Wild Dogs

Myeik is full of packs of wild dogs. A couple of elderly ones in my street made friendly overtures so I thought fuck it. I can always wash my hands after petting them.

I think the male dog is dead now. He didn’t look well and suddenly looked a lot worse after I came back from Yangon. I’ve not seen him in days.

The bitch is blind in one eye and has a hobbled paw but it doesn’t hurt her. She flinches when I go to stroke her, clearly worried I will malignantly stick my finger in her other eye and that’s that. Obviously, I won’t.

I think I am the first person to give her any attention beyond my neighbours who feed her boiled rice, which is something.

As she rolled over for a tummy rub, the son of my neighbouring house came over to say “Dogs. They are very dirty.”

I told him I would wash my hands after- she almost certainly has countless parasites and so on but she is also a sentient being.

I said, “Dogs are not wild animals. They would not exist without people. To leave them here wild is a very bad thing.”

He shrugged. Asked if I had seen the football match. I told him football is war and I am not interested in war.

Buddhists. Buddhism. A lot of good things about it but so laissez faire. Ignore the suffering of conscious animals that could use a good home and go light some joss sticks at the pagoda and all is well.

Or is it?

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