Culture Shock

There have been many elements about our big move to Vanuatu in 2017 that have been pleasantly expected: a slower pace, amazing new friends, learning a new language, ocean swims every day, the list is endless. There have also been a few moments over the past twelve months that have come as a complete surprise: tropical cyclones, adopting stray animals, the multitude of public holidays, the cost of groceries. But there has been one standout moment that without a doubt has still left me completely and utterly speechless. It was so unexpected in fact, that it’s now hard to put into words. But here we go…

A few weeks back we had a bunch of friends around to our place for a casual evening bbq. We lit the bonfire on the beach. The kids ran around under the sprinkler, the grown-ups enjoyed sunset cocktails on the deck. It was a pretty straightforward weekend gathering as far as Vanuatu weekends go. It’s also fairly standard practice for a stray dog or two to wander up the beach in search of a few generous left-overs, having caught a whiff of the delicious aromas of the bbq hotplate. So, no-one blinked an eyelid when one meek, brown doggie wandered up and plonked herself next to the group on the sand. She knew the deal. We knew the deal. It was a waiting game until either someone took pity on her and threw her a juicy sausage or two, or she would wait for the perfect moment when someone foolishly glanced away from their plate and she would swoop in like lightning and devour as much as possible.

Turns out the kids took a liking to the lovely brown dog and when the grown-ups weren’t watching, they fed her roughly two kilograms of prime beef, garlic sausages, peri peri chicken and potato salad. This was unquestionably the largest amount of food she had ever seen, let alone eaten. And yet she pretty much ate it in one gulp!

The barbecue wrapped up, and as I had been warned by all, brown dog decided to stay. I put the kids to bed, was brushing my teeth in anticipation of a sound night’s sleep with the gentle sound of waves crashing beyond the swaying coconut palms when I noticed brown dog was looking a little out of sorts. I also noticed her tummy was rather swollen and lumpy. And I noticed her nipples were rather unusually large. Oh My God, brown dog was pregnant! And double Oh My God, brown dog was GOING INTO LABOUR!!!

As a mother of two and an absolute animal lover, my maternal instincts immediately kicked in. I grabbed towels, I cleared space on the lounge and I gently lifted her up on to the cushioned ‘maternity bed’. I renamed her ‘Mama Cita’ and I decided there and then that no matter how long it took, I was going to sit by this beautiful creature of the Earth and help her guide her precious new babies into the world.

An hour passed. Mama began to look more and more distressed. I rolled her gently onto her back and encouraged her to relax her legs while I carefully (masterfully) massaged her belly in what I imagined would be the official ‘Dog Doula/Midwifery technique’. She groaned. She let her tongue hang out. She panted. She groaned some more. And she trusted me entirely. I felt honoured. What a magical moment!

Three more hours passed. Very little change was happening overall, but Mama did, in my ‘professional eyes’ seem to be in the advanced stages of active labour. Contractions were happening. She would occasionally release an extremely unpleasant pocket of gas. I cursed my children for over-feeding a pregnant dog the night she went into labour. I massaged her some more and visualised the beautiful bonding moment she and I would have when these babies finally entered the world. Which would hopefully be anytime very soon because my eyes were starting to get very sleepy and it was now after midnight and I needed to be up at 5am to get the kids ready for school.

I decided to give Mama one more hour of my undying devotion before retiring for just a couple of hours of sleep for the night. This is going to sound a tad odd to most of you, but I remember my obstetrician once mentioning that a particular hormonal oxytocin can help bring on sudden labour. So, with no-one else on earth around to question my sanity – and with my eyes now burning red slits of sleep deprivation, I decided to gently rub Mama’s nipples. At first she looked at me like I may have been sent from another planet but I believe it was her pure pain that allowed her to trust there was a method to my madness.

Alas, by 3am Mama had not delivered the goods. I patted her nose, I whispered a ‘good luck Mama’ message to her and I stumbled off to bed.

Five am, alarm!!! I awoke with a jolt, wondering if it had been a strange tropical dream and yet hoping desperately I would turn the corner into the living room and discover an adorable, suckling litter of healthy miniature brown puppies and one serene, grateful brown mama dog.

This was not to be. Instead, the sight was not what hit me first. It was the smell. And there was only one word for it… foul. It took all my effort not to projectile vomit when I laid eyes on the package Mama Cita had in fact left for me as her show of gratitude. It was a giant, steaming, sloppy, multi-coloured pile of poo. Roughly two kilograms worth to be precise.

As I ran from the house in search of life-saving fresh ocean air, I realised … while Mama Cita had no doubt been pregnant – she was at no point last night in fact in actual labour. She was constipated. And I had been royally had. I felt the same as Steve Martin and Michael Caine would have at the ending of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. I was so naive! So gullible! She had used me!

And yet, she hadn’t at all. In her eyes, she had just found herself one lovely night of a warm bed, a full tummy, a belly massage and a brand new friend. It was quite probably the most wonderful night of her life! And she had left me a very generous gift as a sign of her appreciation. And then she had left.

So far, I haven’t seen Mama Cita again. I pray that she carried on with her journey and perhaps found yet another kind and completely ignorant human to help her in her genuine hour of need. Somewhere out there is a brown dog who has given me a memory of a lifetime that will forever make me smile – and forever be stained into my rug.