Film:Legend of the T-Dog [Mingyun gou bu li 命運狗不理] Director: Li Tian-chueh 李天爵 Performers: Wang Po-chieh 王柏傑, Lin Ruoya 霖若亞, Blackberry 黑莓 (T-Dog) Animal trainer: Chen Ying-jie 陳英傑 Breed featured: Taiwan tugou, Formosan Mountain Dog, Golden Retriever (brief), French Bulldog (brief) Production information: Dilu Quan 的盧犬, 2012 (Taiwan)
Ah Dou is an aid at a hospital where several people are rushed in for bizarre, life-threatening emergencies. Each time, there is a mysterious black dog chasing the ambulance — the titular T-dog, named such because he bears a distinctive gold T emblazoned across his forehead, and also probably because is a classic Taiwan tugou.
As it turns out, the T-Dog is a modern day incarnation of an inauspicious “hellhorse” from ancient times. Anyone who assumes dominion over this creature enjoys short term success, but then inevitably befalls calamity upon the 49th day.
This is not a horror film, and for all its absurdity, it’s not quite comedy. Rather, it’s what new director Li Tian-chueh has characterized as some kind of avant-gardist science fantasy, in the Chinese literary tradition of zhiguai, “records of the strange,” with a decidedly contemporary, Taiwanese twist.
Folk religion, often pejoratively labeled “superstition,” is quite integrated into modern everyday practice in Taiwan. This is played out in the actions of Ah Dou, who cultivates a warm, altruistic personality to stave off the misfortune which has plagued his family for generations. Ah Dou’s concern for his ragtag, downtrodden neighbors manifests as a cheerful obsession. For as much good as he tries to do for others, Ah Dou often gets in trouble because he can’t keep his own act together.
One day, when Ah Dou is down on his luck, he witnesses the T-Dog struggling with a dog catcher, and decides to intervene. Against the admonitions of his colleagues, he takes the dog home and names him “Happy” (a pun on ‘black coat,’ heipi 黑皮) to signal the new directions he intends to pursue.
For a while, the canine charm seems to work. The kindness he showed to his neighbors is repaid when they set him up with an apartment after an unexpected eviction. He finds comfort and learns to make his home anew by living with a cool dog. After being fired from his hospital job, he even manages to get with Dr. Lai, the beautiful head doctor from his old ward.
Ah Dou’s allegiances and beliefs are put to one final test. A stranger contacts him, offering him a rare postage stamp to finish a set that Ah Dou has been trying to collect. His father died clinging to the belief that this complete postage set will break the family curse, so Ah Dou continued the search out of filial duty. However, the stranger wants to exchange the stamp for the T-Dog.
An interesting proposition. It seems like a clear decision to exchange the unlucky dog for a clean slate. However, in part because of his girlfriend’s urging, Ah Dou decides that he must commit to protect his “family members” in the present, no matter how his past may have determined is fate. With that, he passes the test and the curse is lifted… as it turns out the stranger is another incarnation of an ancient eccentric that Ah Dou had wronged in a previous life. That relationship had been the basis of the multi-generational curse all along, not the possession or lack or any lucky talismans.
As I was working through this summary, I realized how this film’s premise is really quite charming, but unfortunately, much of its potential was lost in execution. For the very first drama to feature a Taiwan dog as a lead character, I had high hopes. Blackberry 黑莓, the tugou recruited for the part, was actually scouted from her prominent cameo in the 2011 blockbuster Warriors of the Rainbow: Seediq Bale (on the list to be blogged).
However, Legend of the T-Dog was filmed under very different conditions. According to the ‘making of’ video above, there was definitely an acclimatization and socialization process to get Blackberry accustomed to working with her costars. Taiwan dogs make for recalcitrant movie stars, as they don’t easily open up to strangers and can be nervous and flighty on a busy set.
Blackberry, fortunately, was very food-motivated.
She was also extraordinarily tolerant of ridiculous costuming and lots of (wo)manhandling!
It is much to Blackberry’s credit that she performed and was filmed so well, despite the movie’s faults! That said, she’s also indicative of how poorly the characters were constructed. Sure, she was probably the most “experienced” Taiwan dog actor for the part, but if they were going to go through the trouble of dyeing additional markings on her, I don’t know why they didn’t just go ahead and give her four white paws and a white streak across her chest, to tap into the superstitions that continue to be deeply ingrained in the Taiwanese popular imagination of “unlucky” dogs.
My aunt’s Taiwan dog, Nyo-nyo
I also don’t know what’s up with Ah Dou’s goofy-looking mustache, the panoply of fantasy cultists who stand in as exaggerated quirks of local folk religion, and the obnoxious nurses whom Ah Dou works with at the hospital. Ah Dou himself is fairly nondescript as a generic “good guy” character, whom you end up rooting for only because everyone else is so utterly annoying. I would really have liked to see more examples of his developing relationship with the dog, rather than the doctor, to add some depth to both human and canine characters.
Legend of the T-Dog was a valiant attempt to experiment with dog movie conventions, moving beyond the typical tropes of cuddly, infantilized, domesticated creatures, and trying to invest the dog with some kind of historical or cultural significance. All the elements failed to alchemize in the end, leaving the audience with a little bit of black gold… and a whole lot of lead.
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The House of Two Bows keeps a running index of movies blurbed on the site, annotated by breed. If you’re interested in writing a guest blog for a dog film, contact for details.
As I was mining the archives in Taiwan, I always kept my eyes open for canine sightings. The difficult and wondrous thing about dogs is how ubiquitous they are, yet unindexed. I found them chronicled in books that are not specifically about dogs, but on closely related topics — such as Taiwanese indigenous resistance to Japanese colonialism. What we now know of the Formosan Mountain Dog is closely aligned with the history of Taiwanese aborigines, or yuanzhumin 原住民.
Dogs were seldom depicted as isolated subjects of early photodocumentation. But the photographs where they are integrated into domestic, social, and military scenes are incredibly rich with anthrozoological detail to me. Here are a few of my favorites from GEN Zhiyou 根誌優, ed., Collection of Historical Photographs of Taiwan’s People’s Resistance Against Japanese Occupation 1874-1933 [Taiwan kangri shi tuji 台灣抗日史圖輯] (Taipei: Taiwan yuanzhumin chuban youxian gongsi 台灣原住民出版有限公司, 2010).
Vol. I, p. 305 (Year 1905): “日軍11月9日以步砲聯合作戰攻入北葉社,懲罰其頭目庇護抗日義軍,圖為1905年在頭目宅前合影的北葉社排灣族。” On November 9th, the Japanese military launched a coordinated infantry-artillery attack on the Beiye Society as punitive measures against a chieftain who was harboring Japanese resistance fighters. Pictured are members of the Beiye Society, assembled in front of the chieftain’s home.
A moment of relative peace, given the violence that would ensue, as described in the caption. Even the dog, a drop-eared specimen, looks docile in contrast to the prick-eared hunters that are usually depicted in aboriginal company — and which would clearly be favored in the Formosan Mountain Dog breed standard, a century later.
Vol. II, p. 195 (Year 1916-7): “在警察掌握部落行政,法律與教育的日據時代,部落駐警宛如太上皇,可是一旦原住民忍無可忍起義,平日宛如貴族的日警與眷屬往往要魂斷異邦。” During the Japanese colonial period, the [Japanese] police who assumed administrative, legal, and educational control were basically overlords of their stations, but they’d quickly push the aborigines to the limits of tolerance and cause them to revolt. Typically, the aristocratic Japanese police and their families would have to make efforts to dissolve cultural differences.
I absolutely love the forced togetherness and awkward poses of this shot, especially the contrast between the Japanese ladies seated carefully atop furniture, the aboriginal women squatted even lower than the standing Japanese boy, and of course, the dog splayed on the ground, front and center.
Vol II, p. 39 (Year 1913): “南投,臺中軍警討伐隊完成大甲,北港兩溪流域之屠殺掃蕩任務後,下山路過草屯,當地日警與眷屬列隊歡迎之鏡頭。” Japanese Expeditionary Force from Taichung marching through Nantou after mopping up a massacre at the Dajia and Beigang Rivers. As they descended from the mountains and passed through Caotun, the police administrators and their families lined up to welcome the troops.
And who stands in the middle of the pathway, in defiance of all this pomp and circumstance? A pair of naughty piebald tugou. I just hope they had the sense to move ahead, instead of getting kicked out of the way.
Vol I, p. 402 (Year 1906): “「外太魯閣蕃」當中的博落灣(今部落灣)社人”
This shot, depicting “Savages of Outer Taroko,” is one of my favorites, because it is so layered, perfectly composed, and evocatively personified. The background scenery situates this in majestic nature — the steep, lushly forested cliffs make Taroko Gorge one of Taiwan’s signature tourist sites even now. Meanwhile, the building presents stark geometry, its sharp lines indicative of its rigid construction. The men are probably the most immediately eye-catching characters, scattered across the foreground in various poses of defiance. One guy even seems to be waving his sword? This was the year of a major incident in Hualian, and the aborigines were in no mood to be “pacified.” From the intensity of their direct stares, I definitely get the sense that the cameraman is intruding.
Yet, what is most fascinating to me is the canine detail, carefully set between two of the human characters in the foreground and quietly lurking somewhere in mid-ground, on the front porch of the building.
The flexed muscles and antagonistic stance of the man on the right is subtly offset by the casual posture of the dog lying in front of the door (I can’t quite make out what the other dog is doing). Now, hanging back and not approaching the camera may very well be the dog’s manner of expressing his disapproval. What I think is interesting is how perfectly those dogs fit into the gap between the foregrounded figures, as if this was a deliberate compositional choice. Or the whole thing could have been a happy accident, shot quickly just moments before the cameraman was charged and chased off the site. I have no idea. But this picture stirs my imagination in so many ways, I wish I had a large, sharp print to frame and hang and stare at every day.
Vol II, p. 83 (Year 1914): “力里社頭目在宅前處理剛獵獲的山豬,排灣族和所有台灣原住民一樣都愛狩獵,收押其槍枝,必然引發極大的風暴。” The chief of the Lili Society carves up a freshly caught mountain hog in front of his house. The Paiwan tribe, like the rest of the Taiwanese aborigines, love to hunt. Forced disarmament [by Japanese decree] inevitably caused a commotion.
You get a good sense of the size of the boar compared to the dog. The dogs were hunting partners and part of the tribe, and so naturally expected a share of the meat (the look on the face of the dog watching the butchering is so familiar). But it was the gun that brought down the animal, not the dog.
There’s more where these came from, but I’ll present them some other time. This is the fun part of research, after all — flipping through hundreds of pages of words and images, scanning for the traces of that which was deemed not important enough to index, but means the world to me. Sorry about the crooked frames and page glares. I had my choice of low resolution scans or higher resolution cell phone pictures, so this is what worked best for me at the time. Click on any of the pictures for a closeup.
Down by the Breeze Center, I was passing the time before a movie at the Space Time Cafe. It felt a bit like walking into an American vintage and resale shop… with cafe dogs!
Milk Tea 奶茶 is the Golden Retriever. (Incidentally, this is the texture when a Goldie grows back their coat after a summer shave.)
Latte is the Shiba (perhaps mix). They’re both a little older, with mellow temperaments and white faces.
I got a cursory sniff out of Latte, but mostly she didn’t pay me any mind. Typical.
The dessert and drink I ordered were, unfortunately, on the weak side. Also had some of the most perfunctory latte “art” I’d seen yet. I’d rather have had a stronger drink than this mysterious Rorschach test in milk, because I kept nodding off even while I was sipping my mug!
I don’t think coffee-making is their main business priority. They seemed very interested in renting out the space itself for photo shoots, films, and other commercial ventures. Dogs may or may not be included as part of the rental fee.
Well, it’s an interesting business premise and use of space anyway. As long as the pups get to hang with their people all day and are kept in kibble (or whatever their diet of choice), I approve.
Space Time Cafe
Fuxing South Road Section 1 Ln. 107 Alley 5 No. 8 復興南路一段107巷5弄8號 [map]
Daan District, Taipei City 台北市大安區
Nearest MRT: Zhongxiao Fuxing 忠孝復興, Exit 4
Wireless: Yes, free
Electrical outlets: Yes
Atmosphere: A mishmash of vintage furniture, retro clutter, natural and other lighting. Chill and not particularly busy on the day I went. I didn’t like the large, flat-screen TV at the front of the store, but luckily they didn’t keep it on the whole time.
Film:Twelve Nights [Shier ye 十二夜] Director: Raye Producer: Giddens Ko 九把刀, Sophia Sui 隋棠 Cinematographer: ZHOU Yi-hsien 周宜賢 Performers: Dogs at an unnamed shelter in Taiwan Breeds featured: Taiwan dogs, Shiba Inu, German Shepherd, Basset Hound Production information: Atom Cinema, 2013 (Taiwan) Availability: A region-free DVD and CD soundtrack can be purchased through Yesasia.com [Ed. 7.14.2014]
Twelve Nights, a documentary about dogs in a Taiwan animal shelter, hit the theatrical circuits this Friday, November 29th. I had a chance to see it premier at a sold-out screening in the midst of the Golden Horse Film Festival.
Here’s an early preview that I shared via Facebook:
A rough translation of the overhead narration (which is not present in the film): What if you only had twelve days remaining? How would you like to pass your time?
[Intertitle: What is the happiest time of your life?]
Just quietly enjoy some time with your family? Eat a meal of your favorite food? Join your friends at the beach and chase the breaking waves? Shelter your children one last time? Sit together, and watch one last sunset? Or… would you want more time?
[Intertitle: A lifetime’s journey, counting down in 12 days]
[Intertitle: Production credits (listed above)]
—
Everyone was handed a pack of tissues as they entered the theater (though some of us had come prepared anyway). “You’ve all got your tissues? You know what to do,” said director Raye somberly as she briefly introduced the film.
Who are the emotional masochists who choose to purchase a movie ticket, enter the theater, and purposely watch a film that they know is going to bring them to anguish and tears? I didn’t get a chance to survey the audience, but I noted that it was comprised of a mix of male and female (possibly leaning more towards women), mostly audience members aged forty or younger.
The film came together through the efforts of a young group of animal lovers. Raye, a commercial film editor who initiated the project, began taking her own footage, but had a hard time finding financial support. It wasn’t until she came upon a willing cinematographer, Zhou Yi-hsien (周宜賢), that producer Giddens Ko (九把刀 a.k.a. “Nine Knives,” a prolific writer and sometimes film director) entered with the necessary backing. After the screening, Ko noted, “I used to say that the most valuable thing I’ve ever purchased was dreams. But now I think the most valuable thing I can purchase is hope.” The driving motive of the film, according to Ko, is not to depress everyone about the monstrosity of the situation, but to inspire change.
Left to right: ZHOU Yi-hsien, cinematographer; Giddens Ko, producer; EMT friend, a volunteer; Raye, director
Indeed, the film is radically different from any previous documentaries I’ve watched which address the topic of homeless Taiwan dogs. Twelve Nights looks and sounds like it should screen alongside mainstream, commercial features with high production values, though I suspect the actual budget was relatively low. There were no “actors” to pay, after all. Most of the crew is comprised of volunteers, and all of the proceeds are going to animal welfare charities anyway.
It’s a film that holds together with a desperation and sincerity befitting the gravity of the topic. They desperately want people to come and watch this film, not for their sake, but for the animals. And as art is motivated not by profit motives, but by a resolve to understand and transcend time and space, Twelve Nights is so much more than that fatal deadline indicated in the title, or the duration of entrapment in this “shelter” that is more accurately described as a death-row prison. Rather, the aesthetic choices delicately balance hope and devastation, inevitably tipping one way or the other at times, but doing so with grace and sensitivity. How do you convince people to actually purchase a movie ticket and sit through such a painful film, after all? And once there, how can you justify making them stay? Why do you want to expose them to animal suffering and cruelty, and the visage of real death? Must we see these things to know that they exist?
I think there are many valid ethical questions when subjecting audiences to screen violence of any kind. Let me try to explain how the film navigates these issues through its three outstanding features – cinematography, narration, and music.
1) Cinematography
As should be evident from the preview, the quality of the visuals is gorgeous. Alarmingly so. Natural winter lighting contrasts the torture of captivity by casting so many brutal details in a warm, golden glow. Yet, this is not to say that the documentary devalues the gravity of the situation by beautifying it. There is so much shit, piss, blood, vomit, and other discharges from the very first day that it should be clear that the filmmakers are not trying to sanitize the issues at all.
Day one begins with intake. We watch a group of newly collected dogs get dragged out of their cages and marched into their kennels at the end of catchpoles, fighting and defecating themselves every step of the way. All of them resist in some way, no matter what their condition — old, young, barely weaned, mangy, fit, injured, pregnant, limping. There is even a Shiba Inu, nicknamed “Little Japan,” who arrives relatively groomed and sporting a new-looking collar. She, like every single dog scanned that day, is not microchipped. And one by one, you see terror and confusion cloud over their eyes when they’re finally moved into their kennel.
This is the important thing though… You see their eyes. You see their faces and their whole, expressive bodies. When photographing dogs, this is such an essential rule, but so often the cinematography must make compromises to withdraw back to human-centric narration. Not here. Even when the dogs burrow underneath the raised kennel platforms to hide and cower, the camera tracks and follows, maintaining canine eye levels. When you see the concrete floor slick with excreta by the end of the intake session, the thought of sharing that stooped view with the dogs becomes nauseating. Yet this is the only way to emulate canine perspective, and begin to understand the conditions in which they live and die (though the limitations of the medium can’t transmit the primary way dogs perceive — through olfaction). In the entire documentary, you barely see any human faces, you barely even hear the shelter workers’ voices. Locked in on animal visages, the cinematographer was able to elicit more personality and more charisma from every single one of these documentary subjects than some purportedly dog-centric films starring trained animal actors.
2) Narration
Despite what is suggested in the preview, there is no overhead narration. No extra-diegetic, God-voices at all, dictating how we should feel and think. This was a very conscientious decision on the part of the filmmakers, who wanted to decrease the level of anthropomorphism, while acknowledging that we can’t fully escape the anthropomorphic impulse to narrate in our effort to make sense of the very reason for this documentary’s existence.
Humans want to tell, and to hear stories. It’s clear that the dogs possess emotions that hint at many of their own stories, but how do they want to be narrated? This is what the skillful cinematography allows us to contemplate, and it is also what the textual intertitles nudge us to see with clarity. A few dozen dogs are given code names, which confer personality — not to excess. Anyone who spends time observing dogs, whether twelve days or twelve years, knows that personality will naturally manifest. And with the evidence of personality, or what is being debated as “personhood” in some circles, comes the moral responsibility to acknowledge that terminating a life means silencing the stories that came to shape that creature’s personality.
This, I think, is the most heartbreaking aspect of the narration for me — knowing that all these dogs had a past, one that probably was intertwined with humans. So even Twelve Nights cannot avoid sloganeering, but I find their mantra of Adopt, don’t abandon 領養, 不棄養 to be less antagonistic as the American counterpart, “Don’t breed or buy while shelter pets die.” Animal welfare agendas in Taiwan similarly aim to shape pet owner behavior, but not necessarily on the level of reproductive control. I admit, I twitched reflexively when I saw that dogs from this shelter were adopted out without spaying or neutering. Upon reflection, such details remind me that this documentary is about trying to rearrange value systems, and even empathetic “insiders” are not immune to having their beliefs questioned. On the whole, I feel that the narration eschewed dogma, judgment, and sensationalism. Yet, “facts” are ever neutral, and always gesture towards context.
For example, we are told right at the outset that of the 400 ~ 450 dogs witnessed over the course of the filming, at least 53 of them did indeed make it out of the shelter. For the rest, the film serves as the last remaining record of their existence. What these numbers signify to the viewer is instantly so much more than mere numbers. They are reminders of hope, as well as a way to prepare the viewer for the heartache that follows.
This heartache is meant to produce its own agenda. The filmmakers want their audience to react strongly enough to desire change. But they’re also trying to let you know at the outset that the something positive is in view. In the post-screening Q&A, Giddens Ko shared a particularly touching anecdote. He spoke of how they’d already resolved to rescue as many dogs as they could, abandoning the impossible notion of maintaining “objectivity.” Yet, he was trying to steel himself against the emotional outpouring that he knew would hit. At least, he didn’t want it to happen in front of the camera.
On the day the film crew was to witness a round of mass euthanasia, Ko was completely prepared to turn off his emotions. He happened to look over at one of their volunteers, an EMT who regularly visited the shelter and became a part of their documentary efforts. His friend, built like a “homicidal maniac” (in Ko’s words), literally the appearance of a man of steel on the outside, displayed absolutely no resistance to the circumstances. He let himself cry freely, openly, and with great sympathy. Here was a bulk of a man who has to confront the brink of life and death, both in his career and by choice through his volunteer efforts at the shelter, and yet he had no inhibitions about expressing his feelings for these animals.
The “homicidal maniac” speaks.
In short, the stake of these dogs is more important than your hangups about whether or not you should cry in front of others. This is something that the director wanted to remind potential audience members who say they want to watch the movie, but don’t want to be seen crying in front of their friends, or strangers. We legitimize these issues by allowing them to seep into public, and emboldening ourselves to appear vulnerable to others.
3) Music
Briefly, I want to acknowledge the score provided by Owen Wang 王希文, a talented young composer whose name has quickly risen among the ranks of Taiwan film. The soundtrack is intimate and minimalistic, consisting mostly of sparse piano, acoustic guitar, and chamber orchestration, complementing the cinematography with a similar elegance. Most importantly to me, there are no “theme songs” to speak of, where some maudlin lyrics penned for a pop star destroy the mood by closing out with some gross overtures of marketable sentiment. Many a Japanese dog movie is guilty of setting such booby traps in the end credits, and also too many other animal welfare documentaries than I care to list…
While the soundtrack to Twelve Nights is memorable, it does not overtake the voices of the dogs themselves, which is constant in a noisy kennel environment. Director Raye knows to employ music, silence, and noise judiciously. You do have to hear the voices of the dogs at times, but the audience is spared the sensation of hearing them all the time. Music is offered as an important psychological retreat. When a film is as heavy as Twelve Nights, it is not at all a bad idea to create as many ventilation points as possible, so as not to suffocate the viewer before they make it to the end.
So I heartily approve of this film’s inclusion in the Golden Horse festival lineup, and completely respect anyone who has the heart to purchase a movie ticket and see it during its theatrical exhibition. At this point, I do not know of screening prospects outside of Taiwan. If a DVD becomes available later, I’ll update with information.
The House of Two Bows keeps a running index of movies blurbed on the site, annotated by breed. If you’re interested in writing a guest blog for a dog film, contact for details.
I promise this is not turning into a Corgi blog. These are just very popular dogs in Taiwan. And yes, I’m still in Taiwan.
Anyway, here’s a quick hit-and-run update to sing the praises of Pillow Cafe, currently one of my top five favorite Taipei cafes (a list which gets rearranged every week, it seems). They are named thus for the super cozy cushioned seats and back pillows comfortably spread about the cafe (very conducive to glueing your ass in one place for hours on end and getting stuff done)…
… and, perhaps, also for the beautiful, thick pillow of foam atop their lattes.
I find the coffee tastes above average, and it is reasonably priced (for Taipei) at 130NT. I got mine with an extra shot for 150NT (about $5USD). They also have a range of teas, light sandwich sets, freshly made desserts, waffles and some other sweets.
But the sweetest thing, of course, is their CAFE CORGI.
Siapa 夏啪 is this lowrider’s name. I don’t know if Siapa is male or female. That’s the problem with these furry unseen undercarriages. And ungendered spoken languages.
S/he is prone to allergies and muzzle-scratching sometimes, so on goes the cone…
When the cone is not being worn, it’s used to accentuate the furnishings.
Pillow Cafe is conveniently nestled in an area of good eats, so if quick-heat snacks are not your thing, you can time your meals for before or after your stay. Mostly, though, I think you’ll want to stay, because this place is lovely.
Pillow Cafe
Rui’an St. No. 133 瑞安街133號 [map]
Daan District, Taipei City 台北市大安區
Nearest MRT: Technology Building Station 科技大樓
Nearest bus stop: National Taipei University of Education Experimental Elementary School 國北教大實小
Hours: 12pm ~ 10pm, closed on Tuesdays
Wireless: Yes, free
Electrical outlets: Many, including bar seats and against the wall
Atmosphere: Comfortable seating, warm lighting, mostly inoffensive blend of 80s and 90s pop with the occasional intrusion of a radio hit that surprisingly still grates on your nerves nearly 20 years later…
Tucked away in a quiet alley behind the Brother Hotel 兄弟飯店, off Nanjing East Road 南京東路, you’ll find this hideaway coffeeshop:
The two head silhouettes on their sign are somewhat mysterious. It’s actually the cafe proprietress and her dog, Jeeter 基特 the Corgi.
Jeeter is very welcoming and happy to greet visitors. She’s friendly, but also just fine staying out of your way — after you acknowledge her presence upon entrance!
Traffic here is relatively slow, based on what I saw on a weeknight. Still, as a small capacity cafe, all the tables were occupied, so I got a tall bar seat at the outwards-facing window. Not a bad option for people-watching.
My caramel latte with an extra shot was 130NT (a bit over $4), which I’m now learning is on the lower end of the price scale as far as Taipei lattes go. It was pretty average in taste. The complimentary cookie was a nice gesture.
At the tall bar seat, I didn’t get to interact with the lowrider Corgi very much, but I was there to get some work done, anyway. It was just the right, mellow setting for the tasks I had at hand.
Atlantis Coffee 亞特蘭堤斯咖啡館
Qingcheng Road Lane 16 No. 16 台北市慶城街16巷16號 [map]
Songshan District, Taipei City 松山區台北市
Nearest MRT: Nanjing East Road 南京東路
Nearest bus stop: Nanjing-Fuxing Intersection 南京復興路口
Hours: ? ~ 10PM on weekdays, ? ~ 8PM on Sunday
Wireless: Yes, free
Electrical outlets: Some, against the wall
Atmosphere: Quiet, friendly, music a rotation of muzakky light jazz and then later, twee female vocals
Black, medium sized Taiwan dogs supposedly don’t suffer the same degree of “black dog syndrome” as American shelter dogs. If they’re stigmatized, it’s not just because of their color, but more likely because they’re tugou, and they often come all in black. But if you like Formosan dogs, the black ones are rather classic models.
I find them rather dignified, bold, often downright elegant in appearance and movement. Plus, they match easily with any home decor.
Different health ordinances and cultural standards for public hygiene allow for animals in Taiwanese cafes. I’ve run into enough cafe dogs (and cats!) for a series of Taipei cafe pet sightings. I’ll roll them out as time permits.
Meet the two cafe dogs at 4 a.m. Cafe. Oreo is black and white.
And Yang Meimei 羊妹妹, or Miss Lamb, is the one with ticking.
Their black heads don’t make them very easy to photograph, especially at night, which is when they usually seem to make the rounds (or maybe that’s just me).
They’re especially responsive to the rustle of food wrappers.
4 a.m. Cafe is named such because of its unusual hours. It’s open seven days a week from 2 p.m. until… yup. Caffeinated bedtime!
Night owls who can’t drift their way to slumberland on a raft of espresso can partake of tea, or Belgian and local bottled beers instead. They’re not cheap, but it’s not a terrible option when bars are not your scene, everything else is closed, and you want something to ease the thought of going home to an empty apartment.
They also feed and shelter (outside) a very affectionate stray kitty who has been TNR’ed and allowed to linger.
I only wish the dogs were more affectionate or as curious about me as I am about them. Maybe that’s just because I haven’t ordered any food yet. House-made raw chocolate, cookies, pretzels, nuts, and simple dishes like pizza, lasagna, and sausages are on the menu. They don’t seem uptight about people bringing in outside snacks, but it’d be cool to order from them. They work long hours, after all. Might as well make it worth their while.
4 a.m. Cafe
Guangfu South Road Lane 308 No. 38 光復南路308巷38號 [map]
Daan District, Taipei City 大安區,台北市
Nearest MRT: Sun Yatsen Memorial Hall Station 國父記念館
Nearest Bus Stop: Ren’ai Yanji Street Intersection 仁愛延吉街口
Hours: Open seven days a week, 2 p.m. ~ 4 a.m.
Wireless: Yes, free
Electrical outlets: Plenty, with extension cords
Smoking area: Outside
Atmosphere: Good music, laid-back atmosphere, hard plastic seats and somewhat dingy surfaces, sort of like a college cafeteria instead of home, but friendly enough
Dogs with missing appendages are not an uncommon sight in the mountains of Taiwan…
… but they’re still faster than you’ll ever be.
This is what happens when you combine illegal gin traps* with population density and a profusion of abandoned pets and unaltered, free-roaming dogs. The lucky ones get saved by compassionate citizens who vet them and make the effort to find them a suitable home, if temperament allows. In the worst cases, the animal dies in excruciating pain (especially cats and smaller animals, whose whole bodies get caught).
Yet, some dogs manage to pull their mangled limbs out from the leg holds, heal up, and survive to run another day.
Inspiration? Tragedy? An abomination? A curse?
I wish I didn’t have to see them, yet when confronted, I can’t stop looking…
* Gin traps/leghold traps/捕獸夾 were officially declared illegal to manufacture, sell, set out, or import sometime in the last couple years with an amendment to Taiwan’s animal protection laws. However, there was relatively little publicity amongst the general population not already involved in the issue, as far as I can tell. To this day, there is virtually no enforcement of the law, as if the threatened fine of 15,000NT to 75,000NT (about $500 ~ $2500 USD) alone was supposed to deter offenders from doing what they’ve always done…