Dog bites and songthaews by Bruce Marsland
Rabies was not on my list of necessary vaccinations for Thailand. I had bought malaria tablets, a mosquito net, and rehydration powders. My suitcase was stuffed with wet-wipes and antiseptic cream. But it is always the thing that you leave out that you find yourself needing the most.
Such were my thoughts as I walked home along the half-lit sea front. The local dogs watched and barked, proclaiming their territorial rights. There were dogs everywhere in Thailand, but they were usually no trouble.
It was a surprise, then, to sense one dog following more closely than usual. I instinctively half-turned, heard a growl, and felt contact with my left calf. The dog retreated and watched from the side of the path. In the dark, it looked healthy enough. I tried to keep calm until, back in my room, I found a slight graze. Up to 7% of stray dogs can be rabid in some areas of Thailand, and it did not seem sensible to trust to fate. After all, once symptoms develop, rabies is invariably fatal.
I
was spending a month in a small team of volunteers on a sea turtle
conservation project on the eastern coast, near Rayong. Fortunately,
we had Oh with us, our Thai guide, and the next morning he borrowed a
moped. I swung myself precariously onto the back, and we buzzed ten
minutes up the road to the local clinic, where the
nurse recommended a visit,
that evening, to the regional hospital in Klaeng about 12 miles away, for the necessary rabies shots.
By
late afternoon we had finished work. Oh and I walked up the road
towards Klaeng, past several groups of mangy-looking dogs sunning
themselves on the tarmac, and caught a songthaew, a sort of pick-up
truck with two facing benches along the back.
Songthaews
are the local transport and can be flagged down almost anywhere on
their route. We jumped aboard and nestled between the other
passengers on the hard benches.
Half
an hour later, the songthaew stopped and turned. Oh consulted the
driver then announced that the route had been changed and we would
have to go back and start again. The tropical sun was therefore
sinking rapidly as we finally entered the town of Klaeng and Oh
negotiated with the new driver to take us an extra mile to the hospital.
The hospital facilities were basic, but the atmosphere was calm and efficient. An hour later, back outside, my arms were smarting from three injections and my wallet was lighter by some 500 baht.
I
squeezed, like ham in a sandwich, onto the middle pillion of a
three-person motorcycle taxi back into Klaeng. It was dark and busy
and, needless to say, we had no crash helmets. I resolved that, next
time, I would fork out the cash for a private truck.
Besides contributing to a good cause, volunteering in a developing country means pushing your own limits. I eased my conscience by telling myself that it was also about helping the local economy. The driver would get more value from the taxi fare than I would, and one round-trip was enough for me on the songthaew route to Klaeng.