I haven’t been able to blog much recently as I’ve been away in Koh Lanta this week, so before I have the chance to write about that or anything else, here is an article that was published a few weeks ago. It was written from the perspective of a soi dog. You may have read it already.

———-I just bit a farang. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got a good heart, but when you’re out there roaming the sois you’ve got to show that you can hold your own. Even though we live a very different lifestyle from you, we still live in the same country, walk the same sidewalks, and sometimes we eat the same food, but I think really we all know who is running the city, and it’s certainly not you lot; there’s so much you don’t see.

Why would I bite a farang? Well, just because I don’t eat with a knife and fork doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Biting a Thai person is like eating a bee. I’ve seen it happen before: someone will try their luck to show what they’re made of, go up and bite a Thai person casually on the leg, and then suffer the consequences. I’ve witnessed good friends of mine hit with everything from shopping baskets to umbrellas. It’s a cruel cruel world. You can sometimes get away with biting a Thai girl on the bum, but that doesn’t really prove anything; it just makes you look a bit weird really.

Thing is with farang, they feel sorry for us. They don’t want to harm us ‘cos they’re too scared of catching rabies. We don’t need your pity, farang, but we’ll take it anyway. The farang I just bit jumped out of his shoes… literally. It was great. He was so scared he ran straight into 7-eleven in his socks. Doing something like that shows the others around town who’s boss. I caught a bit of slack from some Thai people, some of them gave me a few evil looks, but I know in their hearts they were glad to see I’m still on top of my game.

So who does doing something like this prove anything to? I certainly don’t need the respect of the Thai people. I can fend for myself and get my own food. Thing is, there’s a hierarchy out here. If you can’t stand and hold your ground then you’re gonna be taken out. I’ve got thirty-five kids that I know of. I’ve been around: there are five at Saphan Kwai, fifteen at Victory Monument, and the rest are somewhere around Ari. I’ve got to provide for my offspring. I sure as hell know the mothers won’t do it. But I digress.

You lot have got your police, your mafia, your street urchins, but who do you think works silently above all of them? Yeah, that’s right, it’s us; but our culture is more ruthless than you’ll ever know. Only the strong survive, as they say, and the weak just wither away and die. Every district has a leader, and beneath that leader there are other leaders, and beneath them there is us: the ones on the street. If we can’t show that we can keep our territory together, keeping the farang scared, making our mark in the right places, and keeping strays off the patch, then those higher than us will find someone who can.

I’ve got it made, me. I’ve won the respect of all around me because I get to sleep on the doorstep of a 7-eleven. I get to chat with the staff there and directly opposite me is a sausage-on-a-stick vending cart. What more could you ask for? I like to get out and see the city sometimes, so at weekends I take the stairs up to the elevated walkway and do the full lap around the monument. Most days, though, I just sleep and dream of domestication.

I’ve heard stories and I’ve heard tales that there are places where my brothers and sisters live in the lap of luxury. They don’t know how lucky they are. Regular, clean food, a bed to sleep in, people to cut their hair, and cures for modern disease and infestations. There are places paved with soft fur, where the buildings gleam, there are no strays, and society treats us like kings. There are no places like this in Thailand, but there are some who are lucky enough to be taken in by loving families, but it is not without compromise.

To be elevated to the ranks of high society destroys one’s sole. I have seen the lifeless, emotionless carcasses that once had meaning in their existence being cradled around as if they were toys. You’ve seen them, carried in handbags with their hair tied up with cute little ribbons. It disgusts me, and yet I can’t help but feel a little jealous. Would I trade my life for one with more privileges? Not a chance.

You see, the thing about my life is that I am my own being. I don’t need anybody to tell me what my point on this earth is. There may be those who have more than me, but I live the streets as my own, I risk my life every day, and I earn the adulation of those around me. You can’t do that cooped up in a room all the time eating chocolate buttons.

Some of you look down on me, but really it is me who is looking down on you because you haven’t grasped that your world is not automatically better because you have certain things I don’t. All too often, farang forget that happiness has been a virtue of animal-kind since before the advent of squeaky toys and flea collars. We’re lucky if we get an old, dirty t-shirt to wear when the weather gets cold, but that doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy our lives every day. You don’t need to feel sorry for us, that’s why we bite you, to remind you that we’re still here and that we know.

You complain that sometimes we chase you and that sometimes we make a mess and howl at night, but have you, farang, ever noticed the karmic balance that exists between us and the Thai people? Although there is bad in our world, the balance never alters.

So the next time you see one of us, remember that we are the ones who say what goes on and what doesn’t. Don’t try and stroke us, we aren’t pets, we’re the same as you, and in the next life we may even look like you. Sure as anything, though, I’d rather live a thousand years in this body than one in the body of a farang who takes photos of traffic, kisses in public, and thinks living in Thailand is like living in outer space. What planet are you guys on?