By Jay Scott Kanes
FORTIFIED by the rays of morning light, David tilted his head to the rising sun. He couldn’t resist smiling.
Escorting his dog Dancer on early walks across Lamma Island’s hills often highlighted his day. Today they followed a new route.
Stumbling slightly, David returned his attention to the dirt trail. His sandals dislodged a pebble and sent it bouncing down the slope.
Leading the way, Dancer, a medium-sized, brown mongrel, looked sure-footed. She’d been named for her happy gait.
David’s wristwatch showed 29 minutes until he needed to catch a ferry to work in Hong Kong’s Central Business District. “Let’s quicken the pace,” he called ahead to Dancer, who obliged.
Near the bottom of the hill, the trail meandered past elaborate gravesites. Briefly, David frowned. Many local people avoided such places for fear of offending the spirits or attracting ghosts.
“Rubbish,” David muttered. As a sophisticated Englishman, he rejected such notions.
Stopping, Dancer crouched and urinated. She preferred to empty her bladder along their walk routes, not in the garden at home. She’s a sensible dog, David thought.
Leaving the graves, they veered onto a wider, paved path and soon arrived home at a ground-floor flat in Yung Shue Wan, Lamma’s largest village. David had just enough time to change into his business suit, grab his briefcase and stroll to the ferry pier.
Once in the garden, Dancer headed to her doghouse alongside the two-storey building. As David fumbled with his house keys, she returned, whining. “What’s the problem?” he asked.
Dancer looked at him and then glanced toward her doghouse, a formidable shelter with yellow-plastic walls and a sloped roof. “What the hell?” David said, following her gaze.
The doghouse dripped with swampy, green slime. Worse, as David moved closer, a rancid smell invaded his nostrils, making him gag. “That’s not rain,” he said. “Nothing so foul falls from the sky.”
Who did this? Warily, David glanced at his upstairs neighbor’s balcony. Had the old lady living there poured down stagnant goo?
Dancer hung back, peering warily from behind David’s legs. Stooping, he stroked her head. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll scrub up this mess now.”
Knowing he’d miss the ferry, he went to find a scrub brush and to fill a bucket with soapy water.
“AAH, nooo,” David yelled 24 hours later. Again, he and Dancer had returned from a morning walk. Again, the doghouse dripped smelly slime.
“What the blazes?”
Displeased, Dancer lifted her snout and howled like a wolf.
“I’ll clean it now,” David assured her.
“DO you believe it?” David spoke through gritted teeth, mostly to himself.
For the third straight day, the doghouse had been slimed.
Dancer growled angrily. I may need another brush and more soap, David thought.
A shuffling noise drew his attention to the balcony. His neighbor had emerged and stared down. “Hey, gweilo,” she said. “What’s wrong with your dog’s hut? It stinks.”
“I don’t know what happened,” David replied. “Did you see vandals pour slime here?”
“Me? I saw nothing,” the old lady said. She pointed her walking stick at him. “Please remove that smell so I can enjoy my tea and congee.”
“Of course,” he said.
For a third time, David missed the ferry and arrived late at work.
THE next day, David awoke extra early. Darkness lingered when he and Dancer started their morning walk. Glimmers of daylight appeared as they ascended the hills.
Near the gravesites, David wondered if the doghouse would be filthy again. He knew it’d looked fine when they left home.
Dancer stopped to urinate in one of her chosen places. What a creature of habit! She’d selected the same spot each time they walked here.
She’s consistent, David thought, noticing the dog’s urine stream splash a cement marker on one of the graves. Whose resting place had she been abusing?
Advancing, he read the grave markings. On a hunch, he spoke, addressing the deceased: “Sir, I’m sorry if we offended you.” Then he pressed his palms together and made the bowing motion that people used at the temple. “Dancer won't annoy you again. We’ll walk elsewhere – never here. Is that alright?”
Dancer stared inquisitively, maybe wondering if he’d lost his marbles. She knew he didn’t speak to her. Yet they were alone.
Feeling silly, David nodded toward the grave marker, turned and walked away. Dancer dashed after him.
Minutes later, they arrived home and went directly to the doghouse. There it sat – clean, dry and slime-free.
Dancer’s tail wagged wildly. Thank goodness, David thought. He didn’t need to call for ghost-busters after all.
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