Death of a Puppy (and other puppies, and a dog…)

When we first arrived in Pangai, one of the greatest discoveries was the fact that at Kate and Brett’s house there were 3 litters of puppies, all of whom were adorable and lived in their yard on the beach. The mother of one of the litters was Nala, who had been the dog of a PCV who left in August, so it seemed as if the dog world had come full circle. When things were going really poorly with my site and I was upsest, all I had to do was go over to Kate and Brett’s and sit on their steps for a while playing with the puppies. No one can be sad while surrounded by puppies! At one point there were 11 puppies: 2 older litters of 3 and 5, and a much younger litter of 3.

And then, the puppies began to disappear. First to go was an adorable gray and white fat little puppy- we woke up one morning and he was just gone. It was then we first heard of a common crime in Tonga: puppy theft. The fact that most Tongan don’t really take care of their dogs much less let them in their house doesn’t seem to be an issue- cute puppies are just prone to being stolen.

Then, the youngest litter began to die, and there was an unfortunate accident involving searching for one of them during a storm and an accidental stepping on and squishing. Just like that, we were down to 7 puppies.

A few weeks later, we had pretty much picked out which puppies we were going to claim from the bunch: Kate and Brett chose a fluffy brown and black puppy, the sister of the disappeared grey one, and I picked out their brother, a fuzzy black little guy who was very laid back and chill. Walking with them to their house one day, I decided today would be the day I took him home- he was about 8 weeks, old enough to leave the mothers, and I was so excited to have a new friend at home. However, when we arrived at the house Kate came in from around back with a look of horror and sadness: my puppy was dead, lying out in the sand covered with flies. The neighbor children helped us burry him and make a proper Tongan mound grave, which they decorated with shells and stones, spelling out PUPPY.

I slept over Brett and Kate’s house that night because Eric and Melanie had made it in to visit (a wonderful and exciting event that I will write about, along with the complete frustration that accompanies traveling by boats in Tonga) and we’d been waiting up for the boat to come most of the night. We were awakened at sunrise by cries from the children coming from the backyard, “Mate e Nala! Ana, mate! Osi mate e Nala!” (Translation: “Nala’s dead. Ana (their mom) she’s dead! Nala’s already dead!”) I woke up Brett and Kate, and sure enough, there she was, poor Nala. Ana told us she though she and the puppy had gotten into some poison, and her family took Nala off the beach and dug a grave for her off the sand. It was so sad, and we really began to realize how slim the dogs’ chances of survival were on this island.

Almost a week later, the puppy Kate and Brett had picked out disappeared, just like her brother. We searched and searched for her, but our common belief was that she was out wandering and someone stole her since she was adorable. We’re still determined to pick out puppies for our home from the remaining 5, but we are a lot more aware of the challenges and possible outcomes of keeping a “pet” in Tonga.