It was a pleasant morning for a stroll. The sky was cloudless and blue, the sun big and beaming, and there was a crispness to the air good enough to chomp on. It was the kind of morning that if I carried a cane, I would spin it in great arcs and whistle a gay tune. Imbibed with feelings of jollity, I decided to cross the river in Langmusi and walk the Kora (pilgrim path) around the Gansu monastery complex.
I had been walking for a while, past prostrated figures face-down in the dirt, old women sat cross-legged spinning golden prayer wheels and long-sleeved Tibetans chanting, heading further up the slope. The mountains were sharp on the skyline and Langmusi had been reduced to a series of bright pools of light and lazy curls of smoke. It was then that the path bent round to the left and I came across a sign that read in Tibetan and English – “Attention! Dog inside.”
Now, I was still in a jovial mood, mentally cane-twirling and whistling all the while, but I took note. English was a precious commodity in these parts, used sparingly like saffron. I proceeded somewhat nervously with two newly acquired stones nestling in my palm – big enough to deter from attack; small enough, I hoped, to not rile the creature.
A man was sitting and smoking, admiring the view. At his side was a small fluffy white dog. I said hello in Mandarin but he couldn’t hear me above the ferocious barking that had started up from further up the hill.
I soon found, on the other side of the building, the source of the barking and I presumed the reason for the sign – a great snarling hound was secured thereby a thick chain to a similarly sturdy-looking pole. He pulled the chain taught as he lunged in my direction and growled a deep guttural growl. The chain held and the beast is tethered; I breathed a sigh of relief as I shuffled quickly past. I discarded the stones and continued to the top of the hill. The views and stillness were staggering. With the dog safely secured and the endless Gansu grasslands and mountains stretching in front of me, I felt once again at one with nature and the world.
After a while, the wind picked up and forced me to my feet. I took the same path down, past the smoking man, until I saw a smaller path heading off towards another monastery. The small fluffy dog from earlier was sat at the entrance to the path. I approached and smiled down at his wagging tail. He will let me pass, or so it seemed. I bend down to pat him in thanks. With the terrifying speed of a horror film vampire, the dog’s eyes changed, and he sank his teeth deep into my calf.
I had no idea what it felt like to be bitten by a dog. I imagined that being mauled by a taught ball of muscle with bad attitude and lock-jaw would be horrendous, same with a big dog, but a small fluffy dog would surely be like being pinched by a petulant child. How wrong I was. The muscle felt like it had been ripped from the bone and that each tooth had pumped poison direct into my bloodstream. In shock, in pain, in all sorts of trouble, I turned and ran, hobbling, swearing down through the monasteries, past the pilgrims and the prostraters, destroying the calm with all the totality that the small fluffy dog had destroyed mine.
