Philippines Ilagan Mission

by Joel Longhurst

In case you weren't aware, dogs in the Philippines are not the same as dogs in the United States. They usually don't stay inside the house, they don't have leashes, and they're prone to wander (if you'll pardon the old hymn reference) the streets and cause havoc after dark-- sometimes in large packs. They often scavenge their food by rummaging through the trash. It is unwise to leave your garbage outside and unsecured when you go to bed at night because its contents will be strewn all over your yard the next morning!

Gattaran, Cagayan was my first area in the Philippines and, though I was still struggling with the culture and language of the country, it didn't take me long to pick up on some all-important dog fending strategies. The art of dog fending is probably as old as mankind, but, because I was outside every night, I mastered the basic techniques quite quickly. Here are some of the tricks of the trade that I learned from my first companion, Elder Parola:

1. Always take an umbrella with you when you leave for the day. This is a protective measure from dogs, not just flash floods and warning-level-four typhoons that knock the power out for a month in the middle of summer (another story for another day).

2. If you find yourself leaving someone's house after dark, load your pockets with palm-sized rocks as soon as you exit their home. You may need them.

3. If other means are exhausted or unavailable, backpacks can be effective tools of self-defense.

I can remember many an evening when Elder Parola and I walked home under the light of the moon and the big dipper (which is REALLY big when you're near the equator). Everything would seem so peaceful until suddenly, at the side of the road, the nemesis of every missionary and mail carrier the whole world round would break the silence with its pathetic yet challenging bark of animosity. We had an Ilokano word for dogs like this: "BAGTIT" (English translation: just plain crazy).

On previous nights, one dog--I'll call him Brutus--had barked at us from within the locked confines of his owner's yard. But for some reason, Brutus was roaming free on this particular night.

As we approached, the mutt continually threatened us with its hoarse and menacing bark. The moonlight glistened in the beast's eyes, revealing an unusually crazed and ferocious temperament. I knew a confrontation was imminent.

Brutus drew to within three feet of Elder Parola, who was walking nearest the mangy creature. Elder Parola in return raised his arm to let Brutus know we were prepared to defend ourselves with the stones we had gathered for this very purpose. Yet our newfound adversary refused to give way, drawing within a foot of Elder Parola's leg.

My muscles tightened in preparation for the inevitable as Elder Parola scornfully stared down our foe.

The canine hulk displayed its twisted fangs and tensed its legs, ready to spring. But, in an instant, Elder Parola breathed in a strong gasp of air through his nose, then swung his arm downward at the brute, releasing a stony projectile with all the force he could muster. "YAH!"

"CRACK!" The rock struck the wretched cur squarely on the teeth. "YELP!" The startled mongrel howled. With a whimper and a snivel, his tail between his legs, Brutus turned and rambled away, bemoaning his contemptible state.