Kalypso, my Kintamani dog, has been slacking off lately. Her job description is brief: Companion, Watch Dog, Chicken Chaser. But she seems to have lost her zest for all but the first item. When the front gate squeaks open, she no longer even barks. A lazy ear flicks, then she stretches and goes back to sleep in the shade. Whoever subsequently appears on the patio, be it stranger or friend, Kalypso defends her territory with a casual flap of the tail.
This unsatisfactory behaviour began when Resi, a puppy who had stayed with us for 2 months, returned home. Although Kalypso isn’t dominant by nature, even she couldn’t stand the indignity of being bullied by a miniature dachshund. So she took the lead, ate her dinner first and expected Resi to roll over whenever she growled, even in play. After some initial sparring they ran as a pack, with Kalypso as reluctant Top Dog.
She was quite happy to have me to herself again on Resi’s departure, but stopped working completely. Any old Tom, Dick or Ketut was allowed in the front gate and chickens pecked the leftover rice from her dish with impunity. It was time to expand the pack, and push her back into a position of authority.
I decided that a male Balinese dog crossed with a western breed would be best. Three weeks ago I picked up the Bali Advertiser and there he was. "Family moving, brown local dog mixed with dachshund to good home." I liked the courage and character of the dachsund even if I wasn’t crazy about the shape, and called immediately. Alas, after calling for several days I wasn’t able to get through and finally gave up.
I kept thinking about the dog, though. Two weeks later as I was leafing through the latest paper, the ad was still there. Deciding to give it one last try I called again, and this time a woman answered. My call was fortuitous, it turned out. The family was moving to Thailand the next day and had not yet found a good home for the dog. I could pick him up the next afternoon.
I sat Kalypso down and explained that we were going to bring home a companion for her, a friend to chase chickens with. She was deeply unimpressed by this news. Assuming her familiar role of Drama Queen, her ears drooped sadly and she lay with her back to me, sighing deeply. She really can lay it on with a trowel.It’s always a shock to leave the jungly byroads and rice fields for the hot, crowded streets of Denpasar. Jimbaran was even hotter. When we finally located the tidy row house, it was obvious that the inhabitants were in the last stages of packing. Boxes of toys were piled by the front door, topped with two plastic tubs of dry dog food. The dog himself was at the door, openly disturbed by all the activity. He submitted to my greeting, then sat woefully beside the dog food like a package waiting to be claimed.
Kasey, as I immediately named him, looked exactly like a golden Labrador with very short legs. Although only 7 months old, he was about 3 times the size I expected. His few drops of dachshund blood manifested themselves only in those truncated legs. Everything else was pure Lab, from the soft golden coat to the big, beseeching brown eyes.
The deed was soon done. Three small boys grabbed him affectionately and posed for farewell photos as I extracted information about vaccinations and food bowls from the apologetic lady of the house. "He’s been fighting with the street dogs, that’s why there’s so many marks on him. And I haven’t had time to give him a bath for a while." She followed us to the car and gave him a sad farewell hug. I could see she loved him, but was mercifully too distracted to dwell on it. "Be good," she told him. The door closed, and we drove away.
Imagine for a moment being a dog. You are devoted to the person who ‘owns’ you, but you’re basically a pack animal. It’s not natural to be a dog in isolation, but your person decides whether you are allowed to meet and spend time with other members of your species, or not. Sometimes when you go for a walk together, you are permitted to share a few moments of interaction with another dog, frantically sharing as much information as you can before you’re pulled apart.
If that’s a stretch, imagine, as a human, being the pet of a race of giants. Our loving giant decides whether and when we may interact with other humans. Often we don’t see one for long periods of time, then may catch a glimpse of one in the distance, or hear one in the next yard, or even have a hurried conversation on the street as we pass. But mostly we are alone — loved and well cared for, but alone. We’re given the same thing to eat once or twice a day, regardless of when we’re hungry or whether or not we like the food. Often we live in small areas without room to exercise properly. It’s like science fiction.
I thought about this as Kasey settled his rather large, dusty self on my lap for the journey home. He kept turning his head to look at me with a puzzled but polite expression. I explained the new arrangement and watched him absorb it.
He enjoyed looking out the window and putting his nose into the slipstream. Later, as we left the heavy traffic and headed for the hills, his nose began to twitch with the fragrance of flowering trees. When we began to drive through rice fields, Kasey let out a long whine of pure delight and tried to climb through the window. I recalled the tiny paved garden of his house, and it occurred to me that he might never have seen so much green in his short life.
Kalypso was much less pleased with the new arrival than I was.
Kalypso: "Who the devil is this?"
Me: "This is Kasey, our new dog. He’s just a puppy. Be nice."
Kalypso "You already have a dog. Me."
Me: "You were lonely. It’s good for you to have company."
Kasey: "Wag wag."
Kalypso’s reply to this was to knock the puppy over with a menacing growl. All weekend, the situation was tense. Neither dog would leave my side. If I patted one, the other got jealous. If I ignored them both, they both tried to get into my lap. World WarThree broke out at every meal time.
Finally I left the house for a full day to let them slug it out. They seemed to have reached an understanding by the time I returned. Now I watch them communicating on a subtle level; an ear will move, a tail half wag, a low grumble in the throat. Already they speak the same language.
Kasey still follows me around the house, but now goes off foraging alone in the garden near by. I try to imagine what it must be like for him to have the run of a big safe garden full of new smells. He’s fascinated by the tadpoles in the pond, and stands knee-deep in the cool grass with his eyes closed, savouring the sensation. He runs round and round the house, just for the fun of it. He is deeply approving of his meals of chicken heads and feet stewed with vegetables and garlic.
When visitors arrive now, both dogs bark. They chase chickens out of the garden, bounce, crouch, play and jump on each other with playful growls. Kalypso has decided that it’s kind of fun after all to have some young energy around the house, and even shares her bones.
Kasey has been here five days now. He stands this evening at the edge of the patio, staring over the pond into the dark jungle beyond as bats flit overhead. Kalypso strolls out to join him, and they slump close together on the cool tile. My little dog pack watches the moon rise over the palm trees, content.
