China's canine conundrum

[Guest guest]

China's canine conundrum

Rupert Wingfield-Hayes

BBC News, Beijing

 

China is ushering in the Year of the Dog. Until

recently, few Chinese regarded the animals as pets and

many viewed them just as something to eat. However, as

Rupert Wingfield-Hayes discovers, attitudes are

changing.

 

Perhaps the most enduring stereotype about the Chinese

is that they are cruel to animals.

 

One of my earliest memories as a child is of my father

telling me stories about his own childhood in 1930s

Shanghai.

 

One of his favourites was about his cook, of how he

would watch her skinning frogs alive and throwing

them, still twitching, in to a pot of boiling water.

 

" Oh, how cruel those Chinese are, " I would tell

myself.

 

So when I finally made it to China, I was prepared to

be horrified.

 

I was not to be disappointed. Especially, when it came

to dogs.

 

One of my first " China " experiences was in a live

animal market in the south.

 

I stood frozen to the spot as right in front of me a

man used a wire noose to drag a dog howling and

writhing from an overcrowded cage.

 

In one swift movement he pulled out a huge knife and

plunged it into the dog's chest.

 

Blood spurted everywhere, including all over the other

terrified dogs still crammed into the cage below.

 

Next to me, entirely unperturbed, stood a respectable

looking Chinese gentleman, merrily discussing with the

dog butcher which bits of the animal tasted best.

 

Over the years I have become inured to such scenes.

Compared to the grinding poverty of life for so many

millions of Chinese, the treatment of dogs seems to

pale.

 

But last week, with the Year of the Dog rapidly

approaching, I decided a revisit was in order.

 

Business

 

My first stop was a dog farm in the countryside an

hour from Beijing.

 

It looked like some kind of canine version of

Guantanamo Bay.

 

Each cage was barely six feet square.

 

In the freezing north Chinese winter, the cage floors

were a sheet of ice.

 

I had been expecting Chinese dogs. But to my surprise

many were Western breeds, German shepherds, even a St

Bernard.

 

Manically they paced their cages, round and round, one

stuck its head through the bars, its eyes pleading,

whining pitifully.

 

I thought my presence might spook the proprietor.

 

Far from it, he told me proudly of how he had imported

the St Bernards to cross breed with Chinese dogs.

 

To him dogs are a business like any other, no

different from raising pigs or sheep.

 

He has a point. In China, dogs are intelligent animals

that are also good to eat, much like pigs are in

Britain.

 

But one thing he said to me caught my attention.

 

" This business is no good any more, " he said. " There's

no money to be made in it. "

 

Hotpot

 

And I was soon to find out why.

 

For my next stop I wanted to visit a dog meat

restaurant, but finding one proved trickier than I had

imagined.

 

For two days my assistant scoured Beijing.

 

" Isn't there one behind the Korean embassy? " I asked.

 

" No " she said " that's closed. "

 

" What about the one over by the World Trade Centre? "

 

" That's closed too. "

 

Finally we did find one, way out in a grimy suburb on

the north side of the city.

 

Inside I found Mr Feng and a group of colleagues

tucking in to a steaming bowl of dog meat hotpot.

 

They invited me to join them. The bottle of rice

liquor in the middle of the table was already half

empty and Mr Feng was in talkative mood.

 

" We love to come here in the winter and eat dogs, " he

told me. " It's good for your health, it makes you feel

strong. "

 

" But, " he added, with a conspiratorial grin, " don't

tell any of my colleagues who are dog lovers. They'd

be really upset if they knew we were here eating. "

 

Pampered hounds

 

Dog lovers? In China?

 

Well yes, actually there are. A growing army of them.

 

One is Li Xuefeng. She is not exactly China's Barbara

Woodhouse, a softly-spoken, round woman in her early

30s. She is, though, equally barking mad about dogs.

 

The next day in another grimy suburb of Beijing, Miss

Li showed me round her pride and joy: The Beijing " Pet

Nation Dog Academy " .

 

It is more like a giant canine beauty salon. There are

hot baths, blow driers, clipping tables and shelves

filled with dog hair dye.

 

When I told Miss Li I was from Britain, a huge smile

spread across her face.

 

" Oh, Britain " , she said excitedly, " the home of

Crufts. "

 

Tears were now coming to her eyes.

 

" One day China will have a dog show just like Crufts, "

she said wistfully. " That is my dream. "

 

Price of a puppy

 

Miss Li is far from alone.

 

It is only 10 years since Beijing's ban on dog owning

was lifted.

 

But already there are thought to be more than a

million pet pooches in the city.

 

The price of a pure breed puppy now starts at around

£1,000 ($1,770).

 

And what of Miss Li's fellow Chinese who persist in

eating her four-legged friends?

 

" I want to smash every dog restaurant in the city, "

she told me, giggling. " But really I don't think it's

necessary.

 

" The dog restaurants are disappearing fast, " she said.

 

 

" Young Chinese have very different attitudes towards

animals, they really love dogs. "

 

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/4651950.stm

 

 

 

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