Iwas invited to an academic workshop in Berlin. As it often happens, I did not turn in my draft paper in time for it to be pre-circulated. Students kill their grandmothers when they are late in submitting assignments. Academics offer their own excuses. The workshop convenor, in his long experience as academic, had never encountered the excuse I gave: a dog had bitten me.
A Tamil poet had passed away. He was notorious for hoarding old imprints and not sharing it with anybody. Hoping for better luck posthumously, I now went to his home to see if I could manage to get access to his collection.
Now, Indian philosophers are said to look for non-existent black cats in a dark room. But I, a lowly historian, ran into a dog at the entrance to the home. I am not sure if it was black, but unlike the philosopher’s cat it did exist. In hindsight, it seems the poet’s spirit had possessed it: it pounced on me. A bloody scratch on my finger stood testimony to the encounter; it was unclear if it was paw or teeth.
I followed the textbook instructions. Washed the wound with running water and soap for 15 minutes. I quickly called a doctor friend. His advice was clear and unambiguous: whether it was a pet, visibly rabid or not, or even if the owner produced a notarised certificate that it had been immunised, I should get anti-rabies shots. The risk was too great. Once infected, death was certain. And with possible hydrophobia it would not be a nice one.
In my boyhood I had heard horror stories of dog bites requiring 14 (or was it 21?) shots around the navel. For good measure one was to keep an eye on the malevolent canine to see if it died in the week following the bite. Pharmaceutical R&D having sufficiently improved, now the doctor prescribed five shots: on days 0, 3, 7, 14 and 30. Six years ago each dose cost some three hundred rupees, and I paid another hundred for the injection. I put the dates on the calendar lest I miss the schedule. It was important the vial be refrigerated, and so I decided to buy it on the scheduled days of the injection.
Buying and taking the injections was not the end of it. Soon I realised that the shot was in fact much worse than the bite. The virulence of the vaccine induced feverishness, and lasted two days. Subsequent shots were less malevolent, causing mild fever for a day.
Once I was reasonably sure I was not going to die of rabies, my anger turned from the canine malefactor to animal-lovers. Surely feral animals have no place here. As packs of dogs pounce on unwary children and nocturnal loners, society needs to rethink its policy to dogs on the street. Wild dogs belong to the woods. Pets should lie on their owners’ laps. Should they roam around foraging, and attacking the unwary?
The vaccine shot doesn’t come cheap. And it is not practical for the poor to keep the schedule. Vaccines are often in short supply. Sterilisation fails to work. Culling is cruel. Are there any other options?
arvchalapathy@yahoo.com
