A beggar can’t be a chooser

Even if it is a d-o-g.

You look into their eyes and it times I see fear, at others I see pain and the longing for unconditional love. I can go from feeling annoyed to feeling such sorrow for many of the dogs of Bagamoyo.  And kitties too.

You know how in the states people say,  ‘he/she treats him/her like a dog? Well the dogs really are treated like dogs here and it isn’t in a good way. Many times you don’t notice the dogs because they are everywhere, roaming about from year to yard, house to house, in search of food, and I imagine a loving hand that will pet them and not hit them.

I get the sense the dogs are not treated like pets, in most cases, now I am speaking in general terms and from what I have seen on a daily basis but they are treated with angst and frustration. It is sad because I absolutely LOVE dogs, and most pets, but these dogs I don’t care to pet too much, because one, they run and cringe at you, which gives me the inclination that they are abused and fearful to be hit, and two because they are so mangy, dirty, burned,  flea-ridden and who knows what else. They could have rabies so you have to take head when reaching out your hand – it runs the gamut.

There is this one female dog that looks as though she is about 2 months out from having had puppies. I could tell because her little ta tas look as though they had been sucked on by little babies.  I am a sucker for puppies. She kept coming into my yard, by the trash and every once in a while would shyly walk on by, looking at me with hesitancy, and at times she would approach me. I thought twice about petting her because I wanted to send her some love. As she got closer I noticed that her left ear looked as though it had been slashed at the base with a knife, and it looked as though each ear had been burned with oil or something because they had black splotches on them. It made me disgusted. As I went out to put my hand out to her, my neighbor Ester, who I like less and less every day, yelled at the dog, reached down to the ground to pick up a rather large chunk of cement to throw at her. I raised my voice and said, ‘NO, don’t’, and I shook my finger at her. She dropped the rock and gave me a smirking grin that I wanted to slap off her face.
I know people here are conditioned to treat the begging dogs like rats, and they get tired of them, but not in my yard or any where near me. I understand that they are pests and beggars, like our pigeons, but that is not excuse to continue the vicious cycle of abusive behavior. 

Now one thing is for certain, all the dogs look the same. There aren’t many breeds here, and I would assumer because they keep inner breading, and because in order to buy a ‘clean,’ unique type of dog, it would be quite pricey.

Today I was sweeping my front porch, and she came up and sat right in front of my porch. I said ‘hi’ and she finally let me pet her, I did, immediately wash my hands after, I know, I know but you just don’t know what these d-o-g-s might be carrying around. I noticed her ear was healing and I wanted to go in and grab some Vitamin E oil, and decided against it. I really didn’t want to touch her – it looked gross. Instead I pet her and rubbed her muzzy (muzzle). She tried to come up on my porch and said, “no. I didn’t want to start a habit. Talk about starting habits. I decided I wanted to feed her some scraps so I went in to the kitchen and brought out some rice, beans and steak,  I had made the night before. Just a little. I put it down, and she ate it up. Well she ate everything but the beans. I said to her, “beggars can’t be choosers.” She just looked at me with sweet little eyes that said, ‘that was delicious and I want more, please.’ 

Ok, so I am a push-over. I went in and got some steamed milk I had just made for coffee and poured it in a bowl that Ester had left outside. I told her to sit down, and she did and I put it down in front of her. She, of course, loved it and lapped it up. I went into my house to clean up a bit, and I looked over to my front door where she was sitting, patiently. I told her to go sit off the porch. Mind you, I am sure she doesn’t get a lick of English, so I said it in Swahili. She went out and lay down off to the side of my house.

Right now, as I am writing this story, she is on my porch peering around my open, front door. Again I tell her she needs to go off and she does. I also told her to keep it on the “DL.” (down-low)

Maybe I’m feeding into this vicious cycle, as well.