Ck was a cool guy when he first came to Wat Wang Pong. He was always a loner and a tough boy, who stood his ground when threatened. A handsome dog. Nobody knows where he came from or how old he was. What must have gone on in his mind when he ended up in the temple grounds. How brave he was to start a new life, all by himself. Was it a better life than before. Or did he dream of his previous owner, who dumped him. Did he long for his own place to sleep, somewhere he called home, where he had regular meals and was cared for. I actually doubt it. I like to think that he loved his new freedom.

He made his home in one of the bathrooms. At least he was dry and had plenty of water there. Nevermind that he was kicked out twice a week on market days. Nevermind that it was a filthy place when he could move back in. And nevermind that somebody once locked him in there for 3 days and nights and no matter how he howled and scratched, he had to wait all that time until someone finally took notice and let him out. He loved wondering around with his friends. They used to chase the cows when they grazed in the grounds. Many of the young dogs and puppies adored him. I often saw them licking his face and he must have felt loved after all. Not all adult dogs felt that way of course. He was in many fights and often had to lick his wounds. That was probably the beginning of the end. One day I found him with a badly swollen leg and an infected wound. The sad thing was, that although he let me stroke him, he would never let me hold him. He would never even eat from my hand until the very end, when he was accepting me at last. So I could not take him to the vet. I treated him with antibiotics and he seemed to get better. I put anti-parasite powder in his food to fight the mange that had started. Even his fur started to grow back. But he lost weight. He continued to eat, though. He got thinner and I started him on doxy, the medicine against blood parasites, the dreaded disease that almost every temple-dog suffers from.

Then one day, I found him stumbling, he vomited up the food I gave him and finally he allowed me to pick him up. I took him to the hospital and they did all the necessary tests. Diagnosis: severe blood parasites on top of an internal infection. I took him home and he lived there for about two more weeks. He could not hold his food or his medicine, he eventually could not get up anymore, he had not taken food for 12 days. I just fed him glucose water and honey. In the end I took him back to the Kasetsart Hospital, where they put him on a drip. He was so dehydrated that they warned me he could go into shock, which is what happened. They rushed him to ICU. His heart had stopped and his brain was not responding. They actually started his heart again and put him on a ventilator. When I went in to see him for the last time, he even reacted to my voice which surprised everybody as it meant that his brain was responding again after all. They told me afterwards that he was taken off the ventilator when he could breath by himself again. But they warned me that death was inevitable as his internal organs were giving up. He died in the night. He was buried in a place where he found peace and not in the temple grounds where life had been so rough. People did not like him as he could be aggressive. Only one or two women fed him regularly but that was all the care he received. I was his friend and I can still see him running up to me when I arrived with the car. I like to remember him happy to see me.