SIR PEEPAWS

I remember well that first morning I laid eyes on Peepaws. My first thought was to have one of the boys put him out of his misery. Ordinarily, I would agree with my Buddhist friends and not harm any living thing, but there are exceptions to every rule, and I felt in this case it was warranted. Peepaws had to be one of the ugliest creatures I had ever seen.

Living on the back of a Buddhist wat (temple grounds), I had gotten used to seeing strange animals occasionally. Most wats are sanctuaries for unwanted animals, and since we ate quite well at the Wat Opot Community, whatever was dropped off at the wat usually ended up at our place during mealtimes. There were always litters of scrawny kittens or small puppies wandering over, and once there was even a piglet born with only three legs. The owner, I assumed, thought it would not live for very long and therefore dropped it off at the wat, rather than destroying it and perhaps suffering bad karma.

Somehow, the pig found its way to our place every day and ate a good share of our garbage, as well as raiding our gardens when it got a chance. It gained considerable weight, and then one day, just before a major holiday when families gather for barbecues, someone claiming to be the pig’s owner came to pick it up.

I could see no value in preserving the life of Peepaws, however, because while eating dog meat is not uncommon in Cambodia, only the best or most unmanageable dogs are selected for that honor, and there wasn’t enough meat on Peepaws to make starting a fire worthwhile. Peepaws got his name because “pee” is the Khmer word for two, and “paws” is what most dogs have four of. I was not sure if he was born defective or had gotten his deformity from some unfortunate accident that should have taken his life. Either way, I felt the kindest thing for someone to do would be to put him out of his misery.

I don’t know how many breeds went into his pedigree, but I am sure that a good part of beagle went into his ears, which were three sizes too big for his Chihuahua-sized body. His front paws were in fairly good shape, most likely because of having to drag the lifeless rump and deformed back paws around all day. He could run and bark impressively, and I guess that did qualify him as a dog, but certainly not one a man would want to call his best friend—especially not me. I needed a real dog, one that would make me look good when guests came around and could keep the cows from coming in and eating my garden, which anyone living in a third-world country would understand. The farm animals are protected because they act as the community’s garbage collectors; however, they decide what is garbage and what is not.

It wasn’t long before Peepaws realized which table had the most leftovers, and just as I knew would happen, he chose my table to sit under and my feet to lie next to. He even seemed to read my mind and tried pleasing me by chasing some of the cows out of my garden. One day he snuck up behind one of the larger ones and started barking loudly. The unsuspecting cow took off on a run with Peepaws in close pursuit, and had he not tried cutting the cow off by running in front of it, he might have succeeded in chasing it off the property. The cow, however, when seeing the little dog running on only two feet with its rump bouncing up and down and its back legs and tail swinging haphazardly in the air, stopped in its tracks. If I didn’t know better, I would say it started mooing with laughter. Embarrassed and humiliated, Peepaws gave up the chase and never again ran after the cows.

The children were more accepting of the little mutt than I was and didn’t seem to mind that he was deformed. They often included him in their play and didn’t mind if he would snuggle in close to their feet at night while they slept. On one hot, muggy night, the children made their bed outside on the sidewalk where it was cooler, and as usual, Peepaws crawled in by their feet. It was around midnight when he started barking. He ran out from under the covers and continued barking for a while, then there was silence, and a short time later he quietly slipped back into his place by their feet. In the morning, they found him there—two fang marks on his rump from a poisonous snake explained the cause of his lifelessness.

For his act of heroism, we granted him the status of knighthood in the Kingdom of Dogs. The children buried Sir Peepaws that same day in a grave befitting the title he had earned, and I was left with a feeling of guilt for judging him on his outward appearance and not realizing or appreciating the compassion he had for the children—and for me.