THE DOG THAT WENT BITING AROUND DURING THE NIGHT

THE DOG THAT WENT BITING AROUND DURING THE NIGHT

In northern Kenya, on a walking expedition with my friend Jeff Barr, I witnessed a dog behavior which might have cost the lives of at least two persons.

Jeff had taught my sons at the American school in Colombia where we both lived some years earlier. We’d hired three Turkana nomads to guide us and introduce us to their people along the way. They were also to lead six donkeys that carried mostly water, along with our personal belongings, camping equipment, and food for a little over a week. We needed a lot of water, for our itinerary was taking us across volcanic desert, through one of the hottest places on earth, the Suguta Valley, deep at the bottom of the Great Rift Valley, just south of Lake Turkana.

We had camped that night at a hundred paces from the two straw huts of a Turkana family--an old man and his two young wives and children. Yes, the Turkana can have as many wives as they can support. Like our Turkana companions, Jeff and I were sleeping under the sky and a nearly full moon, enjoying a relatively cool rest after a hellish day. Jeff was deservedly asleep, for he handled the cooking, which he loved to do, at the end of each exhausting day. My job, writing notes, cleaning cameras, and sorting film, was much more relaxing.

Something, a noise perhaps, wakened me. Immersing myself in thoughts after that, I was unable to close my eyes again.

Suddenly, I heard an angry cry, and saw Silale, our Turkana interpreter, get up to curse and run after something. I assumed a dog had stolen some food, and I added my voice to his, making loud silly noises which I wanted to sound threatening. It was a dog indeed, an ugly little yellow creature with the oblique and shuffling gait of a jackal. He was unimpressed, and trotted by me as though I did not exist. I’d seen him that afternoon sleeping under the tree where we had unloaded our luggage for the night.

"Look at that impudent bastard, cried Silale. He came to bite me in my sleep. Thanks God! I was wrapped up in my blanket."

That was strange, indeed.

By now having lost all hope to sleep, I got up to check if a stream, which had come down from the hills that afternoon after a rare downpour that take years to occur, was still running. It had been almost completely absorbed by the underlying sand, and by morning would have disappeared. Poor Turkana children, I thought; they would be disappointed, for the stream had made great impression on them. They had never before seen running water.

The night had not delivered its last surprise. Now, at two in the morning, a little girl in one of the huts woke up screaming, and then sobbing loudly. Her parents started a terrific commotion, and I wondered whether the old man was giving one of his wives a thrashing. At that, everyone else woke up, and our own three Turkana, spears in hand, ran wildly towards the huts.

Cries filled the night, but I couldn't understand a word. I thought the old man might be attempting to kill the woman, and that our friends were rushing to her rescue. Pulled out so violently from his sleep, Jeff was even more surprised by the pandemonium.

Before I had made any sense of the situation, the Turkana were all running at me now--the men with spears high, the women with pangas (small machetes). For a moment, I did not know whether to run too, and where. But no, why should these people want to spear me?

And then I saw the little yellow dog ahead of them—dashing straight at me. And in an instant I grasped the situation. The dog had sneaked inside the hut to bite the little girl, and must have been rabid. Now he intended to give me the kiss of death. Even as I grabbed up a thorny branch from the ground and shook it threateningly, he kept coming at me.
Luckily, my Turkana were fast on his heels, and he managed only one snap at me, just as I jumped sideways. Then the desert night swallowed him.

The Turkana could easily have killed him, but they would not, which was admirable of them. But they must not have known about rabies.

That was too bad, for the little yellow dog could bite other people, or other animals that would bite other people, and perhaps cause untold harm.

Thanks God, the damage had been only minor thus far. It turned out the dog had first tried to bite the little girl's leg through her blanket, causing only a minor scratch. He had then jumped onto her face, but in the nick of time she had pulled the blanket over it while screaming for help.

That was fortunate, for her parents would not have walked several days to bring her to a bush clinic They would have found no rabies antidote there anyway.

Concerned that the dog might return, Jeff and I did not sleep anymore that night. Still, Jeff thought that his unusually loud snoring had saved us thus far. It may have, as it scared me sometimes.

Every night, we had listened to the howling of distant jackals. That night the howling sounded different.

“That’s the little yellow dog howling,” Silale said.

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