By John Cairns

LAMMA ISLAND, Hong Kong -- As my dog Gail and I started one of our evening walks this week, we wandered past the Lamma Animal Welfare (LAW) Charity Shop. One of the small, motorized delivery carts known as village vehicles had stopped in front of the shop and a crowd of people gathered around it.

In the back of the village vehicle lay a young-looking, female dog (light brown, considerably smaller than Gail), convulsing so violently that she bounced. A Chinese woman, presumably the dog’s owner, tried to hold her steady, but it didn’t help much.

Dr John, a physician for humans who volunteers with LAW, was there. He knows us and spoke to me. Judging by the “typical symptoms”, the dog was yet another poisoning victim, he said. She’d convulsed steadily for more than half an hour. If she didn’t stop soon, her heart would collapse from the strain. Already, he’d given her several injections of medicine, but it appeared to make little difference.

The Lamma Veterinary Clinic opens only part time. The resident vet was elsewhere, but Dr John had him on the telephone and they discussed what to do next. (There was little more they could do.)

Shamefully, I confess that one of my strongest emotions was gratitude that my own dog still stood beside me and wasn’t the one fighting for life, struggling to scramble away from death’s door. Then I felt relieved that I didn’t recognize the dog. She wasn’t one of Gail’s buddies. Next, gloom descended. To me, this animal looked like an image of tortured innocence.

Several times, the dog’s spasms did stop, but only for a few seconds (just long enough for me to think, “Oh, good”). Then they resumed as violently as ever.

After a few minutes more, I began to wonder what Gail must think of this scene. We were powerless to help and prolonged gawking seemed impolite, so I took Gail away and we continued on our walk.

When we returned an hour later, the village vehicle and dog were gone. So were most of the people.

Stopping again, I inquired about the dog’s fate. “What happened to the dog earlier?” I asked a young woman working in the shop.

“Poison,” she said.

“I know, but is the dog still alive?”

She shook her head. “Dead already.”

Next I wanted to know where the dog had found poison. Maybe there was an area we needed to avoid. Of course, no one had an answer beyond “probably Pak Kok” (a nearby village). Evidently, that’s where the dog had lived.

As sometimes happens, I then spent much of the evening tightly holding Gail. She’s a clever dog and didn’t mind.

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