Scruff

I wasn’t going to have a dog in Peace Corps.  I came to that conclusion some six months before I even knew what country I was being sent to.  I made a list of pros and cons of a dog, and the cons all outweighed the pros.  My returned volunteer friends agreed- it’s too expensive, too much responsibility, too foreign a concept, and too crass to feed an animal well in a community where people are hungry.  I made my decision and thought that was the end of it. 

But sometimes, life throws a cute little puppy in your path. 

Her name is Scruff.  She is the dog of a previous volunteer.  When I first found out that I would be inheriting Scruff, I was mildly distressed.  Sure she was cute and affectionate and all that…But she wasn’t really my dog.  I was worried about community perceptions, worried about the cost of dog food, and most of all- worried about what I would do with her when the two years were up. 

Peace Corps immediately gave me some options- maybe someone will adopt her.  The alternative was the Animal Welfare Society.  That option felt like a “well, should we inject her now?” kind of option, so I couldn’t send her there and ever forgive myself for it.  Peace Corps said that the quicker I made a decision, the easier it would be, so I did. 

The first few weeks were strange, and I felt like I was dog-sitting for someone.  Scruff didn’t feel like she was mine somehow, even though she threw herself at me frantically whenever I returned from an absence of longer than 20 minutes.  She even forced her way into the latrine a few times to be with me until I learned to use the latrine that she can’t nose open! 

Scruff has been my constant companion and shadow.  If she manages to follow me all the way to the bus stop, the khumbi conductors have to physically hold her back and start driving away with the door open so that she can’t spring into the khumbi at the last second. 

Unfortunately, the Swazi homestead dogs have also attached themselves to me, so I inevitably have an entourage of 6 dogs following in my wake whenever I walk around the village.  I don’t have the heart to throw stones at them to make them return to the homestead, and my weak “suka!” doesn’t exactly send them running home with their tails between their legs.  Just call me the pied piper of dogs. 

Slowly, I am beginning to realize that my fears of community perceptions were unfounded.  The community knows Scruff well from the previous volunteer, so it’s like instant integration whenever they see us out and about together.  The concept of a dog as a pet and not for homestead protection is novel and baffling to Swazis, and so Scruff and I get a lot of attention.  It’s not that Swazis wouldn’t keep dogs as pets necessarily, but rather there is a hierarchy of needs and animals have jobs.  I often struggle with a holier-than-thou sense of self- righteousness towards people who take pity on dogs in developing countries.  It’s not that there isn’t animal cruelty- there is plenty of that- but mostly there’s just a different type of relationship with dogs that is perfectly legitimate given the circumstances.    

Scruff is the exception, however.  She is fluffy and furry and so very different from the other dogs that people take a genuine interest in her.  Scruff and I will be watching a soccer match when some shy boys see me petting her and want to try it out as well.  Scruff is unfortunately terribly racist, so I have to subtly scoot closer to the boys so that Scruff is within petting distance.  They first pat her tentatively a few times on her head, and the boys look up at me in wonder.  This scene repeats itself with everyone from the oldest grandpa to the smallest child- all petting a dog for apparently the first time in their lives.  It is truly a wonderful sight to behold.        

Scruff is an easy dog to love.  She reminds me of Belle in a lot of ways- incredibly needy and sweet and loving.  Slowly, I’m not just dogsitting this cutie- I’m adopting her.  It began about a week ago when she hopped on my bed for the umpteenth time.  I usually shove her off gently, but I was feeling benevolent, and let her curl up next to me as I read.  And I rubbed her belly.  And it was true love.  We’ve repeated this hours-long cuddle ritual most nights since then. 

Her previous owner and another volunteer are keeping Scruff in food for now.  (I’m not quite ready to accept that responsibility, jerky as it sounds.  I was planning on travelling with any extra living allowance, not spending it on dog food).  I’m still worried about what to do with Scruff when it’s time to leave.  Give her to another volunteer?  Spend my re-adjustment allowance on having her sent back to the States?  I suppose I have two years to think about it, though, so these things will resolve in time….

In the meantime, Scruff is proving to be one heart-melting little cookie.  I’ve had tough young men want to take pictures with her, and countless mothers ask me if they can have Scruff.  Women look upon me with great pity when they find out that I am an old maid of 23 with no husband and (worse) no children, but I just point at Scruff and say “This is my baby!”  We laugh and the judgment leaves their eyes.  

Most telling of how loved this dog is, however, the reactions I got today.  I was going to a meeting and had my usual entourage following me.  I managed to yell threateningly enough that they all ran back to the homestead- including Scruff.  I felt naked without her all day.  When I stopped on my walk to the meeting to chat with some grandpas I am friendly with, they all had one question: “Ukuphi inja yakho namuhla?”  Where is your dog today?  “Ekhiya,” I responded sadly.  At home.  Our yippy reunion felt really good when I finally made it home.  I’m such a sap for cuddle time.