Our dear sweet baby George.
George was a special dog. Most dogs you meet in Pohnpei are vicious and/or disgustingly malnourished and sickly. It can be intimidating walking down certain roads because of dogs and I know several people who have been attacked by dogs while riding bikes or just walking by. George was a Pohnpeian dog, born here and given to us as a pup. But we raised her as an American, giving her many hugs and kisses, until she grew into a sweet and gentle dog to her many friends (while remaining a threat to potential trespassers). She was a favorite of the kids at school, neighbors, and male dogs (she was very pregnant).
George's constant supply of leftovers from the kids at school and pregnancy made her big. The medicine Brad's mom sent her made her healthy. George stuck out from other dogs on the island in both beautiful and dangerous ways.
There's a part of Pohnpeian culture that is kind of funny, kind of shocking to Americans. They eat dog here (yes, you can imagine where this story is going...). It's a custom I've taken part in myself multiple times.
Well, the other day, George went for a walk around the block as usual, only she never came home. In America, we would drive around looking for her and put up signs. But Brad and I got that sinking sensation, knowing any of those efforts would be fruitless. Everybody knew exactly what had happened to our sweet George.
Somebody took her. Because she looked delicious.
George meant a lot to me. If you have ever seen me with my dog at home, Henry, you will know that I treat my pets like they are my own adorable babies. George was a great comfort to me this past year. She would walk with me when I had to walk home alone at night. She would let me hug her when I needed a hug. She was always there and would always brighten my day. She was a bit of familiarity on what was once an unfamiliar island.
This is a tragic loss for Brad and I (and others who loved her). It's different than her dying of old age (you know it's coming) or getting hit by a car (that's pretty much an unavoidable bit of bad luck). I didn't know how to react, what I was feeling when reality set in. Because there was a part of me that was angry, that knew there was somebody out there that took my dog and was eating her. There was a part of me that wanted to place blame on somebody.
But who or what would I blame? I realized I cannot blame the culture or the people that practice the culture which accepts eating dogs. I am the guest here, of course Pohnpei should not change for me. I could blame myself, for raising such a fat, healthy (aka delicious) dog. But that's my culture, to treat dogs that way. And I'm happy that George lived a happy life, rather than being a mangy homeless mutt.
So there's nobody to blame. It's just one of those things, those moments of "culture clash."
I tend to over think things, looking for a lesson to be learned in every experience. But I realized with this, that there isn't much of a lesson. I don't feel like I did anything wrong and I don't think anybody else was wrong either. It just happened. I'm sad about it, but that's all there is. No anger or resentment. Just sadness and acceptance. Will I chastise those who eat dog? No. Will I continue to occasionally eat dog? Yes (although maybe I'll wait a little while until I'm sure it's not George). It's one of the first times I have been able to look at a situation, accept it, and move on. This does not mean I'm not in a state of mourning, it just means I recognize that what's done is done.
So, thank you George. For the many kisses, that cute face, and hours of entertainment. We would have loved you and your puppies, but hopefully you were able to provide nourishment to a hungry family.
Rest in Peace.
And now a selection of adorable baby pictures of George (courtesy of Molly):
George's first bath!
Silly George, what're you doing up there?
