It is the human tragedy that we cannot, except in extreme circumstances, determine the means by which our mortal mosquito coil will burn out. It is of course possible to take some steps to reduce the likelihood of certain modes of exit. Preventative health. Stopping smoking will cut down the chances of lung cancer and emphysema, for instance. (Here, the nicotine-free author pauses to inhale deeply, clearly, and not a little self-righteously.) Similarly, avoiding getting bitten by rabid dogs will reduce your chances of dying a frothy, painful and extremely undignified death.
Lord knows I have availed myself of many opportunities to act in an undignified fashion. But to die in such a fashion? Jamais! Imagine if one of my poor grief-stricken little sisters had to hack into this blog (no need right now) and post a notice reading: ‘The Pike Family regrets to inform you that Catriona was bitten by a Rottweiler poodle cross outside the Post Office in Hanoi. Unfortunately, this dog was rabid and so, briefly, was Catriona. She died as she lived. Etc.’ Would you even believe this? Nice girl, died of rabies. Shame, really. Would you think of me and guiltily swallow a sad snicker every time your egregiously hungover self started to intone on the curative powers of the hair of the dog that bit you? Would you be able to think of me as anything but a rabid feminist/gourmand/partisan of the mangosteen/lush/bookworm? Would this bring me posthumous gravitas? No! I would be forced to whimper like a kicked cur in the corner of the dingiest doghouse the sky has to offer in perpetual bloody purgatory. And of course all the rumours propagated by that bloody Alighieri about purgatory would turn out to be true if I happened to shuffle through the gates with a dog bite on my calf and froth still settling on my chin.
I do know that there is a widely available rabies shot which, if administered within two hours of a nip, will ward off doom. I would still rather avoid this. As far as I am concerned, lining up for a rabies shot is tantamount to an extremely overfamiliar slow dance with death. My death-drive has been weakened by the heat. Rabies is my primary concern, but mange and all manner of fleas are also on my mind, as are good old-fashioned dog-bites. I have felt sorely compromised in withholding demonstrations of my love because, to generalise, the dogs of South East Asia are not showered with affection. The pampered pug-uglies and yapping pedigrees of Rushcutter’s Bay are not what the proverbial they mean when they talk about being treated like a dog. The dogs around these parts are much put upon – deprived and forlorn and neglected. Their insecurities are understandable. After all, you can order dog for dinner. If you pat at them, they snap. If you throw a stick and there’s more than one dog around, you’ll start a fight. If you make silly barking noises at them, they (and their owners) look at you like you’re off your rocker and then snap.
Whilst I understand that the British Isles are not 100% rabies free, I think the odds swing a little better in my favour over that side of the world. Once I clear the pack of sniffer corgis at Heathrow, I’ll be accosting the first British Bulldog I see. I might even have to go to a park and impersonate a barmy Brit for an afternoon, talking to the dogs and ignoring their owners. I suppose too the change of scene will allow me to befriend chickens – similarly off limits for the last few months. Not being a poultry fancier, this is less exciting.
3 comments:
I also love a pooch but found myself attacked by their mangy alter-egos in Chiang Mai on a regular basis. The trick I was taught is to bend down to the ground and pretend to pick up a stone which you then pretend to throw very hard at the pooch. Even if they don't run away, they do hesitate. So your epitaph may mention rabies but will also note that prior to your passing you mistreated animals. It won't go down well in the press over here but our south east asian brothers and sisters will have sympathy.
I had no idea your travails were so travailous, Catri. Eschewing dogs for public health purposes - or personal health purposes, as the case may be - would require a will of steel. That you haven't died in a froth of rabies already is testimony to your superior super ego.
Pass on my regards to the pups of Britain. Beagles, esp.
Beagles and bulldogs will receive much love, I assure you.
I will quit this continent having slung stones neither in anger nor in self-defence.
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