Source: Mainichi Japan (March 7, 2011 )
Friends
and colleagues who have been in prison have sometimes reminisced about the
small beasts and birds, and even insects, that had been their only familiars
during long years of incarceration in stark, unfriendly cells. Cats seemed to
have been particularly adept at negotiating walls and bars and insinuating
themselves into the affections of lonely prisoners all too willing to offer a
portion of what little food they had in exchange for the companionship of
living creatures.
I did not come across any cats during the two short periods I spent within the precincts of Insein Jail but I had constant dealings with felines throughout my years of house arrest.
Myanmar's
pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi holds her dog at the entrance
of her home in Yangon on (Mainichi) |
I did not come across any cats during the two short periods I spent within the precincts of Insein Jail but I had constant dealings with felines throughout my years of house arrest.
I am a dog lover rather than a cat
lover although the first pet I can remember was a cat, a big (at least it
seemed big to my child's eyes), dark coloured tom that answered to my
grandfather's deep-voiced call of "Puss, Puss, Puss." The rest of the
family addressed it, respectfully, as "Grandfather's Cat." I only
knew dogs as mangy mongrels wandering the streets or as unwanted intruders that
the adults were always trying to dissuade from taking up residence in our
garden. One stubborn pye-bitch managed to resist all efforts to dislodge her
from the kitchen area and produced a litter. I was so fascinated by the mass of
wriggling puppies my first ever dream was about them. I did not realize then
that it was a dream, I thought the puppies had actually come to huddle around
my feet and when I woke up and found they were not there I could not understand
what had happened and felt totally confused.
The streets of Rangoon were full of
interesting forms of transport in the early 1950s. There were sharp-angled
buses, beat-up World War II jeeps, pre-war saloons, 'side-cars' (bicycles with
two passenger seats, back to back, attached to one side) and rickshaws. There
were also canopied carts drawn by horses that were usually tired looking and
gaunt, often with terrible sores. They were a heart-rending sight and it was in
connection with these poor animals that I first learnt about the SPCA (Society
for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals). From time to time, I saw another
kind of horse: the ones in films about the American Wild West. It was difficult
to believe that those strong, prancing, galloping, bucking, spirited creatures
were of the same species as their Rangoon brethren. However, the sight of the
spurs on their riders' boots made me wonder if the SPCA might not have been
just as useful out west as in the streets of my home city.
It was in Delhi where my mother served
as Burmese Ambassador to India that I came into close contact with horses. My
first riding lessons were on a skewbald pony of wide girth and uncertain temper
named Prairie Oyster. Later, I joined a riding club where the mounts bore such
valiant names as Black Prince, Prithviraj and Shivaji. Black Prince was my
favourite because he had a smooth canter and a comfortable saddle. I was not
particularly keen on equine heroics.
It was as a university student in
England that I entered the world of dog lovers. I spent many holidays at the
homes of English friends and, not too surprisingly, I would often find a canine
charmer at the heart of the family. There was Sailor, an overweight
Staffordshire terrier with a rolling gait, a black patch around one eye and a distinct
taste for gin; he was also gentle and sweet-tempered and a perfect host. Then
there was Handsome, a golden Labrador, large and affectionate, with an air of
old world courtesy he had obviously acquired from his master, a retired colonel
who combined the best attributes of an officer and a gentleman with the traits
of everybody's favourite uncle.
Sailor and Handsome I looked upon as
friends but Impy, my Emergency Aunt's Alsatian, was family. When I was working
at the United Nations the three of us lived together in Manhattan. True to the
maxim that dogs emulate their owners, Impy's attitude towards me was maternal
and protective. If I were out late she would wait up patiently with just the
slightest hint of reproach and when people she did not know came to visit she
would make sure that they did not sit next to me on the sofa.
When Michael and I went to live in
Bhutan immediately after our marriage in 1972 we acquired a dog of our own. He
came to us as a tiny white and brown bundle and we thought hard to find a
really suitable name for him but after many months of cogitation we decided
that after all 'Puppy,' as we had been calling him since he arrived, suited him
best. When he was very small Puppy slept around my throat and tussled regularly
with the fur lining of Michael's bedroom slippers; he grew up to become a
seasoned traveller, accompanying us staunchly on journeys across half the
globe; when our sons came into the world he kept a benevolent, wrinkled-browed
eye on them; as a dignified old dog he became the trademark of our household at
Oxford, well known to (and, I think, respected by) friends and family. Puppy
died at the ripe old age of nineteen. By that time I was under house arrest in
Burma.
(By Aung San Suu Kyi)
(Mainichi Japan) March 7, 2011
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