Puppy!

Natalie, Steve and I, roommates, have adopted a wiggly and timid street dog we’ve named Spock for his enormous pointy ears. He’s about three years old, and is a mutt about half the size of my beloved labs back home. I’m nearly certain that he’s part African wild dog (a never-domesticated savannah species), but he’s a surprisingly cheerful, friendly critter considering the tough life he’s surely had. He doesn’t even bark or growl.

Spock doesn’t actually live at our house, since he’s not the cleanest critter around, but he seems much happier and more relaxed now that he clearly feels welcome somewhere. Of course, none of us are here to stay, so we’re trying to start a house tradition of feeding little Spock, so that our successors keep him happy and healthy (comparatively speaking).

Animals are not well treated here. Most people don’t feed their pets, leaving them to scrounge from garbage bins and chase smaller animals for food. As a result, emaciated stray dogs wander most neighbourhoods alone or in mini-packs of two or three.

Violence against animals is sadly common. A lot of people think nothing of arbitrarily kicking any creature, pet or stray, who’s in the way or merely begging for food. This harshness is pervasive enough that I agonized over how to praise my insane horse in Lesotho, since she had known far more cruelty than affection in her life. I know that this callousness is born of the difficult lives of poverty and struggle led by most people in the region, but it’s very, very hard to tolerate nonetheless.

But Spock’s adjusting well. Though he has the meekness and fearful eyes of an abused dog, he calmed quickly when he saw we meant no harm. Within minutes of wandering into our yard he was rolling over for tummy rubs and playing puppyish games of nipping lightly at our fingers. Several times a week he comes to visit, he gets a bowlful of actual dog food (which it took him some time to recognize as edible) which he eats with remarkably polite and subservient table manners, rather than the reckless wolfing you’d expect. He gets tummy rubs and ear scratches once we’ve checked him for ticks, and spends as much time as we allow simply lounging in the safety and calm of our walled yard. He sleeps most nights under a patch of trees just outside the property (hence the ticks) and waits eagerly, more for attention than food, incredibly enough, most evenings when we come home from work. He's no substitute for my own puppies back home, but he's a sweet little guy and he'll do fine in the interim.

PS Speaking of animals, my friend Kelly, who lives on the outskirts of Gabs, has just had half a troop of baboons take up residence in her garden. This may sound excitingly exotic, and it was for about five minutes, but baboons are horrid creatures with huge teeth and notoriously foul tempers. She's still trying to figure out what to do about them. Updates to follow.