At the debut of Gulf War One I was on the Spice Island of Ternate. Muslim men paraded about the streets, shouting out support for Saddam. The word amok or ‘going bloodmad crazy’ comes from the Indonesian language. As the only American within 500 miles I opted to wait out these manifestations before leaving the hotel for dinner by the harbor.

The volcano across the bay had been Magellan’s destination. Cloves scented the night day. The beer garden was crowded with sailors. Ternate was no Saudi Arabia. I chose several plates from the steam table. One meat was especially delectable and I asked for seconds. At the meal’s end I received a bill and read angin.

Angin?

My Indonesian was rudimentary, but I knew what the word meant.

“I ate dog?”

“Yes, give you power for lady.” The waiter smiled and told his friends.
They laughed at my mistake. They were Bugis. Sea farers. Muslim, but beer drinkers too and they toasted Rambo, instead of Saddam. Mostly because TV had shown the extent of the Iraqi rout.

No one likes a loser.

Dog?

Thais like to joke about eating dog. “Khun kin ma, dai?”

“Why not?” I had also dined on dog in the Tana Toraja Highlands. The dog in Ternate was better.

Thais think only Isaan people or Khmers eat dog.

Not always true.

This last week in Pattaya two supposed monks from Daeng Din got drunk or mao plin on lao whiskey. Feeling a little peckish they captured a passing black dog and barbecued it alive. When the dog’s owner tried to stop their canine feast, the monks threw him in the fire and stabbed his friend.

The monks fled into the woods only to be apprehended by the responding police 200 meters from the scene of the crime. Dog meat in their hands.

Dog?

You know it’s good.

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