My five years old granddaughter wanted a pet. When we explained that her older brother was allergic to dog’s hair, she was quick to suggest a hamster, a rabbit or a lizard. The simple mention of lizard always sends a shiver down my spine. I am lizard-phobia. When I was growing up we had lizards running on the wall at home. For some reason we always killed them with a whack of our slipper or kids would shoot them with elastic bands. The tail always fell off and kept wiggling way long after the lizard was already dead. We were warned of the extreme danger of the tail getting into our ears, a myth some adults must have made up. Once while in bed I saw two lizards fighting each other on the ceiling above my head, I just froze and prayed that they would disperse quickly. Just as I had predicted they fell off the ceiling but missed me by a couple of feet. Once while travelling in Papua New Guinea, I had to face dozens of lizards surrounding the light by my room’s door, each in an attacking position ready to pounce on the moths circulating the light bulb. Inside the room more bad news, more lizards on walls. Well they needed to make a living and food was available around a lighted bulb. I knew lizards were harmless but my heart could not stop pounding, until I finally closed my eyes and slept. Keeping a pet is a big commitment. We have to be prepared to ensure their safety and wellbeing, as close to raising a new baby.
When I was growing up in Mauritius in the 1950`s we had a dog in the house. It was not really a pet but it was necessary to have a dog to keep our home safe from intruders. It barked loud and knew how to put on an aggressive demeanour as the occasion dictated. Then most households would not allow dogs inside the house, they simply lived outdoor on their own. Come rain and they had to figure out where best to hide from dripping water. There were no dog food and invariably dogs just ate the leftover of our dinners. I remember our dog could not wait for the food, it particularly enjoyed the bones that we threw at them. So then there was no need to recycle our left over food. Most of the time our dog just lay down and slept under a makeshift cover in the courtyard. What else could he do. Walking the dogs or taking them to the field or beach for exercising and refreshing their minds were never heard of. Yet I believed our dog was happy having a place to call home, if he could understand that there were a large number of stray dogs in the vicinity. These stray dogs lived from day to day, scavenging any and every trace of food they could find on the street. The dogs were obviously filthy, some were starved to the bones, some loosing their hair, some bruised, some limping. No one was there for them. That`s the dog’s life. To them the greatest nightmare was when the dog squad came in the neighbourhood, the squad was the City “dog police“ coming to catch stray dogs, a necessary act to curb rabies. They came in a truck, with three to four strongmen brandishing long bamboo poles, with a net attached at the end. The net was placed over the dog and scooped, to the howling sounds of frightened and abused dogs. Often domestic dogs, if they did not have an identification tag around their necks, were also caught in the process. Now the owners had to go to the municipality compound to reclaim their dogs and paying a fine. Unclaimed dogs were systematically disposed of by incineration after a prescribed number of days had passed.
Of course I witnessed frequent dog fight in the street, weaker dogs savagely bitten by bigger dogs. The fight only ended when some good men came in with sticks to disband the fighting dogs. Dogs knew the neighbours and usually left them alone, but come the Postman and the scenery changed. We kids just had a good laugh when we saw the dogs chasing the postman and nine out of ten times biting him on his buttocks.
Once we saw two dogs having intercourse in the street and they got stuck together even when the male had repositioned and was bum to bum with the partner, pulling in opposite direction. A long time passed before some adults came in to separate them. I felt so sorry for the dogs, a rare but traumatic moment for them.
One day our dog died, I think due to old age. There was no City facility to dispose of the body, and I think most dead dogs simply ended up in the garbage truck that came in the neighbourhood once every couple of days. I was too young to feel too sad but we all did miss him. People acquired dogs only when they were puppies. Once a while the neighbourhood would be aroused with the news that a dog had given birth to a number of puppies, usually in the half dozen. All puppies are cute. The owner would give the puppies away for free to whoever wanted one. We did not acquire a new dog because I believed that there were no new born dogs at the time and further our siblings were growing bigger, so that the protection of a dog was no longer a necessity.