Dog Daze

Ahhh, the dog days of the African winter.

As you could have foreshadowed, the dog-house looking thing next to the kitchen spurred the purchase of two African bush puppies. In around December, just a short path through the woods from the house, there was a fat little white puppy who could barely walk and looked like a blind baby rat. I admired him for a second, moved him off of the path so he didn’t get trampled, and went to work. A few weeks later, I saw him again and brought him home to Jennipher. She feared dogs from a childhood incident. Not many people around here treat dogs well or think highly of dogs. They don’t feed them well which leads to scavenging, skinny dogs that are kept for security (I guess). The white dog was different from any other dog in the village – it was fluffy and white with a black face… kind of marked like a cow, but it’s certainly the only “fluffy” dog that I’ve seen since I’ve been here. Dirty and flea-ridden like the others, but still unique. As a result, Jennipher loved it and suggested that we get two so they could keep each other company (that’s right – I brought a puppy home to mommy and asked if we could get one). When I returned the white one to the owners, I saw the only other survivor of the litter, a proper little brown looking bush dog.

As of early January, those two dogs became the latest addition to my African family for a bargain of five bucks each. The fluffy white one is chubby, aloof, and people love his look. I aptly named him Jerry “G-nut” Garcia (G-nut is a local peanut). The brown one is smarter, feistier, and energetic but doesn’t get the recognition of Jerry. He’s aptly named Bobby “Chapatti” Weir (Chapatti is a local fried flatbread) after the eternal younger brother of the real-life Jerry. On their diet of store-bought dog food, they’re fatter, happier, and better trained than any puppy to ever live in Bududa district. They’re growing fast and kicking the shit out of each other. I took them on an all-day hike up into the national park when they were three months old.

Dogs don’t come without dog drama. First, were the fleas and worms, both of which were swiftly attacked through a trip to a back-alley vet in Mbale. Next, their mother used to come to the house and try to take them away. When she was lactating, she would tempt them with the teat and when they were small enough, she would try to lift them by their neck chub. I was pretty tolerant of her, because we both want what’s best for the dogs (and that’s living with me rather than getting kicked around a mud hut and going hungry). As they’ve gotten older, they’re actually able to follow her now if nobody’s watching them. If I’m there, they choose me on their own free will. If I’m inside and don’t see Mom, they became big enough to run off with her. Because of that, we’ve been chasing her away a little bit more forcefully. At first I was afraid I might get attacked by a disease-ridden bush dog, but have since realized that she’s afraid of humans after being kicked around a mud hut her whole life. One morning a few weeks ago, I was routinely chasing away Mom. As she was running down the front driveway and I stood in front of the house like a tough guy, I saw out of the corner of my eye Jennipher whipping a stone with the form of Pedro throwing a 100 mph fastball. She hit the thing dead-on from 20 yards as it was moving. She’s been coming by less since.

The same morning about twenty minutes after the rock-throwing incident, I heard Jerry crying on the front porch. I looked out and saw him drooling in panic. When I came out, I saw a big-ass cow eating the grass in front of our pit latrine. Knowing that Jerry is deathly afraid of cows, Jennipher was already out there, whacking the shit out of the cow with a big stick. Just another morning in rural Uganda…

Looks like Jennipher’s changed her outlook on dogs. She really loves them. She feeds them human food and I tell her to stop. She lets them tug on her skirt and I tell her to stop. She gives them washcloths to play with and I tell her to stop. She gives them chicken bones and I tell her to stop. I’m with them 90% of the day and I buy their dog food so they can suffer with my regiment of hiking to villagers homes for healthy home visits, river crossing training, and dog food. If they get special treatment from grandma, I don’t see a horrible problem with that. Also, they’re often spotted running around with unidentified objects in their mouths which I generally let slide… because… they’re African bush dogs.

Why is Jerry deathly afraid of cows you ask? Well, after a week or two of dog ownership, I decided to see if they’d be able to follow me up to the clinic without a leash. They did very well primarily because they were chasing me for dear life. One day on a walk, a bull wandered up to them and started to charge. They ran and escaped. On the second or third trip to the clinic, we came across a big ol’ nasty big-horned, big-balled black bull right at the beginning of the path to the clinic. He charged Jerry. Jerry froze. The bull ran up to him, jumping up and down like a rodeo bull, trying to trounce Jerry. The first time, I wasn’t sure if Jerry was hit or not, but I immediately ran up to the bull and gave him a couple of kidney punches as Jerry escaped. The bull turned to me, but didn’t charge. I was getting ready to punch him in the face, but was too concerned about Jerry’s well being, and ran to his aid. He was certainly shaken up, but he’ll be fine. I think the reason behind “no fluffy dogs live in Bududa” is that they’re good-lookin’, but they’re not the brightest.