Stray dogs

My black suitcase came around the corner of the baggage carousel slumped on its side. I was in yet another new place. Yet another new start. 

It was the middle of winter and Taipei looked grey. I’d been living in Korea. Before that Amsterdam. Leaving had been imprinted on my soul, though I didn’t begin life like that. After my family’s migration when I was young – from one side of the globe to the other, turning my world on its head – leaving became my go-to when things got tough. By the time I arrived in Taiwan, the number of homes and locales I’d known had frazzled my brain, and my energy for this way of life was waning. 

Picture by Tobias Tullius

I wheeled my suitcase to a hostel. My plan was to secure a place to live and then find work as an English teacher. There was no time to ask myself if this was what I wanted; I was broke. It was too late for all that. 

I had made some enquiries before arriving, and the next day I organised to meet Fifi at Da’an Park. She was offering a room at half-price without the usual three-month or six-month deposit. It came with a catch: I was to share the room with a dog, Boom, as Fifi was going away for a few months. I arrived at the park and saw Fifi in the distance, and as I approached, Boom ran up to me. He looked like a blond Labrador at first glance, though his snout was longer and his ears shorter, half standing up and half flopping down. He had large round eyes and a short fluffy tail like a Shiba Inu, and wore a purple and orange neck scarf. 

‘Wow,’ said Fifi. ‘He knew who you were.’ 

She walked me around Guting. ‘There’s lots of little bars and cafés around,’ she said, pointing to the small boutique places we came across. 

Another dog walker came our way, and Fifi ushered Boom to the side, shielding him from the inquisitive and heavily preened small dog. Its long white hair was upstanding, and its face seemed so small and tucked away. ‘Boom doesn’t like other dogs,’ Fifi said. ‘He was a stray.’ 

I asked her where she was off to. 

‘I’m going to the UK for my fashion work,’ she said. And then, changing topic, ‘This area is good; it’s a bit artsy, but not pretentious at all.’ 

I followed along, looking where she pointed, but I couldn’t really make head or tail of the area. It looked the same as other areas I’d been in; there were laneways, little streets, people going about their business. The buildings were as grey and discoloured as the sky, and old, with low-rise apartments all around. But beyond that, I couldn’t really notice any nuance. I nodded. Fifi talked non-stop. 

We headed up to her room. Posters of pop stars and gaudy fashion spreads from magazines were Blu-Tacked to the yellow walls. There was an old wardrobe with a broken mirror stuck on its door. On the floor lay a double mattress, with a pink rug and a collection of soft toys splayed across it. 

‘Where does Boom sleep?’ I asked. 

‘On the bed. We sleep together.’ 

I pushed on the mattress. It gave way easily. It’s too soft for me, I thought. And I can’t sleep with a dog. 

‘What do you think?’ asked Fifi, becoming expectant. ‘I want to make sure I find the right person.’ 

The food for Boom was provided. Cans were stacked up in the hallway, which functioned as a makeshift kitchen. There were two other rooms opposite. 

‘Well?’ asked Fifi. ‘What do you think? I leave in two days.’ 

My feelings were rough and frayed. I looked around. Could I live here? I had no sense of what the right choice was. No vision for the future, only surviving the imminent moment. 

Rachel, an Australian woman, came in. She was staying in the room directly opposite and was in Taiwan to study Chinese. Her presence seemed to make things more legitimate. 

‘Yeah, OK, I’ll take it,’ I said eventually, unsure. Fifi asked for the money, and I opened my wallet. I took the notes out and handed them to her. It was pretty much all I had. 

Two days later, I left the hostel and moved in. Boom was there on the bed. He looked at me, confused. 

‘How about you sleep on the floor now?’ I said to him. I tried moving his pink rug down onto the thin floorboards that covered cold concrete. He just looked at it, unimpressed, and got back on the bed. 

We struggled to adapt to each other. Boom was, to be sure, used to a certain lifestyle. Along with sleeping on the mattress, he liked strolling around leadless, and was used to riding on Fifi’s scooter and eating any food she was eating. For all intents and purposes, he was a human in a dog costume. But I took a different approach; I thought he should behave as a dog. I spooned out the processed contents of the cheap dog food cans into his bowl. He licked the congealed liquid on top, stood there looking at the rest, and then went back to the pink rug, unhappy. 

When I took him out for a walk, I would put the lead on him. I didn’t want him getting away. But as soon as I clipped it on he would stop dead, even in the middle of the street. On our first night together, I kept trying to push him over to the other side of the bed, but he would growl at me and go back to the centre, and I swear he stretched out even more. I lay on the outskirts of the soft, spongy mattress that was covered in dog hair, watching TV shows on my laptop and drinking whiskey into the early hours until, eventually, I slept. 

This struggle went on for a few days. Each of us slowly losing patience with the other. We spent our daytimes together, and then slept in the same bed. I was even there right next to him when he went to the toilet. I had not been around another being this much since childhood. Boom didn’t talk, of course, though he made gestures, letting me know of what he approved and of what he didn’t; his brown eyes, too, were always looking over at me, trying to gauge this human that he now relied upon. Watching me wandering around in the daytime, off in my thoughts, and then in the evening with my face glued to a laptop. 

Fifi, in her rush, had somehow forgotten to leave me keys. I messaged, expecting her to organise some new ones. Instead, she seemed bothered by my intrusion and told me to sort out getting keys cut with her roommates. And when I told her that Boom didn’t like his food, she was curt, telling me she had done her side of the bargain and I could buy other food if I wanted. I mentioned this to Simeon, the other flatmate, a Frenchman. He shook his head. 

‘She’s from Hong Kong. She’s different to the Taiwanese. Everything is business.’ 

‘What about her dog?’ I said. 

‘I think she is out of sight, out of mind.’ 

‘She’s gone to the UK for work, right?’ 

‘Work? I don’t think so. She’s seeing someone over there, I think.’ 

I went back to Fifi’s room and sat at the desk. Boom was on the bed, chewing one of his toys and making the odd grunt. I looked at the contents of the room. The desk and wardrobe likely came with the lease. There was not much to suggest a firm foundation here in Taipei, just some clothes, belts, scarves and other accessories stuffed into drawers and crates. It began to dawn on me that I’d been had. 

The next day I asked Simeon bluntly how much the rent was. He told me the figure; it was half of what I paid Fifi. She wasn’t giving me a deal for looking after Boom at all. The nerve. When I brought it up with Rachel, she just looked at me. Neither seemed surprised. 

I told Fifi that I knew how much the rent was, and then cut off all contact with her. Simeon had to relay any of her messages to me, and I got more and more frustrated with Boom. When he still sniffed unhappily at his food, then left it, I would pull him back over and say, ‘Eat!’ I now saw a burden, a stubborn dog that wanted more of my money. I thought about leaving, putting all Fifi’s possessions out on the street. Dropping Boom off at the dog pound. Fifi was shrewd, though; she knew I couldn’t do that. 

There was a university close by, and at night I would take Boom there. It was quiet; only a few people walked through. I’d sit there thinking, and Boom would wander about. I held the situation with Fifi in my mind, turning it over, replaying it. How had I allowed this to happen? Where were my defences? After a while, Boom would return and lie down next to me. He would look up, and as soon as he saw me looking back, he was content. 

I didn’t bother with the lead anymore. Boom had his own way, and instead, I followed him. He knew when the traffic lights were red and would sit and wait until they changed. He knew the way to the park and would take me. I knew no-one, but Boom knew everyone. Often, people would spot the golden dog with the neck scarf as he was trotting along, and come over to pat him and speak to me. Boom was connecting me to the place despite myself, dragging me along with him. When I got my dinner from a street vendor, Boom would be sitting next to me, tapping my leg. I started to get takeaways and sprinkle some on his canned food, which he began to take bites of, and the tension between us started to shift. I pulled all Fifi’s posters down from the walls and pushed her stuff into a corner. I would make this work. 

We often went to Da’an Park, and I encouraged Boom to meet the other dogs. Sure enough, after some initial misunderstanding of canine social cues, he began to mingle. We would venture all over the huge park. Out on the edges you would see the ownerless dogs, the strays. They would be huddled under trees, unnoticed and largely unseen. They engendered feelings of both pity and danger. Their eyes always had a tired, slightly desperate quality. I didn’t know how Boom would have ever lasted in that environment. He looked up at me in his neck scarf. You made it, I thought. Somehow you have found a way. 

The days clicked over to Christmas time, though I barely noticed; other than the odd reference in a shop, you wouldn’t really know it in Taiwan. I was family-less here, and in fact, things with my own family were strained. You don’t become a nomad, disconnected like I was – without a sense of place, or home – for no reason. To their credit, my parents transferred me some Christmas money, and I went mattress shopping. On the 25th of December the shop owner, turning up in his old white van that doubled as his sleigh, delivered my present: a single mattress. I went down to meet him and give him a hand. It was a thin mattress but had dense padding and was heavy. He politely refused my offer of help and lifted it above his head. He then proceeded to ascend the six flights of concrete steps, and I quietly followed. My Santa that year did not have a long white beard; instead, he was a sixty-something, balding Taiwanese man with a protruding belly, who was incredibly strong. He laid the mattress down in my room and nodded to me. I pushed it to one side of the room, and there I slept. It was cold down on the floor, but I was not covered in dog hair. Boom occasionally looked over at me from his pink rug, spread out on his double mattress, surrounded by an incredible amount of softness. But he let me be. 

Eventually, I found a job and would leave Boom as I went off to teach. I had no idea what I was doing. I flailed about in the classes, trying to find some sense to it all. I wasn’t a qualified teacher; it was a stopgap, a never-ending stopgap, until I got a grip on things. I would return in the evening feeling disappointed in myself, and Boom would rush out to greet me, one of his toys hanging out of his mouth. 

‘He’s bringing you a gift,’ Simeon said. 

And sure enough, he’d drop it at my feet and would jump up, putting his paws on my chest, as excited as can be. 

Life wasn’t completely satisfying. I still didn’t know what I was doing in Taiwan, and I had to drag myself to work, but things became stable. I would spend my mornings with Boom, and then come home and spend my evenings with him. On the weekends I would stream football matches late at night, lying on my mattress. I would fist pump when my team scored or throw my head back when there was a close chance. Boom, not quite understanding what was happening, would look over, and thinking it was a sign to play, would rise from his slumber and his pink rug. He’d wander over and stand next to me. When I’d move suddenly, reacting to the game, he would raise his paw and prod me, opening his mouth and rising up on his hind legs. Then he would pounce on me, and for some reason he would often go for my feet. He would have me in fits of laughter, and I would have to push him off me as he grunted and jumped about. Eventually, he’d calm down and wander back over to his pink rug, make himself comfortable, and leave me to finish off the game. 

The days moved swiftly, and before I knew it, I was having to look for another place to live. My time was up. Sleeping on the floor was coming at a cost, and my body felt stiff and sore. As I began to look for somewhere, I saw a place that had a big, luxurious bed. I was taken by it. I dreamed about what it would feel like to lie on that bed and stretch out, safely above the cold floorboards. Waking in the morning, warm and rested, feeling alive. And without much thought, I took it. 

Fifi had arranged that I give Boom to an English guy, Pete. And suddenly, I was leaving again. I had completed my side of the bargain, I told myself. I’d looked after Boom, or he’d looked after me. I couldn’t decide which it was. 

‘Fifi is difficult,’ Pete told me when he arrived. ‘Though she does really care about Boom.’ 

We all headed down to the street, Boom excited, thinking he was going for a walk. When we got down to the lane, I put the lead on, and Boom knew something was up. I gave him a long pat, handed the lead to Pete and started walking away. With each step, my own frailties and loneliness came creeping back. It was as if I had placed the lead on myself and was being pulled back to my old way of being. After a few steps, I stopped and turned. Boom was looking at me, unmoved from his spot. Pete called his name and pulled on the lead, but he wouldn’t budge. Boom’s eyes were laser-like; they implored me not to go. Again, I did it; I turned and continued walking. The steps I was taking, though, weren’t real steps. I was only treading water over a deep crevice I was yet to understand. All that kept me going was pure habit. I got to the corner and turned. Boom was still staring, disbelievingly. I disappeared out of sight. 

Pete messaged me later that night. Once I’d gone he still couldn’t get Boom to move, he told me. In the end, he had to bend down and lift Boom up in his arms and carry him home. The whole time, Boom’s eyes stayed glued to the spot where I had last been. 

I wheeled my suitcase once more to a new place, yet another new start. I was handed the keys and signed the lease, and I lay on the elevated, luxurious bed, but I felt no comfort and I felt no warmth. All I could see were Boom’s innocent, defenceless eyes. 

Taiwan’s winter slowly and then rapidly changed into a hot and humid summer. By the time it started to get cold again, I knew it was getting close to the time I would leave. Typhoon season came along with the rains. For days and days it didn’t stop. The gutters overflowed, and it came down from the heavens, splashing onto the street. I stayed camped inside looking out. Where are all the stray dogs now? 

I didn’t know how to rebuild things with Fifi. I waited for her to get in contact, though she never did. And I never saw Boom again, except in a video she shared. He was at it again, up on his hind legs, his mouth open, flinging his head back and forth – between his teeth an old bit of cardboard – while grunting and barking, in one of his ecstatic states. He was home again. I still had a little further to go.