Lassie Come Home...

This last weekend, aside from drinking too much alcohol yet again, Kelly and I went to Seomun market in Daegu, which is the third largest market in Korea. Like most markets, it sold a lot of cheap goods (“cheap” meaning both inexpensive and poorly made), a lot of fish and produce, and a lot of curious cuisine from food stalls (“curious” meaning that there is a 30% chance it will be tasty and a 70% chance you will get food poisoning). But there was one thing being sold at this market that set it apart from every other market I have been to, and it was one thing that my virgin eyes were not prepared to see…Dogs…My astonishment at seeing these animals in the market has less to do with their presence and more to do with their purpose, for these were not dogs that were intended to take home to play with. These were dogs that were intended to take home and throw into a bubbling cauldron of stew.

Before I go any further, I feel the need to defend Koreans for slaughtering innocent puppies for dinner (this is already sounding like a weak defense). The thing is, a vast majority of Koreans don’t have pets, mostly out of practicality because a lot of homes (particularly in urban areas) are too small to justify owning and caring for a pet. This doesn’t mean that pet dogs are obsolete in Korea, but they are uncommon. Furthermore, if people do own a pet dog here, they generally don’t treat it as a valued member of the family. While you may see people dress their dogs in ridiculous outfits, you will never see them babbling on with sincere affection about their dog’s unique sense of loyalty and camaraderie. There is no Korean equivalent to one of my cousin Annie’s frequented websites, www.doodlekisses.com, a facebook-style website for Golden Doodles and the people who love them. Pet dogs and cats in Korea are pretty much the emotional equivalent of goldfish in America. If they become too high maintenance, we might flush them down the toilet, and we have really no problem chowing down on a nice fish sandwich afterwards. However, chowing down on a hot bowl of dog stew is not really as common as I seem to be making it sound. Dog meat is considered something of a delicacy item here, and it is quite expensive from what I understand. Additionally, there is about a 0.1% chance that I (as a Westerner) will inadvertently order such an item. Apparently the restaurants that have dog on the menu exclusively have dog on the menu, and you will know if you enter into one such establishment. I’ve also heard that most Koreans will be rather hesitant to serve dog to Westerners because they know how we feel about such animals and assume that we don’t have a clue what we’re about to put into our bodies.

I feel somewhat ashamed to admit that, until seeing the palm-sized puppies being sold alongside chickens and roosters in the market, I dabbled with the notion of eating dog at some point while here. I previously imagined that only old, ugly mutts nearing the end of their natural lifespan would be sacrificed for human consumption. I’m not sure why I thought this, and I’m not sure why I thought this would somehow be better. I suppose it is a natural human tendency to create less haunting fictions of the realities about which we would prefer to remain ignorant. When I saw the animals huddling together in their cages, I tried to convince myself that they were intended to be sold as pets, that surely nobody would heartlessly murder man’s best friend for a tender and juicy kebob. Of course, my heart knew that the remnants of these pups would eventually end up in the feces of humans.

I am not a terribly emotional individual. I used to weep for hours at movies like Old Yeller and Homeward Bound, but adulthood has stripped me of my childhood innocence and has turned me into a cold, callous old turd. But for just a fleeting moment at the market, I felt a spontaneous surge of emotion, and it was at this moment that I knew I could never willingly consume dog while in Korea. As I stared at the tiny, adorable dogs, shivering both from the cold and from fear, I was reminded of all the good times I had with my dog Scrappy (deceased) and my cat Cindy Sue (living) back home…the stupid pet tricks, the photo shoots, the endless hours of playing “catch the laser light,” the long conversations in which I did a majority of the talking…I thought about how these dogs would never have the opportunity to grow up and help the blind see, help a fire fighter extinguish flames, help a police man bust a drug dealer for smuggling cocaine, or help a rescue worker save a child trapped beneath earthquake rubble in Haiti. I thought about how these dogs would never have a chance to catch a burglar, make a small child giggle, chase a mailman, or rescue a drowning boy from a hole in a frozen pond. In the midst of these thoughts, it occurred to me that I wanted to be a hero. I wanted to purchase all of the puppies in every market in Korea and set them free. At the very least, I wanted to write a Disney movie based on this premise, starring myself in the lead role. Perhaps I’m being overly sentimental…In any event, it makes no difference, for my powerful impulse to set the puppies free occurred too late. Before leaving the market, we walked by the cages again. Two animals had disappeared. I’m sorry, Cindy Sue…I am so sorry…