Dog Shrine Explained

Last week, in a post titled A New Dog on the Block, I wrote about my experience buying a new camera, sharing some of the first shots I had taken with it.

This morning I dumped a few of those photos into Dropbox and carried them to Japanese class on my iPad to show sensei.

I was surprised to learn how straightforward the pictures seemed to her. Where I saw shades of Marwencol, she saw only someone's shrine to a dead dog. When I asked her if she thought that perhaps a homeless person or some other idler living near the beach had constructed the little rottweiler grave, she said that most likely no, it was simply a decent, no cost burial for a beloved pet.

I thought back to half a year ago when I was a regular beachcomber on a stretch of sand not too far from the dog shrine. In the tide wrack there was a poor bloated creature, its skin burnt red and black, its hair almost totally worn off (a little tuft left at the midriff) its tongue spilling out like an overripe plantain; its yellow collar which in life had marked and controlled him, in death served only to remind one of an absent master and walks not taken.

Japanese Dogs

This sign really needs no translation. It says exactly as you might guess: Savage Dog, Beware! (Mouken Chui).

Playfully ironic, I'm guessing, as I was able to get close enough to snap this picture without any growls or other signs of doggy life.

In America, one takes Beware of Dog signs seriously. I've had enough run-ins with mean, nasty, aggressive dogs to make a wide berth whenever I see one straining on a leash.

Dogs here are different. There's a shiba-inu on the corner whom I pass practically every day. He stands with his front paws on the top of the cement wall and watches me quietly as I pass.

The most you hear out of dogs here is when the sirens for ambulances or police go off. Then they start howling in unison, responding to the call. This midnight howler lives across the way:

I'm guessing the Dog Whisperer would go out of business in these parts.