The Kiribati Puppy who got loved :)

Dogs are everywhere in Kiribati… skinny, under-sized, starving mongrels… in groups, big and small, everywhere.  No one seems to ‘own’ any of them; but you stay in any area and you’ll become familiar with the local dogs who live ‘there’.  You never seem to see them die, though you’ve no idea how they survive.

Forever loitering, spurred on by their survival instinct as they search in hope for morsels amongst the slim pickings of waste thrown on the pile just outside the family’s living areas.  If they venture too close to the eating space in their endless quest; they’ll be promptly shooed away, often with a spray of small stones.  Sometimes larger rocks are thrown, finding their target with a muted thud followed by a yelp as they scurry away empty handed and empty-bellied.

It may sound confusing and so cruel, but this is a developing nation and food is important.  There are large families to feed on a single income, plus any extras who happen to be staying.  There isn’t starvation amongst the people, but a strong value around food.  Besides, no one really ‘owns’ any of these dogs - it certainly isn’t appropriate to save even old food for them, let alone encourage them.

The dogs’ behaviour in Kiribati from what I’ve seen is different from western dogs – though there are many around, there doesn’t seem to be any aggression, though a pecking order must be established somehow.  I’ve never personally seen them come close to harming a child, or anyone.  If any human so much as raises an arm, they scramble away, anticipating being pelted.  The nursing females have no problem with anyone picking their puppies up as my daughters constantly did in my last visit there, they don’t react in any way at all.  They know their station in life.

Somehow these pathetic mutts stay alive, generation replacing generation.  The females even managing to feed their puppies from their emaciated bodies.  Once weaned, they remain in the area and continue their sad and desperate existence.

One such puppy who looked around 5-6 weeks old, caught my eye when we first arrived in Kiribati for a two month holiday in December, 1995.  He was with a group sniffing around outside ‘te uma’, the cooking hut, in the hopes of finding a scrap.

Whilst most of the dogs in Kiribati are are a combo of white and ginger, with varying degrees of spotted-ness, this puppy was completely black, with floppy ears which drooped and swung as he enthusiastically followed the group and sniffed around.

“Aw, look at that puppy!  He’s so cute!”, I exclaimed.  “here, puppy, come here, puppy”, I held out my hand.  He and the other dogs recoiled in fright.  A human hand advancing meant ‘pain’.  “Ohh, come here, puppy”, I tried again, looking around I found a lump of stale rice next to the cooking fire and held it out.  Having come closer, he retreated in a hurry again.  It took many attempts for him to come close enough to where he snatched up the rice and bolted back away. 

The following morning, I found him again; “Puppy!  Puppy!  Come here, puppy!”.  He was afraid again, and it took just as many attempts to feed him a small scrap again. 

Mum scolded me, “Vicki, leave it, ea kamwaraara!” (it’s yuck).

“No, mum”, I protested, “he’s so cute!” 

“We don’t feed the dogs”, mum reminded me.

“I’ll just give him the rubbish”, I persisted.  Mum reluctantly accepted that, disapproval on her face.

Day after day, several times a day, I sought him out, his name now set as ‘Puppy’.  Taking spoiled food from te uma, I found a half coconut shell and put it before him.  I shooed the bigger dogs away, I could only afford to feed one creature, and I had chosen Puppy.  He was gaining confidence now, and came up to eat from the shell briefly, before retreating, then returning to eat for longer.  I was soon able to stroke his soft head without him jumping.

Puppy’s nervousness melted away so quickly.  Within less than a week he was waiting for me each morning at the bottom of the ladder of my bwiia, we’d established a connection.  After a week mum started to notice him hanging round more, and she no longer complained when I fed him. 

“Shall we kill his fleas?”, she suggested one day.

Surprised, I answered “sounds good… but how?”, I wondered.

Next thing Puppy was reclined back in my hands as mum slowly poured kerosene from his head down, carefully avoiding his eyes.  Dozens of fleas fled with the wave of the fuel, culminating at his navel where we doused the remainder of them.

After this I gave him a bath with a yellow bar of soap used for washing clothes, and brushed him with a broken comb from the rubbish heap. -All away from the living areas (it was extremely foreign for the family to see me handling a dog, and a little disrespectful).  My young cousins and some kids from next door crowded round, one of them went to hit Puppy (it’s just what you do), I reached out and defended him, “kiitaniira!” – ‘move away from us’, I ordered firmly as their senior.

Puppy began to thrive after that first flea bath.  As if the one less job of contending with those parasites gave him energy to do other things, like play and run.  Mum started to put rice aside especially for him, fresh rice!?  Wow, mum, you’ve changed, I joked with her. But as we only visited mum every three years, she was willing to concede with this one bizarre motivation of mine. Besides I could see her warming to this charming black puppy.

Puppy’s other cute milestones were: the first time he turned his nose up at stale rice, he now had standards!  He was even given fish or spam now and then, unheard of!!  And when he ate (now from an old enamel bowl and not a coconut shell), and other, much bigger dogs came close, he would growl and snap at them with great energy.  Here was this puppy, becoming the alpha by his position of privilege.  You could see his superior strength from the nourishment he was getting also reinforced his attitude.  We all found it hilarious to witness, including Mum.

He would stroll across te inaai, the basic palm frond mats covering the earth on the ground level of our house - territory no dog would ever dare venture onto.  There he would perch on my thigh, and wait for food.  I began to love him so very much. I even raised my hand once, threatening to smack him as he got too close to our food, and I adored how he gazed up and me, unblinking.  He no longer feared human hands, I didn’t realise we had achieved this milestone.

Puppy grew fatter, stronger and glossier, more affectionate, coupled with his confident-bordering-entitled attitude.  He feared no one.  All the children copied me calling out “Puppy!” to him – theirs sounded like “Bobbeee!”, so all around children could be heard calling out “Bobbee!” – it was novel and entertaining for them to notice, let alone acknowledge and address a dog!!?  He didn’t respond to their calling him though, interestingly.  Didn’t recognize the name by the accent, maybe?  He followed me everywhere and we adored eachother.

The time was coming for us to leave.  Mum, my sister and I always anticipated this time with dread, our parting was always accompanied with such sorrow and loss.  Mum, however took comfort in that she would still have Puppy.  “I’ll remember you guys when I care for him and treat his fleas, and feed him”, she said with a bitter smile.

Our flight was early on a Thursday morning, on the Wednesday night before I picked up Puppy and carried him perched on my shoulder the 20-metre walk to the beach. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow”, I explained to him.  “You’re going to stay here with mum, Atera and Tony, and they’re going to look after you”.  Puppy was so still as I talked to him.  I held him close and savoured his soft smooth neck resting against mine.  This was goodbye, and he understood.

The following morning, we were all up and packed into the back of the open truck while it was still dark.  I thought of Puppy, but he was always asleep at this time, amongst the pile of dogs who slept beneath my aunty’s pandanus lower-level thatching.  It was why we had to constantly flea treat him.

We had our goodbyes with the extended family, and mum (all the pain around that is blogged in other posts!). Many hours later, back at the house in New Zealand, we spoke to mum.  Puppy had reportedly stayed under the bed all day, just out of reach at the back.  He was down and they understood the feeling.

“Ok we’ll call you again in a few days, mum, at the same time”.  Mum took our calls at her workplace so it was always arranged well.

Three days later we called.  Mum sounded distressed.  “I have some bad news for you, Vicki”, she explained in a strained voice.  “We couldn’t get Puppy out from under the bed, we offered him so many different things, he wouldn’t move, he just looked at us”

“And?” I asked, holding my breath.

“Today, we had to pull the bed away and take him out, he had died”.

Ohh.

I could hear from mum that this added a considerable heaviness to her and an additional layer of grief, so Emma and I tried to chat about other things to keep her buoyant.  She really felt like she’d lost a part of us, after pinning some hopes on Puppy continuing as their pet.  She shed tears, inconceivably, for a dog, a dog! - for the first time ever.

I got off the phone and lay across the bed, sobbing.  A soup of differing emotions, still tender from leaving mum, and this new and unique sadness invading that space.

Puppy, ohh Puppy.  You gave up when I left!  You really knew that I wasn’t coming back!  Such love.  What a brief and bright flame you were.  What a pleasure it was to show you care and compassion, and to see you reach your cheerful, juvenile potential.  I’ll never forget you my dear Puppy.  Did you show those local kids that animals are ever-so-slightly-special and should be treated with more consideration?  I reckon you did.

~~

…It’s been 26 years since this happened, and I’m definitely not particularly known for my compassion towards dogs, even towards my own German Shepherd, lol.  But writing about this still brought back heavy-hearted feelings.  Remembering him is the reason I understand when people hope they’ll meet their pups again in heaven.

Thanks for reading! xx