So, I promise I will finish up the Part 2 Gori post before the weekend, because I still have last weekend to tell you about, and those two days kicked a lot of butt too. Plus tonight is my host-brother's 21st birthday and I'm sure that's going to have some post-worthy moments.
BUT, I got the utter shit scared out of me last night, and I want to share while it's still fresh.
Georgia has a problem with stray dogs. This problem comes from a variety of sources... pretty much no one spays or neuters here, and sadly with Georgians it is often not considered a problem to get a kitten or puppy and then chuck them on the street after they cease to be cute or just start to be inconvenient. (I'm pretty sure this is what happened to Ruda, the pup that my host family adopted for a time but then which mysteriously disappeared from the chicken yard where they kept him.) These dogs invariably meet each other and make more strays, and the cyclical problem balloons to its current state. These poor things are absolutely everywhere in the city, and it breaks my heart. Sometimes they form packs, as their genetic memory compels them to. It's always unsettling to see these packs ranging around.
However, it stands to reason that sometimes these animals get mean. In fact, domestic dogs in Georgia are often trained to be mean, or treated so neglectfully that it amounts to the same thing. And because rabies vaccinations are pretty much unheard of here, you really, really do not want a Georgian dog to bite you.
In Poti, I had two minor scares with dogs. The first time, I was walking home late from a restaurant and a dog running loose boiled up from wherever I had disturbed him, and came at me snarling and barking. This is one time when Georgians' attitude towards animals works tremendously in your favor, because Georgian dogs are used to being kicked and having stuff chucked at them. Scared out of my mind, I made a "I'm going to kick you" gesture and the dog backed off, but stayed barking and guarding its territory until I was out of sight.
The second time, I was riding my bike in Maltaqva, wooded and secluded park running up against the Black Sea. As I pedaled lackadaisically past a rural house, a big ugly mother of a dog decided I was a gigantic threat, because he rose up like a shot and came straight at me like he wanted to tear my head off. My thought process went something like this: "If this motherfucker tries to cut you off, you better get a good grip and run him the hell over, because if you stop he is absolutely going to attack you." He did get in front of me, but thank God moved when I got too close. Even more thankfully, he did not chase me as I pedaled away.
Those two encounters were pretty scary, but they were nothing compared to what happened to me last night.
I'd said goodnight after having dinner with a friend; he'd walked me to the start of my apartment block complex and then said goodnight. I was walking home with a nice beer buzz when out of nowhere a pack of maybe five or six wild dogs comes streaking out of a perpendicular alley, barking and growling and snarling, and making a beeline right for me. It was one of those surreal out-of-body moments, when you realize that one of your biggest fears is in fact unfolding in front of you, and life is about to get very, very interesting.
I had a feeling that if I cut and run, they would absolutely chase me down. So I did what I did with the dog back in Poti; I shouted and made like I was going to kick. This, however, only seemed to piss them off further and I was beginning to see that I was in a well and truly fucked position.
Like pretty much every adult woman everywhere, I carry a purse. My current purse is very special to me. It is a gift I bought myself on my 30th birthday. It's beautiful, it's Coach, and I didn't even buy it on sale. I love this bag. And it was the one weapon I had at my disposal versus this pack of angry wild dogs, and I shouted and postured and swung this bag at them for everything that I was worth.
After what felt like hours but what was probably closer to 25 seconds, the dogs backed off and I hightailed it for my front door, as fast as I could go without actually running, which I felt fairly certain would still not go well for me.
I made it inside and immediately dove for my secret stash of beer, chocolate and jelly beans. No harm done, but MAN... there could have been.
After I initially recovered from my scare, I posted on Facebook as to the awesomeness of my recent achievement, that being not dying or being horribly maimed. A friend replied that she knew people I should contact who could get rid of the dogs. I responded that I didn't want these dogs killed for the crime of being dogs; that it wasn't their fault that they were born into a society that treated them like disposable creatures. And then another friend responded to that, and asked how I would feel if a child got hurt or was killed because of these dogs.
Well, I would be sad. I would lament this society that treats animals so trivially, so badly, and who have created this regrettable scenario that allows people to be threatened and frightened 50 feet from their home on a Tuesday night.
But I will not be the deciding factor in these animals' execution. That is simply not fair. I would never be comfortable pointing the finger, saying -- "this is the vermin that has been bothering me; get rid of it."
That being said, you better believe I am coming back to Georgia in September with a big ole bottle of pepper spray. And maybe a taser.
BUT, I got the utter shit scared out of me last night, and I want to share while it's still fresh.
Georgia has a problem with stray dogs. This problem comes from a variety of sources... pretty much no one spays or neuters here, and sadly with Georgians it is often not considered a problem to get a kitten or puppy and then chuck them on the street after they cease to be cute or just start to be inconvenient. (I'm pretty sure this is what happened to Ruda, the pup that my host family adopted for a time but then which mysteriously disappeared from the chicken yard where they kept him.) These dogs invariably meet each other and make more strays, and the cyclical problem balloons to its current state. These poor things are absolutely everywhere in the city, and it breaks my heart. Sometimes they form packs, as their genetic memory compels them to. It's always unsettling to see these packs ranging around.
However, it stands to reason that sometimes these animals get mean. In fact, domestic dogs in Georgia are often trained to be mean, or treated so neglectfully that it amounts to the same thing. And because rabies vaccinations are pretty much unheard of here, you really, really do not want a Georgian dog to bite you.
In Poti, I had two minor scares with dogs. The first time, I was walking home late from a restaurant and a dog running loose boiled up from wherever I had disturbed him, and came at me snarling and barking. This is one time when Georgians' attitude towards animals works tremendously in your favor, because Georgian dogs are used to being kicked and having stuff chucked at them. Scared out of my mind, I made a "I'm going to kick you" gesture and the dog backed off, but stayed barking and guarding its territory until I was out of sight.
The second time, I was riding my bike in Maltaqva, wooded and secluded park running up against the Black Sea. As I pedaled lackadaisically past a rural house, a big ugly mother of a dog decided I was a gigantic threat, because he rose up like a shot and came straight at me like he wanted to tear my head off. My thought process went something like this: "If this motherfucker tries to cut you off, you better get a good grip and run him the hell over, because if you stop he is absolutely going to attack you." He did get in front of me, but thank God moved when I got too close. Even more thankfully, he did not chase me as I pedaled away.
Those two encounters were pretty scary, but they were nothing compared to what happened to me last night.
I'd said goodnight after having dinner with a friend; he'd walked me to the start of my apartment block complex and then said goodnight. I was walking home with a nice beer buzz when out of nowhere a pack of maybe five or six wild dogs comes streaking out of a perpendicular alley, barking and growling and snarling, and making a beeline right for me. It was one of those surreal out-of-body moments, when you realize that one of your biggest fears is in fact unfolding in front of you, and life is about to get very, very interesting.
I had a feeling that if I cut and run, they would absolutely chase me down. So I did what I did with the dog back in Poti; I shouted and made like I was going to kick. This, however, only seemed to piss them off further and I was beginning to see that I was in a well and truly fucked position.
Like pretty much every adult woman everywhere, I carry a purse. My current purse is very special to me. It is a gift I bought myself on my 30th birthday. It's beautiful, it's Coach, and I didn't even buy it on sale. I love this bag. And it was the one weapon I had at my disposal versus this pack of angry wild dogs, and I shouted and postured and swung this bag at them for everything that I was worth.
After what felt like hours but what was probably closer to 25 seconds, the dogs backed off and I hightailed it for my front door, as fast as I could go without actually running, which I felt fairly certain would still not go well for me.
I made it inside and immediately dove for my secret stash of beer, chocolate and jelly beans. No harm done, but MAN... there could have been.
After I initially recovered from my scare, I posted on Facebook as to the awesomeness of my recent achievement, that being not dying or being horribly maimed. A friend replied that she knew people I should contact who could get rid of the dogs. I responded that I didn't want these dogs killed for the crime of being dogs; that it wasn't their fault that they were born into a society that treated them like disposable creatures. And then another friend responded to that, and asked how I would feel if a child got hurt or was killed because of these dogs.
Well, I would be sad. I would lament this society that treats animals so trivially, so badly, and who have created this regrettable scenario that allows people to be threatened and frightened 50 feet from their home on a Tuesday night.
But I will not be the deciding factor in these animals' execution. That is simply not fair. I would never be comfortable pointing the finger, saying -- "this is the vermin that has been bothering me; get rid of it."
That being said, you better believe I am coming back to Georgia in September with a big ole bottle of pepper spray. And maybe a taser.
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