In Buddhist Bangkok even
strays have their day

SIX grubby dogs slept on the steps of the Buddhist temple in Bangkok, as monks inside chanted. As the last prayer was intoned, the voice of the abbot crackled over a microphone: "Okay everybody, get out there and grab some dogs!"

A dozen monks dressed in saffron robes snapped on surgical gloves, picked up nets and fanned out. They pulled dogs from under benches and cars, and plucked them from the shade thrown by statues of the Buddha.

The dogs were stuffed into a cage and sprayed for fleas and ticks. Later, a veterinarian neutered some of the mutts, before setting them free again to roam Bangkok's gutters, back alleys - and anywhere else they chose.

Dog catchers from Buenos Aires to Bangalore employ euthanasia to winnow the legions of strays that inhabit most big cities in the developing world. But don't ask most Thais to put a stray dog to sleep. Buddhism calls for compassion and forbids killing any animal unnecessarily. Buddhists also believe in reincarnation - and many Thais see dogs as people who may have misbehaved in a past life. That's why some don't feel bad about turning unwanted pups into the street to fend for themselves.

To cope with all the pooches, devout Buddhists in Bangkok are building "dog condos", sterilizing strays and even trying to teach old dogs new tricks by pressing them into police work.

Thailand's "soi" - or alley - dogs live in an unusual netherworld, often tossed scraps from street-side food stalls, but left alone to breed and roam. Many Thais see the estimated 150,000 homeless mutts as a benign urban presence, akin to squirrels. Close contact with tolerant city dwellers has produced a particularly tame breed of stray.

But the soi dogs frighten tourists and represent a health risk, officials say - so the city council wants to get rid of them. "My priority is to protect the public," says Sompop Chatraporn, the city's veterinary public health director, who is a Buddhist. "I put my religious beliefs behind my job."

Municipal authorities used to euthanise more than 200 dogs a day. But six years ago, the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals set up shop in Bangkok and ran a campaign arguing the practice violated Buddhist principles. The city adopted a pro-life dog policy to quell public outcry. Bangkok spent $825,000 caring for street dogs last year, neutering - and then releasing - some 42,000 strays.

Mr Sompop says soi dogs attack dozens of people each year. According to his research, 28,000 people in Bangkok got rabies shots in 2001, the latest year for which figures are available. Many people, he concedes, ask for a shot after simply being licked by a particularly mangy dog. "We can't tell how many have been bitten and who was simply licked," he says.

Last year, city fathers hit on a new idea: ship dogs to the country. Bangkok's city council is now building an 80acre, $5 million kennel in a small northern town that will house up to 8000 strays - a fraction of the city's strays. "It would be much easier to do this job in any other Asian country," sighs Mr Sompop.

China and Vietnam are also Buddhist, but because dog has long been eaten in those countries, there are fewer canine-rights crusaders there. By contrast, dog has never been part of Thai cuisine.

Kiattisak Rojnirun, a veterinarian in Bangkok, set up a non-profit foundation three years ago to aid strays. His catch-and-release programme neuters about 500 soi dogs a month, and treats hundreds more for skin diseases and fleas. He's done eye surgery on strays who are going blind.

Dr. Kiattisak stages regular round-ups near temples, where unwanted dogs are often dumped. Dressed in green hospital scrubs, he recently hauled a cage full of sooty dogs, rounded up by monks, into his operating room. Seven drugged dogs in recovery laid paw to shoulder, on the floor. After their operation, he tattooed their ears and tied on a red cloth collar with a tag to show they have had a rabies shot. He keeps the dogs a few weeks to recuperate, then drives them back to the alley where they were caught and lets them go.

At night, Dr Kiattisak lights incense and kneels in front of a small altar in his home. "I pray for the dogs, and the people who help me care for them," he says. He also prays for a big donor. His work with strays costs some $17,000 a month, he says; about a third of that comes from donations, says Dr Kiattisak, who also runs a private animal hospital, and the rest comes out of his pocket.

There are other rewards, though. "My work with dogs has made me more spiritual," Dr Kiattisak says. He notes that one of his staff walked away from a recent head-on collision between his motorbike and a truck. "We've already got good karma coming back."

Thailand's revered King, Bhumbibol Adulyadej, adopted a stray of his own five years ago, to set an example. In 2002, he wrote an 83-page book, "The Story of Tondaeng," with 129 photos (and one X-ray), extolling the virtues of his mixed-breed mutt. Thais rushed to buy the book but not to adopt dogs.

Last year, the King asked the Police and Department of Parks and Wildlife to employ some strays. The police have since taught 25 former street dogs to detect drugs. Another 25 flunked their final sniffing exam after a 20-week training programme. They are back in school.

The parks department, meanwhile, plans to create a force of 300 former strays to help rangers protect parks. At a vast national park near the River Kwai, ranger Somsak Monthathong demonstrated the skills of his dog, Boonrad. On command, the wiry black pooch, trained to attack poachers, charged a volunteer wearing protective gear, and latched firmly onto his arm.

Not all strays can be trained, says Mr Somsak. His first recruit, a reddish mutt named Mike Tyson, was one of many dog-school drop-outs. Mike refused to do anything but lie in the sun, fighting whenever Mr Somsak put him on a leash. "He was too independent," he says. "He'd been on his own too long."

North of Bangkok, Payom Kalayano, a taciturn monk who draws thousands with his fiery sermons, is building what he calls a "dog condominium" for mutts, at a cost of $250,000. He got the idea on a visit to Los Angeles, he says, where he saw a plush dog hotel. "Buddhism teaches us to have mercy," he says. "We need to take care of all living creatures."

Already, about 300 stray dogs loll around the compound that surrounds his temple. Over 700 homeless people live there as well. Mr Payom feeds them all with temple donations and the proceeds from the sale of his speeches, books and cassettes.

On a recent day, workers pressed small tiles into the freshly-poured cement floor of the three-storey, L-shaped dog condo. Mr Payon leaned over to inspect their handwork. "That's not very artistic," he barked. "You should set the tiles in a pattern, like this. "His orange robe fluttered as he moved his hands in a circular motion. "Make it look nice!"

He leaned over to scratch the ear of a dirty white dog, then turned abruptly and marched off to pray.

A story like this one, sent in by Wetnose organisation UK, gives us some positive hope for the future of dogs in Asia and makes us realise that China, Korea and the Philippines are the three areas of the world where a huge amount of education in the treatment of fellow creatures is needed.