Pup-sickle?
We were bumping along in the Gobi Desert, about 50km from anywhere, when I saw a small black ball on the side of the road. As I was looking curiously at it, a head popped up. It was a pair of puppies. Zina saw them as well, and we asked our driver, Irkhmee to stop. The funniest part of this was that when we stopped, YT jumped out, assuming it was a pee-break. He later admitted some shock and confusion as the van turned around and drove off in the wrong direction.
Zina hopped out and scooped up the nearly-frozen pups. They were filthy and their noses were white with frost. We were very curious about how the pups arrived in the middle of the desert. Irkhmee said that since they were female, their previous owner had abandoned them to die because they didn't want more females, which lead to more litters of unwanted pups.
I must admit that this angers me: it seems to me that abandonment is a cruel way to dispose of unwanted animals. It's a problem that could be solved by appropriate spaying and neutering. It's just plain avoidable with some simple technology. The Mongols know full-well how to castrate all their other animals, so why should dogs go un-managed? Anyway, I'll get off my soapbox.
We were only on our second day of our 6-day trip: this meant that we had to cart the pups around in our bouncing Soviet van for the next four days. It worked out fine, but I think Irkhmee got a little tired of having the dogs pee on his seat-covers. We altered our schedule a little bit: instead of stopping ever 2~3 hours for us to pee, we began to stop every hour to let the dogs pee. This wound up being more comfortable for everyone: it's no fun to have a full bladder while being tossed around the van like a rag doll.
So, we got the girls home in one piece and introduced them to our apartment and our hedgehog. Zina was very concerned that the dogs would bother the hedgehog, but it seems not to mind the dogs: it has a really outstanding natural defense system, and the dogs know not to touch it. The next agenda item: house breaking.
We've taken to confining them to the kitchen overnight -- which always results in a few minutes of heart-rending yelping, crying and baying -- but has the desired effect of limiting the majority of the mess to the linoleum.
I've always hated those people that dote on their pets, treating them like little infants. "Ooooh, how's my little smoochums? Do you want a wittle wittle treatie weatie?"... I think those people need a strong smack upside the head. IT'S A DOG, DAMN IT! I'm afraid I'm losing my hard-liner grip and sliding slightly towards the opposing camp. The girls are too cute, and I find myself occasionally making baby-talk to them, which I find hugely disturbing.
We've investigated lots of options for the future with the dogs, and have identified several possible outcomes: we can give them away when our Mongolian adventure is finished, or we can take them to the States with us. And possibly the best option: we just met with a western couple that is interested in taking one of the pups: I think this is a fine idea. Having two juvenile dogs has proven to be a real hand-full! They are either sleeping, eating, chewing something they shouldn't, or fighting with each other.
We'll keep everyone posted on how things turn out!
We received a really great piece of news the other day: last year's Luce Scholar, Katie, is willing to take one of the dogs if we can arrange for delivery to the US. It just so happens that one of our friends, a German programmer named Jens, is returning to New York soon and has volunteered to take the dog as extra luggage. Katie will drive into the city and receive the dog at the airport. It's a good plan, even if the schedule is tight.
In order to export an animal from Mongolia, there needs to be 3 articles of paperwork that are procured from various official and semi-official offices. The first of which is something that is considered a normal act of pet ownership in the US: shots. Given the pastoral nature of life in Mongolia, one would assume that medical care for pets would be a no-brainer. Of course, this assumption is one that betrays our western culture. There are only a handful of veterinarians here in UB. Zina's friend with the pet shop recommended two as being better than the rest. Even so, it took 2 trips with the girls to get all of the shots: some of the vaccines were out of stock. This was the easy part. Total cost: approximately $26.36.
The second piece of paper is, I kid you not, a Dog Passport. We even had to provide passport photos. I discovered a pretty cool service: the Fuji Film shop has a really nice quality digital photo printer. You literally can't tell the difference between the digital print and a real photo. Pretty sweet for $1.10. Anyway, this wasn't really so hard, but Zina had to go to a special government office that regulates the export of all animal products, and a dog is the product of an animal, so I guess that makes sense. The passport is the same shape as a person passport and the photo is pasted onto the first page, just like a person passport. The thing is then littered with rubber stamps from various people at the animal product agency. The thing that blows me away is that aside from the cover, the thing is printed on newsprint paper. Total cost: approximately $7.91.
The third part is a "Certificate of Fitness". Fitness for what could never really be determined. As near as we can tell, this certificate certifies that some underpaid government worker has looked at the receipt for the shots, and some synapse connects, causing his hand to involuntarily lift a rubber stamp and mash it down on a special piece of paper thereby certifying that our dog was fit for export as an animal product. Here is where the snag arises: the government ran out of this special paper and doesn't have the money to print new paper. Total cost: unavailable at any price, and we don't' need your stinking Visa card. Here's the outrageous part: nobody knows when new paper will arrive, and each type of animal product, be it tannery goods (leather), food stuffs, or live critters has it's own special letterhead imprinted on this special paper. Since the Live Critter Letterhead was depleted, there would be no Live Critter Export until it was replenished.
Both Zina and her friend suggested several possible solutions. Perhaps you could call: "no". Who has the authority to waive this requirement? "No one would violate the law in that manner." Perhaps you could write a letter on your Official Animal Product Agency letterhead indicating that your miserable little sub-sub-domain that you manage with tyrannical inefficiency has run out of this ridiculous piece of paper, then stamp it a dozen or so times with your colorful indicators of authority. "No: all the airports that might receive a shipment from Mongolia has been alerted and provided examples of this certificate. They would immediately spot the forgery and are required to destroy your shipment." Translated into plain English, that means "we sent them examples of our special paper and we will kill your dog if you fuck with us."
Zina and I briefly considered the option of producing a facsimile of the paper on our inkjet printer. We learned that the man who runs the Official Animal Product Agency is also the man who checks the certificates at the airport. In a very real sense, he has ultimate control over all animal shipments originating from Mongolia. There will be no sneaking anything past this man. Jens left without the dog.
In spite of our plans, best efforts and intentions to bring at least one if not both of the girls back to the states, we decided that we couldn't keep them here any more. They were getting too big and too destructive. We gave them to a nice Mongolian family that lives in the Haliast Ger District.
We just aren't dog people, and I feel like it is some type of shortcoming on my part. I'd gotten pretty attached to them, and the decision weighs heavily on me still.
In retrospect, this is a funny story -- but only after enough time and distance from the event: it was really infuriating at the moment and definitely illustrates their behavior. We went out, and as usual, put the girls in the kitchen. When we came back, I opened the kitchen door and saw a big pile of vomit. Zina looked further and let out a shriek: the reason for the vomit. The girls had been playing with the extension cord (the one that runs under the linoleum and pops up to the fugly fireplace where it powers the refrigerator, radio and water cooler). The extension cord was -- perhaps carelessly -- sitting behind a 1.25 gallon of vegetable cooking oil. I think you can picture where this is going: the girls pulled the extension cord which pulled the oil off the fireplace. The lid wasn't screwed on properly -- again, possible carelessness on our part -- and it proceeded to spill about half the contents of the oil onto the floor.
The dogs, being dogs, frolicked in it like a couple of strippers at a biker bar during Daytona Bike Week. They managed to spread it evenly over the ENTIRE kitchen and of course themselves, which they didn't like, so they tried to lick it off, leading eventually to the big piles of hurl on the floor. If I'd had more presence of mind, I would have taken pictures.
It was like an ice-skating rink, and you know how uneven the floors are here, so I'd be attempting to walk, and WHOOSH my foot would slide 6" to one side. It would be pretty entertaining in the right mood, but I wasn't. It took 4 or 5 buckets of soapy water and lots of mopping before the floor could be walked on without fear for your life. The girls were pretty happy about getting the stuff washed off of them, but they wound up smelling like a delightful combination of wet dog and Head N' Shoulders.
The other major problem was that they constantly fought with each other: during the day, it just pissed off the neighbors. At night, it was a REAL BIG PROBLEM. They would wake me up, on bad nights, 3 or 4 times in the middle of the night. I'm sure this pissed out neighbors right off too. Often, they were fighting over which one of them got to rip up the linoleum on the kitchen floor. It wasn't exactly in top shape when we moved in, but it covers about 15% less of the floor than when we moved in. Needless to say, we owe our landlord new linoleum.
I am having pangs of regret for giving both of them away -- I keep thinking that just one of them would have behaved better.
NOTICE: all contents copyright Alan Lapp 2003