Pondering Divine Intervention

Street Dogs in Thailand are often hairless and covered with scabs. This photo is from Thai Pulse.

Pondering Divine Intervention
By Butternut Squash

A spotlight fixed on a steam locomotive that was about to charge across the bridge. Moments after the engine crossed, the canons boomed from the river spewing water up all around the bridge which was rigged to collapse. The look-out towers were in flames and men on fire leapt from the bridge. From the boat, I could see everything quite clearly. The music was unbearably loud and I couldn’t help worrying about the ecosystems of the river that had to endure the blasting night after night all throughout November and December.

I had traveled with a friend to Kanchanaburi, Thailand, in early December to watch a reenactment of the bombing of the bridge over the river Kwai. After the show we headed to a video restaurant and had a few beers and stayed to watch a movie. However, my friend got tired and decided to return to the houseboat where we were staying. She left with a few other drunken backpackers that were headed the same direction. Shortly after midnight, when the movie ended, I headed off toward the house boat alone.

Earlier in the evening the streets had been full of cars and pedestrians, but I found it to be disturbingly quiet when I entered the dark humid night. There were few electric lights in the neighborhood and I was feeling vulnerable without people around. I thought that it might be quicker to cut through the temple grounds, so I turned at the stone gate and walked briskly into the center courtyard of the temple.

I saw a shadow move beside the temple, but I kept my pace. It was a bad choice. Very quickly I saw two shadows moving slowly toward me. I stopped. A dog stood in front of me. Its back was arched its head and tail were down and it began a low menacing growl. This mangy, hairless cur had a scabby friend with infected eyes that came up slowly behind him. Within a few seconds, while I was still struggling to decide which way to go, four more dogs arrived. I was now surrounded on three sides by a very hungry looking pack of stray dogs.

My rear was the only side without a dog, but I was afraid that if I turned to leave that I would be taken down and mauled. There would be nothing left of me but a fleeting story of gore for the morning news. I had never had a dog, but I had had a few scruffy cats in my life. So I summoned the persona of my mother enraged by the cat eating hamburger from the dining room table. I stood taller and fiercely smacked my hands together and said, “Bad dogs, go home!” And I marched forward confidently while circling back toward the stone gate from which I had entered. The dogs did not attack but they did continue to growl and followed me closely until I left the temple grounds. A few paces out of the gate. I grabbed a fat stick and carried it all the way to the houseboat.

I have been in some terrible situations in my life, but that was the most frightened I have ever been. The fear made me tremble so badly that I could barely walk, and I felt as if my soul was only vaguely connected to my body for at least the next hour. I still wonder how I could have possibly managed to escape without a scratch.