Of Dogs

My erhu teacher has a chihuahua called "Baobao" (baby). I should think artistically gifted people such as her would want to endow a more exciting name, but the dog could well be their real baby - they have no kids. The dog's kept in a cage in the shower room. The frosted transparent shower door is closed on it. The cage is roomy enough for a chihuahua, but there he sits in utter darkness while his owners are out of sight behind doors, coaching one student after another to late in the night. I saw it when I once came in early and, in passing the bathroom, heard the scratching and quick breathing. He was sure excited at seeing a visitor who took notice of him, but he did not vocalise, not even an eager whine. Later erhu teacher took him out at my mentioning (at the expense of my lesson time). She said he's a competition grade dog for the shape of his skull, which is apple-like and fits a palm perfectly. However one of his ears is awkwardly folded, probably due to mismanagement in cultivation of the newborn. And I doubt that such an imperfection doesn't degrade its value greatly. I told her that it's quite surprising that a dog as little as him doesn't bark. She said, with an air of confidence particular to the Chinese, "If he barks, we hit him. We've done that before."

I guess it's the Chinese, who lead geherally sedentary lifestyles (used to anyway), who impose the same on their dogs. The difficulty of keeping dogs in a city is known - less space for exercise, less grassy grounds for waste disposal. Still American people fare well enough. NYC, according to Jo anyway, is a "doggies' paradise". Even in Singapore, aunties and uncles (yes, even uncles. Actually more of them than aunties) find nice pastime in walking dogs or sitting them while they talk in neighbourhood resting areas. Sitting is good enough. It's open air after all. And the dogs love, above all, routine and the physical presence of the source of their devotion (that's why I always thought the concept of pet-like devotion to God is a little bit shaky, but that might just be BL). For the Chinese, it used to be the case that the monarch rules the subordinates, who exploit common citizens, who exploit the poorer common citizens, who are left with not much else to do except kicking the asses of dogs. The hatred of a beggar to dogs is well-known, for they aren't even able to exercise that last privilege as well as people of other professions. Habitual hierarchy. A dog, pretty as it looks, is supposed to obey just like kids and women do. So there had been emancipation of the fairer sex, and rebellions of the youth; but I figure animal right movements would still have to maintain an image of childish ridiculousness for a while. Of course we are not abusing the dogs. We beat them when they disobey, yes, but we are not being criminally saddistic or something - we give them food and drink, and hug them once in a while even.

As a result I didn't dare saying too much to my aunt when I saw their pomeranian caged all day and all night long - and it's a small cage that has only the openings of a window and the latch door. When he's released for the short while when my aunt's at home, he gets frantic at the liberty and dissipates his energy at sliding across the wooden-tiled floor, fetching winter slippers, or making love to a designated soft-toy - a tiger cub that fits snugly within his four embracing limbs. While I was there, I tried to run him every morning. Shanghai's not an extremely dog-friendly place, even though more and more people are keeping dogs (mostly shitzus, pekingnese and pomeranians). The aggression of the people are transferred onto the animals. There are few dogs who don't display hostility upon meeting each other. Roover - that's the name of aunt's pomeranian, given by my grandpa (I thought it sounds western, like "the Ranger"; and is decidedly a cool name for a male dog) - is unfortunately of a meek disposition, and winces at the advances of big, white shitzus in the neighbourhood. I'd have a good mind to give Roover a good run on some proper streets, but aunt advised against it, for good reason too, for traffic in Shanghai is quite unbelievable. And pavements are dusty and cluttered, entertaining occasional cyclists. Not the best place to walk dogs. I remember going to aunt's place one time, and her coming to the bus station to fetch me on her motor-scooter. At her chest was Roover, sitting securely within her arms, his handsome orange hair flowing and tongue hanging to give the good old pomeranian smile. So I got to the back of the scooter and we went home, dog and all. It was an experience, something that would rather bring music to my ears. My aunt said, "Look at him - crazy! You'd better bring him with you to America." And I rather wished I could.