Growing
up in Mongkok (5)
Bob Choi
31 March 2010
The Puppy
This
morning the radio talk show were about 4 men being sentenced to 30 days in jail
for killing and eating a dog. Many
viewers called in airing their views. You could tell they were dog lovers from their comments: “How could they
do this to a dog? Dogs are men’s best friends! These men should spend the rest of their lives in jail!” This reminded me of my first puppy when
I was 6 years old. This puppy
meant a lot to me and after you read my story you will agree that I am not
exaggerating when I say my puppy has become a part of me.
I was
returning from school one evening in September, and was opening the door when I
heard “Yap! Yap!….Yap!” and saw a little puppy scampering down the corridor,
slipping and sliding on the cement floor. It’s got fluffy, light brown fur; a pointed tail that curled into a
loop; a short snout that was dark around the mouth that was wide-open with a
pinkish tongue hanging out. Its
eyes that were focusing on mine were small and almond-shaped. It might very well be a common, local
breed of checkered pedigree, but it was the cutest puppy I had ever come
across.
I knelt
on my knees and tried to touch it. It licked my hand as I would with a lollipop and that tickled. I lifted it on his hind legs and found
to my satisfaction that it was indeed a boy puppy. I probably wouldn’t like a girl puppy. (If you wonder why I would prefer a boy
puppy, please refer to my previous story - “The Young Misogynist”.)
“I see
you two have met,” my mom called out as she walked toward us. “It’s going to be your puppy, Ah
Yuen. How would you like to call
it?”
“Lucky,
mom. Let’s call it Lucky!” Almost everyone called their dogs “Lucky”
in those days. If you yelled “Lucky!”
loudly at a street corner, half of the dogs in the neighborhood would come to
you!
Lucky
and I became close friends, inseparable one might say. As schoolwork was not my top priority
and my parents were not overly fixated with their child’s schoolwork as parents
are nowadays, I spent all my time after school with Lucky. I took care of its meals. I walked it at least twice a day. I gave it baths albeit not as frequent
as I should because Lucky didn’t like bathing too much…a trait that it shared
with its young master! It was full
of energy and so was I. We played
in the flat all the time running up and down the corridor. Mom seemed happy with the situation
because while I was busy with Lucky I would be less likely to get into mischief
of my own.
Lucky
was growing fast (much faster than I was) because it was a ferocious
eater. No matter how much I put
into its bowl, it would finish in seconds and it always wanted more. In just a few months it grew into a
fairly good-size dog. One day I
overheard dad talking to one of my older brothers about planning a winter
feast. I only heard bits and
pieces of their conversation, but I heard that we were going to invite all the
other tenants on our flat. It must
be some special occasion, I reckoned. Children in those days hardly had enough to eat, so the news of an
upcoming feast was welcome with anticipation.
One
evening in December I was returning home from school. I was opening the door and was surprised that I didn’t hear
Lucky and it was not waiting at the door as it would every time when I came
home. “Lucky!...Lucky!” I called. No response. That’s
odd. Maybe one of my brothers took
him for a walk. I saw mom in the
kitchen, so I headed to the kitchen and called out: “Where’s Lucky, mom?”
“Your
daddy took it out, son,” she replied without turning her head. She seemed very busy preparing for the
feast. I though best not to bother
her. I was a bit tired from the
physical education session at school that afternoon, so I decided to take a
catnap before dinner. I must have
overslept because by the time I woke up it was very dark and the flat was full
of people. Everyone who lived on
the flat was present. They all
gathered around a big table that was set up in the common area. I walked to the crowd at the table.
“Son,
you woke up at last! Come sit next
to me,” my mom said. I sat down
next to her.
“Where’s
Lucky, mom?”
“Lucky
is gone.”
“What
do you mean ‘gone’, mom?”
“Lucky
is no longer with us,” dad said, looking at me.
I was
not a dumb kid. As a matter of
fact, I was considered to be pretty smart for my age. The way that everyone at the table was looking at me at that
moment told me the worst had indeed happened to Lucky, and the large pot at the
middle of the table, containing what looked like lamb stew (my favorite dish)
with a strong ginger smell provided the proof that I needed.
“You
killed my puppy! You cooked Lucky! You murderers! I wish you
all choke to death!” I ran
from the table, pushing and shoving everyone in my way, but I was too little to
cause anyone any harm. That was
too bad because I really wanted to cause some serious damage to the people at
the table…they all deserved to die! I ran to bed without any dinner because I lost my appetite. I was crying and plotting for what I
should do to avenge Lucky’s death. Maybe I could set fire to the flat…they deserved to go up in smoke. Maybe I should get an axe and chopped
them into pieces and fed them to the goldfish. Maybe…
All
that crying and plotting must have gotten me tired for I soon felt asleep. I dreamt about Lucky in doggie
heaven. It was as big as a horse,
and it was chasing and biting everyone whom I saw at the table that night. That made me feel very nice
inside. I was cheering it on,
throwing my arms around when I suddenly woke up from my nightmarish dream.
“Good
morning, son – would you like some breakfast?” my mom said when she saw me
getting out of bed, “you skipped dinner last night.”
“No,
mom - I’m never going to eat anything again! Not ever!”
“Okay,
son – but remember, you‘re a little boy and if you want to grow up, you’ll have
to eat.”
“No, I’m
going to starve myself to death, and it’s all your fault!”
I
decided that a hunger strike would be a more realistic option compared to
committing arson or chopping people into pieces. I kept my promise: I didn’t have any breakfast. But by lunchtime I was so hungry I was
ready to eat anything when mom walked to me with a bowl in her hand.
“Son, I
understand how you must have felt. I’d like you to know that Lucky was slaughtered in a humane way…it didn’t
suffer at all.”
“You’re
all murderers! I’ll starve myself
to death!” I continued with my
threat.
“I’ve saved a few pieces for
you. I think you might be curious
and would like to give it a try.”
She
showed me the contents of the bowl. It looked like lamb stew and smelled like lamb stew (my favorite dish -
in case you’ve forgot I said earlier.) I put a piece in my mouth. Perhaps because I was very hungry, it tasted even better than lamb
stew! I emptied the bowl in record
time! And that’s why I said at the
beginning that Lucky has become a permanent part of me.
Lucky
was my first puppy as well as my last because while we had a few other dogs
after Lucky, it was my younger brother who took care of them. My family didn’t slaughter any dogs
after Lucky although we did purchase and consume dog meat for a few years and
then we stopped. Lamb tasted just
as good and without the guilt!