So busy lately! Finally here to announce the winners of our last Honest Kitchen giveaway!
Our runners up, receiving sample packets of Perfect Form, are as follows:
J. in Nevada, with Leo the dog
Joy H. in Kentucky, with Paisley, Drover, Sookie, Abby, and Cali the dogs
Kelly M. in California, with Pud — our first feline prizewinner on the House of Two Bows!
Our main prize winner is Mio in California, who will be receiving a two pound trial box of Love, THK’s beef formula!
Mio was lucky number one, the first commenter to jump right on the giveaway. First is just as eligible as last, according to the whims of Random.org. I’m especially pleased to announce Mio as the winner because I know she’s a Taiwan dog, and despite what cranky critics of international street dog rescues might say, is quite fortunate to have the life that she does here in California.
We’ve never met Mio, though she’s apparently a local-ish tugou. We did, however, get a chance to meet several other Taiwan dogs at a meetup last month. Like I said, I’m waaay behind on my blogging… so I’m finally getting around to posting the pictures now.
The park had a very strange layout — relatively narrow in width, a long stretch of unshaded, woodchipped land with most people concentrated right at the gate, near the drinking fountains.
Knowing that this kind of setup gets claustrophobic for Bowdu in particular, I didn’t mingle as much as I would have liked. I was keeping an eye on my dogs to make sure they weren’t getting bored and acting out.
Not that many of the dogs were as thrilled to meet me as I was to meet them. That’s a cool and guarded Formosan dog attitude for ya. They just buzz by with minimal interaction, doing their own thing.
I was fascinated by their body language of hesitance, caution, curiosity, anticipation — some consistent expressions seen amongst the group.
Those are two different brindles similarly craning to get a careful sniff of Bowdu. Maybe it’s something about Bowdu that brings that out in other dogs, no matter the end of approach.
And then there was mighty Bella, petite tuffstuff.
Bella’s person is a reader of this blog, and tipped us off about this meetup which was hosted in honor of Mary, a prolific Taiwan dog rescuer whom I had a chance to meet when I was last there. Like her dogs, she sometimes travels across the Pacific, and was in town for ongoing dog training education. Mary’s commitments are exemplary, and part of why I continue to feel that international dog rescue for Taiwan dogs in particular is justified, critics be damned. Not only does she send her dogs abroad, she shares her knowledge and experience which flows in both directions.
Such international, transnational communities of dogs and their associated dogpeople were on my mind during the presentations at SPARCS 2014 this year. I doubt I’ll get around to a proper recap of the conference though it will continue to filter into future writing. But that’s the point of education — knowledge accumulates, changes, flows. Most importantly though, knowledge belongs to those who continue to feed themselves on steady diets of the new and fresh, whether it be food or information.
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.
There was a pretty good, if rowdy, playgroup at the park today. My measure of its success is that even Bowdu was playbowing, chasing, and engaging other dogs beyond his typical intrusions (humping and bodychecking, which is his idea of “fun”).
When Bowdu gets into the fray, I have to monitor more closely. He tends to snarl and make all kinds of guttural noises when he gets revved up, and not all dogs (or dog owners) know how to interpret his excitement. So I missed a lot of great action shots, but I’m happy just to see him find other dogs he feels he can express himself around, instead of being an antisocial grump all the time.
Bowpi, of course, was keeping up with the crowd. Her silence is such a contrast to Bowdu, even when she’s running with a big, open-mouthed grin on her face. She’s a barkless Basenji, of course, and she doesn’t even pant after her sprints.
Unfortunately, the party was crashed when a streaking Corgi accidentally tripped the tallest, long-legged pup, who collapsed in a shrieking pile, apparently having twisted his paw. The sounds of canine pain are quite effective at immediately scattering a crowd. Maybe someone could package that sound as a mob dispersal tool.
Anyway, that was a quick end to the puppy party on the hill. The injured dog was eventually able to limp off, hopefully to get some rest and return to play another day.
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.
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.
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…
I currently live in Taipei by the Linjiang/Tonghua Night Market 臨江街通化夜市. On nearby Keelung Rd. 基隆路 is a concentrated strip of pet stores where the animal wares line up against the windows for a couple blocks.
I pass through the area frequently. And out of some semi-anthropological impulse and my longing for the Bows, I’ll often linger. I scan the windows and take note of presentation, cleanliness, apparent health and vigor of the puppies and kittens, etc.
Toy poodles, Corgis, Pomeranians, Chihuahuas, Mini Schnauzers, Pugs, Maltese, Shih Tzu, and Dachshunds are in — as they were, when I last lived here. I see fewer large breeds in the pet stores, thank goodness, but many can produce Lab, Golden Retriever, and Siberian Huskies on call, if not in the display windows. What seems relatively new to me is the popularity of French Bulldogs, a minor surprise because I can only imagine how brachycephalic breeds suffer in this heat.
And of course, every pet store has Shiba Inu.
Sometimes, I stand in front of Shiba windows and try to re-imagine that swell of desire that made us pick Bowdu out from the pile. This is not to tempt myself anew with another Bad Idea. Rather, I’m trying to identify that first spark of emotion that results in these puppies getting sold — as they do, day in, day out.
My feelings are far too mixed now to just succumb to innocent surrender, given what I’ve learned over the years. Yet, I do remember the lift of total transport, the moment you hold one of those puppies. And before the customer has the time to disperse those happypuppyclouds and think things through rationally, they’ve bought that wriggly ball of responsibility…
And so it happened to the brother of that Shiba pair born July 11th, pictured above, playing with one of the pet store clerks. Two days later, I passed by the same pet store and noticed that only the sister was left, and a pug had been plopped into the missing Shiba’s place. Even curiouser, the date of birth had been changed in a pretty half-assed manner, with a single line added to make it look like the birthdate was July 4th, a whole week earlier. That means on August 18th, when the second picture was taken, the Shibas were just a few days over six weeks old, if the latter date is to believed. If the first date was right, the first Shiba was just a few days over five weeks old when he was sold.
Either way, those Shiba pups were way too young to be taken home, and the fact that the pet store proprietor changed the birthdate on the window indicates that they knew and were trying to fudge perceptions. Not that there are any firm laws in Taiwan against the sale of young pups, as in some parts of the US. In Taiwan, pet retailer laws only stipulate that the animals should already be weaned, and have not been determined to carry any communicable diseases or illness that makes them unsuitable for sale at the time.
I’d be surprised if anyone’s actually been fined for selling underaged puppies. Chances are that the Shiba puppy didn’t die the next day (and if he did, he would have been speedily replaced by yet another underaged Shiba). The people got what they wanted, and all is, hopefully, well. Dogs are pretty hardy creatures, even the ones born and raised under less than ideal circumstances. But it’s precisely because these lives are so easy to produce that I feel like we have the responsibility to protect their fecundity.
And yes, sometimes that “protection” is rendered through reproductive control. More words about that some other time.
One last bit that I thought was interesting…
After the Shiba sister was also sold, this is the pair that replaced them in the window. They are advertised as “mixed blood” 混血 pups — combining Chinese 中 (Taiwanese) and Japanese 日 lines. What they’re emphasizing is the presumed authenticity of import lineage. Mostly I’m just amused by the idea that the dogs themselves possess nationality, such that the breeding combination results in a “mix” that nobody can see anyway.
Didn’t get a chance to post this gorgeous tugou encountered on a walk when I went down to Puli, Nantou County — the only land-locked county in the center of the island where my dad’s side of the family mostly resides.
I don’t often see black and tans that retain such a sharp mask and distinctive form.
You see why they often end up getting dubbed “Basenji” mixes when they arrive Stateside?
Despite her towering presence atop the column, she wasn’t that big, about 40 pounds. I’d be able to brush the top of her head and certainly her ears without stooping if she was beside me. Not that she offered a chance to get close.
Given the current rabies situation in Taiwan, I made sure to note the number of free-roaming dogs that I still saw during my trip down south. While I didn’t encounter groups of strays, as I have before, it was mildly surprising that many pet dogs were still given free rein. Rabies “hysteria,” as it were, is not so easy to observe from a casual perspective. One probably has to go to shelters and vets to get a better sense of heightened anxieties.
About a week after my country excursion, the first case of rabies affecting a pet dog was confirmed in Taitung, on the Eastern coast.
Public notice posted at the library when I first arrived in August, warning that “This KISS could be deadly!”
I know not what this portends. Taipei often seems a world away from the rest of the island, let alone further points abroad.