He had the two top halves of his ears missing, leaving tatty stumps sticking out the top of his head, so I called him Chopper, or Chop Chop, after the Australian criminal with the same unfortunate appearance.
During the day if you passed outside a six to eight foot radius of him, you would be fine. Venture within this area or pass by at late night and Chop Chop would mennace you with a fierce display of aggression with the very real chance of being bitten. As I would have to walk by him two or three times a day for the next month I thought it wise for me to somehow come to some arrangement with the ruler of that part of the lane in which my losmen lay just beyond.
Pay some kind of toll or fee for crossing his small peace of real estate that he protected so vehemently.
It was my habit in those days to eat a lot of my meals from the food vendors who plied the streets of Kuta pushing small carts that were fitted with all the requirements for preparing and serving various meals at the side of the road. (Sorely missed I might add). At least once a day, sometimes twice, I would enjoy some chicken or beef satay from one of these sellers and so I made it a ritual to keep a skewer of meat to give to Chop Chop.
I had to also get Chop Chopto associate me with the food, which was easy enough in the day time, but if traveling at night he needed some way other than sight to identify me by. I would use a particular tone in my voice and an inflection that would be easily distinguishable for him.
As I approached his domain with my first payment, I lowered my baritone voice and in a baby-talk fashion said,
"Kylie Minogue cant sing, can she Chop Chop?" (Obviously it didn't matter what I said.) Then throw him some meat.
For over a week I did this religiously until eventually when I approached Chop Chop, he would sit up like an attentive puppy and await his fee. I was now free to move inside his exclusion zone without fear as long as I continued to pay my tarrif and alert him as to who I was. But what would happen late at night? I would find out that evening.
It was 2am after an entertaining evening as I turned into the dark, quiet lane in which my losmen lie, and I had no meaty fee in which to appease Chop Chop. At about twenty metres I began my signal phrase in its baby-talk way, over and over.
"Kylie Minogue can't sing, can she Chop Chop? Kylie Minogue...."
At the very edge of Chop Chop's domain I knelt on the ground. Chop Chop was sitting upright without a hint of a snarl or bark in sight. Holding out my hand which held nothing, Chop Chop walked over,sniffed my outstretched hand, gave it one lick and returned to lie down on the pavement. It was done. Chop Chop had agreed to my terms and now as long as I occasionally paid a toll, I had a right of passage through his territory, day or night.
A few days later Chopper was gone and I never saw him again. Perhaps he did bite someone, I don't know. I do know there was a concerted effort around that time to rid Kuta of some of its increasing dog population, and perhaps this was Chop Chop's demise.
I have never been biten by a dog on Bali, and there was only one time I ever felt really intimidated by one. That being buy a tatty eared mongrel mate I called Chop Chopo.
Cheers
Ham