Somebody Call The RSPCA

After reading this post, some of you may never view me in the same light again. In my defence, I was  only nine years old, don’t judge me too harshly! ☺


I don’t like dogs. Scrap that, I HATE dogs. They scare the crap out of me and I just cannot understand how people live with them. It’s not just dogs, it’s animals in general but dogs and I have a history. When I was growing up my family owned three dogs. Two of them were what we called local dogs. Local or foreign, we didn’t get along. When I was in primary school, the driver would have to carry me to the car in the mornings because I was too scared to walk. Our dogs didn’t have cages, leashes or anything remotely fancy. They roamed the compound freely and ate eba.

There were two in particular that scared the life out of me…Wazobia and Bingo. Bingo was young and very active but when I shooed him, he usually went away. Wazobia on the other hand was a tyrant. The dog just wouldn’t leave me alone. If I went out through the front door, she was there waiting for me. If I went out through the back, she was there.

One day my mum asked me to take the bin out and as I opened the back door, she was there, tongue hanging out ready to apply moisture to my skin to make for easier biting. I had the bin in one hand and a kettle full of hot water in the other, to rinse out the bin with.

“Shoo Wazobia , shoo!”

She didn’t respond.

 “Take that bin out for goodness sake,” my mother shouted at me, “it stinks! You’ve lived with that dog for nine years now, what are you still afraid of?”

“Shoo Wazobia , shoo!”

As I shooed, I dared to step outside. One step, two steps, three steps. She stayed put. Convinced all as well, I walked more confidently. Four. Five. Six, Seven. Eight.  Suddenly I heard a bark and saw Wazobia bounding towards me.

“No Wazobia, no!”

I flung the bin and started sprinting back to the house. “No run!” the maid screamed, “if you run, she go chase you!’

Na you sabi!

 I carried on running but saw that she was getting to close for my liking. I freaked out and before I could process what I was about to do, chucked the kettle full of hot water at Wazobia. I’ve never heard a dog howl so loud.

‘How can you pour hot water on a dog?!’ my mother screamed in horror.

I received a good beating for my actions.  Thankfully, animals in Nigeria do not have rights unlike their counterparts in the West so there was no RSPCA to convict me of my crime. That said, anyone with half a heart would know have felt for the poor dog…and I did. They did what they could for Wazobia but the damage was done, she had a large bald grey patch on her back. She became really timid after that and never bothered me again.

I know I’m supposed to be politically correct but I can’t lie, I was happy when the dog stopped harassing me. I felt and still feel bad and wish they had just sold the damn dog while they could. Perhaps I ought to be reported to the RSPCA. All I ask is that you give me a heads up before you do so I can run back to Nigeria!




    Although a FUNDAMENTAL CHRISTIAN might argue, that God gave you DOMINION OVER that dog.

    To be fair that ASS WHOOPING mumsi gave you, plus the fact that your CONSCIENCE still bugs you is punishment enough.

    In any case I’m sure we’re ALL GUILTY in one way or another of “animal discipline.”


  2. Osayi… You cracked me up with ur first paragraph..’ The dog roamed around freely and ate eba’ how do U̶̲̥̅̊ combine ur words…(Still chuckling) that said, I was very sad at the plight of the Dog!!! Osayi!!!! That was unacceptable. A bald dog.. Never mind being its back… U̶̲̥̅̊ shoulda been flogged and denied food for three days… Now that’s what I call punishment( smirking)


  3. LOL, what nostalgia…reminds me of the 4 dogs and 1 cat we owned in Nigeria and how well we treated them after we had to unceremoniously “put down” our first dog, Oscar, after he went absolutely raving horny mad! You think balding your dog is so bad, wait till you hear this story…brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it! 😦


  4. this reminds me of the first dog we had when I was child. For some we named him Bobby. I always cuddled him and treated him like a baby, until one day i dropped it and he dented his skull when he hit the edge of the table.

    Fast foward 9 years – Bobby lost his mind and got run over by a car. He’s probably in doggy heaven barking down at me


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