Bolo came into my life quite suddenly in late 2003, he was nine years old then. I had seen him wandering around in my moo baan (gated village) for about a month. He was the new kid on the block, and had just moved up with his family from Phuket, in southern Thailand. As I had a 50 kilo rottweiler, Nammie, she and I walked regularly, and Bolo had always steered clear of us. I must have looked a fright to him as well, a tall fair-haired foreigner, a giant by Thai standards! I’ve always tried to befriend every dog I come across, but Bolo kept his distance and never came near.
How was I to know that within weeks he’d be in my care, become my dog, and the most amazing thing of all – he’d live to this crazy old age of 26!
A sad day came when Bolo ventured out onto the main road and was hit by a car. He came back in limping and after I had heard what happened, I rushed to his home to see how he was. I told his family about the accident and asked if they needed any help getting him to the vet. I was greeted with smiles but no real concern.
They do call Thailand ‘The Land of Smiles’ for a reason, people here are very friendly and kind for the most part. I pushed them a little and they assured me he’d get the care he needed. The next day I went back and they told me he had gone to the vet and they had gotten some medication. I’ll never know if that was true but it wasn’t my place to question any further. I’d already asked them to see the medicine and they did have something.
At that point I couldn’t have told you what it was, only after living here so long would that be possible now. I did return to offer some pain medication, and somehow knew he’d have a tough night, but at this point I’d worn out my welcome popping over several times to check on the dog I came to know as Bolo. So that was that, I had done my due diligence and felt he’d be okay. That’s what I told myself any way.
However, I was very wrong indeed. That night I heard him cry, all night long. Nammie was out on the balcony and cried back to him throughout the night. It was heartbreaking. Needless to say, it was a restless night. The next morning was day three for poor little Bolo and I was determined to get him to the vet as early as possible.
Enough was enough, I was taking this dog for help no matter what. I pretty much marched over there ready for confrontation – of which Thais don’t do. This leads to losing face, to disrespect or humiliate someone here is just not done = easy way to get in the figurative doghouse in Thailand. I was polite but firm in that I’d being taking their dog from them, to say they didn’t protest would be a massive understatement.
At the veterinarian clinic, the doctors were shocked. They didn’t think he’d make it through the night, he was in the late stages of shock and totally unresponsive. I remember having a hard time when I had picked him up to put him in the car. He was completely paralyzed, his eyes were bulging out and his heart was palpitating so quickly.
It was startling. My heart broke for him, and I was doing the blame game with myself, that I should have been more insistent. I should have taken him sooner. I should have done more.
To be continued…
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