I don’t quite understand why Thai dogs, although so much more “untamed” than their American counterparts, seem to embrace me with a loving exuberance absent in those from the states.
My family has always had a touchy relationship with animals. My sisters raised baby chicks (whose cuteness quickly faced neglected), colorful betta fish (they’d barely make it a week), and adorable rabbits (who all somehow ran away). As one of nine siblings, Mom and Dad had more than enough animals in the house to worry about the non-human variety. Carolyn and Rob saw right through every “I promise I’ll feed the dog every day!” and “Trust me, I’ll clean up its poop too!”
I don’t mean to blame the absence of a family dog throughout my childhood, but I was always a bit nervous around animals growing up. Their unpredictability aroused my skeptic’s nerves; the thought of slobber and hair on my clothes poked at my inner prude’s squeamishness. American dogs seemed to pick up on this and delight in my nerves.
Upon my arrival in Southeast Asia I was skeptical of animals even more so than I had been back home––dogs, in particular, after Dr. Chang back home in California warned me against Thai dogs. I didn’t expect to be so paranoid about the diseases lurking around every corner– Rabies, Denghe fever, Chikungunya… Unless I receive every shot and run away at the subtle indication of any sudden movement, I really might die on the other side of the world.