Someone recently asked--and with good cause--"I don't mean to beat a dead dog, but how are the dogs in China, or Hong Kong, for that matter?"

Hong Kong Dog Report
For the longest time I saw not a single dog in Hong Kong. But I did see the trappings of dog civilization here: pet stores, dog commercial products, a sign that requested, in the King's English:

"Please do not allow your dog to deposit faeces in public places."

Then, gradually, these privileged few began to make appearances:

• A young man carrying a poodle in his arms as he descended an escalator.
• A woman carrying a terrier in her arms, along with the requisite loads of Hong Kong shopping bags.
• Another, as all of them, well coiffed, recently shampooed, with dainty ribbons tied to head hair, and being hand-carried by his or her owner, a la française.

Eventually I realized that I was simply not going to be able to embark on conversation with these Hong Kong dogs, because basically (sigh) I have to admit--I'm below their station.

China Dog Report
In China, they haves dogs. In my travels I sawr a few who appeared to be loved. One canine fellow at a brief stop in the Chinese countryside was slightly curious at the sight of the human meigwo [American]. I did say to him, "Ni hao ma?" [How are you?], but he was too bashful to respond. Perhaps he feared that word would get around that he had been friendly with a foreigner, and he'd wind up in trouble with the local police.

My main Chiner dog encounter was while at a rest stop in my hideous overnight sleeper bus ride from Yangshuo to Guangzhou. Near several of the disgustingly stinky Chinese toilets was chained a gigantic dog-creature that looked part German Shepherd, part Wolf, and part Something Even Bigger. I still had my uneaten second ham sammich supplied by the dexterous hands of the kindly Xiao-Yi (or his staff), but I feared slightly for its eat-safety after so many hours in the heat.

So I approached this Dragon Dog to give my offering. First I had to wake the sleeping giant, against the better judgment of Napoleon. A little whistle did the trick. Then I said (for real), "Hello? I give to you, okay?" while gesturing with the sandwich.

I had heard his resounding bark earlier, but this time he remained silent. I tossed my lunch at him and it bounced to within a couple of feet of his chained reach. He could sniff it though. Dang! It's not his fault he's big. There was of course the language barrier to deal with. I spoke no Putonghua, and I think it's a good guess that he spoke little or no English. I very gingerly approached, all the while using my best dog-communication skills to ensure that I was no threat--was a treat-giver instead. He understood. I fetched the farther away bread and tossed it within his reach. He sniffed and liked. Then came the meatier, ham-glued-to-bread-with-cheese half. Now that one, he really liked. I had gained yet another Chinese Communist friend!

And they said only Nixon could go to China!

P.S. Oh, the other day while out walking in Sheung Wan, here on Hong Kong Island, I was able to exercise my One Known Superpower and did make friends with a beautiful little kitty-kat. Her markings were so lovely--rich brown plumes on a black background. I had never seen that pattern before.

— David Saia

<—   b  a  c  k

moocat.net © 2001-2010, by . Individual authors retain copyright over their works. Reproduce only with author's permission.