Bite

Less than a day into the Year of the Pig, and Joan already had her first serving of "accidents" forecasted for those born in the Year of the Tiger (this according to my mother-in-law).

She got bitten by a dog. Again.

So a dog is a dog, and biting is a dog thing however we look at it. It’s as natural for them as peeing on walls and tires.

But I feel especially betrayed by this mutt.

The dog belongs to our landlady, and we’ve endured its stinking pee at our doorsteps every morning since we moved into our temporary apartment last January. For the next eight months, until the renovation in our apartment is complete, Joan and I have agreed that we'll try to make friends with this hyperactive animal.

Things were looking up in the past weeks. The dog doesn’t bark as hard and stink as much as before (has he finally succeeded in killing our olfactory nerves?). We could walk near his cage without triggering a frenzy, or move around the compound without him barking at our butts.

That's why last Sunday was a surprise.

We arrived from our weekly grocery, with Joan carrying the bag of meat and poultry. I walked ahead and passed by the dog, appearing totally oblivious of him as I always did. And like before, it ignored me, giving only a few half-hearted barks.

But I walked too far ahead of Joan.

Unlike me, she could not put on the same mask of nonchalance towards dogs. She had fourteen shots of anti-rabies when she was ten, and the fear of dogs did not really disappear through the years.

She faltered in the steps, and the dog, sensing her fear, zeroed in on her and planted one canine to her left heel.

…

…

My apologies to all dog lovers, but let me just share this…

This is the first dog that I’ve personally seen bite someone, and live.

I grew up in a neighborhood that doesn’t tolerate dogs that bite.

Biting, in that part of our town, is a dog’s death sentence. Always, a dog guilty of biting anyone in a public area won’t be leaving the “crime scene” alive – somehow somebody with the guts to kill a dog will be nearby.

If the owners of an erring dog do manage to protect his or her pet, it’s a dead dog walking just the same. Chances are, the neighborhood thugs will finish the job – either by tossing poisoned food to the dog, or finding a way to have the dog served as “pulutan” in their next drinking session.

I know it’s a harsh way to treat even the erring animals. But with the town’s relative inaccessibility back then, anti-rabies were expensive and often short in supply. For the majority of the townsfolk who couldn’t afford the complete treatment, the alternative is a painful procedure that involves bleeding and several rounds of washing the wound with boiling-hot herbal concoctions.

Those were the long-gone Dark Ages, but it managed to de-sensitize much of our generation to this kind of cruelty.

My generation.

I have to admit I was murderous upon seeing all the blood oozing out of Joan’s heel. Had it not for the immediate medical attention required then, my first reaction would have been to rush to the apartment, get the old nunchuks hanging behind the door, and send the mutt to dog heaven.
But when Joan started blaming me for walking too far ahead, I bit my lips, brought her to the clinic, watched her in pain as the tests and shots come in. She is scheduled to a few more shots to complete the treatment.

The dog’s owners were apologetic and offered to pay every expense incurred for the treatment. They were kind, and must have been in similar situations before.

Deep inside, however, I was hoping to get even with the dog. The owners must have sensed this because they said, “pasensya na talaga, hindi namin siya pwedeng ipapatay.”

Sigh. I’m bad, I know.

Yesterday, I stopped by the dog’s cage, and sat next to it for a few minutes (hoping to see any sign of remorse, maybe).

He just stared back at me with sleepy eyes.

Is it the rabies taking effect? Oh please tell me you’re dying, dog.

Because I might not be able to hold back next time.

p.s. As of blog date, the dog is as healthy and noisy as ever, and his pee still stinks at our doorsteps. I've contented myself to just fantasize a gruesome demise for him when his karma catches up.