There are dogs pretty much all the fuck over. And not like in Brooklyn where they have to be on leashes and are just out because their owners don't want shit in the closet. Thai dogs live a double life, at once pets and homeless people, begging for food, shouting at strangers, and using everything as a toilet. Some Thai dogs have "owners" and some don't, but it doesn't really matter. When I walk down the street, one will follow behind me for fifty feet or so and then stop as another one takes over, keeping their conspiratorial eye out just in case I have some fistfuls of ham stashed somewhere. I've seen gangs of dogs protecting their "territory" from outsider pooches, and at night, they all howl at each other, or with each other, either arguing or foiling the murderous plots of evil old women like in 101 Dalmatians. I want to tell them that they're perpetuating a stereotype, but dogs are pretty stubborn.
Neuki (my Thai friend) has an eight month old, medium sized cocker spaniel/poodle that will lick anything that gets within licking distance. While I was staying at Neuki's house, and she was at work during the day, the dog would follow me whenever I went to the fruit carts a few blocks away for breakfast in the morning (1 pm). A few days ago, I decided to take an unfamiliar route, which brought us to a house with an open gate (many people leave their gates closed so that their dogs, usually of nicer breeds, won't hang out on the streets and get caught up in a life of crime). As we reached the opening, out bounded a small poodle with its unselfconsciously high-pitched bitty nag of a bark. I knew Micah (Neuki's dog) could knock this curly-haired rat right over, clamp down and rip out its needly vocal chords like spaghetti without much trouble. And she (Micah) obviously agreed with me because she started barking back, causing the poodle to sidestep wimpily and shut its squeaker. Well done, I thought, but before I could think anything else, a German Shepherd sauntered out behind its pussified sidekick, growling with the basso of a canine Barry White. Then I noticed it had an udder. Six or so whopping bitch tits hung from its chest like water balloons and were swinging so hard with each step that I thought they were going to fall off. I shuddered and jumped backwards to avoid possibly getting hit with bursting mammary fluid. Micah sprinted back toward Neuki's house and the twosome chased after her. At that point, the poodle was growling as well, a phlegmy death cough which I imagine is what rabies sounds like. Micah was easily faster than the two of them, though, the poodle with pretzels for legs and the shepherd weighed down by motherhood, so I wasn't worried. I looked up at the clear sky and remembered why I was there in the first place: I needed breakfast. Half a watermelon and half a pineapple, two coconuts, a small canteloupe, and three bottles of fresh-squeezed orange juice weren't going to buy themselves.
