crossing. The white one is on me straight away, growling, teeth in the hem of my jeans. The kids catch up and grab the dogs by their collars. The boy has the brownish one. The girl, a couple of years older, has the white one - wrestling it off my left pant leg. I start again after the cars pass. I get a couple seconds head start before the barking dogs are after me again. I stop soon after, trying not to behave like prey. The white dog snaps at my left leg. I jerk my leg forward, and away from it, but it bites again catching my left calf in its mouth. As it bites into my jean covered leg, I twist my torso back towards the kids scrambling to catch up with the dogs. I shout at them articulating slowly to emphasize each word, “Please! Control! your dogs!” The girl grabs the collar of the white one again and it lets go of my leg. I don’t stop biking again for several minutes. On the phone, the nurse tells me to clean the wound with soap and to come to the health centre as soon as possible. I don’t have any more soap, so I use Dawn Platinum dishwashing detergent.   

8

Sophia laughs at me, and says to her new boyfriend, “Can you tell that Asmus doesn’t like dogs?” Despite the distraction of beers and the bar surrounding us, I have been failing to seem interested in how Ed picked the race for his new dog. It’s a grey and brown, shaggy haired one. The breed is very smart. It’s a good girl. I get the gist. Bob sputters politely, “oh, uhm, … we can talk about something else” Chloe, on my left jumps in, “no no I want to hear! I love dogs!”. I smile with as much warmth as I can muster, ”no please, I am interested, I just have had some experiences with dogs, so they don’t feel so cute to me” Ed looks shocked and concerned, “what happened!?” I smile with something that looks like confidence, “oh it’s nothing, not worth talking about. Please go on.”