A Daring and Dashing Diplomutt Dog

I’m back to talk about Chumleigh. International diplomutt and dog about town. The longer we live in Bangladesh the bigger his head gets. I think he always suspected he was extra special, even before we came here, but the residents of Dhaka only add fuel to the fire.

We had to stop taking Chumleigh for walks in our neighborhood. Because of the lack of any kind of animal control the Dhaka dogs have pretty much taken over the city and whenever they see Chumleigh coming, their ears perk up, their eyes brighten, they start to salivate and I can actually hear them thinking “How nice! She’s brought us a snack!”

Chumleigh's reaction to hearing that other dogs see him as a snack.

Because I neither wish to watch my dog become lunch, nor do I wish to throw myself into harm’s way to defend him, we have taken to driving down to the river once a week to give him a bit of exercise.

It’s become a nice little family outing. Every Saturday evening, we climb into the elevator, hit the ground floor button and as the doors slide open into the garage, Chumleigh emerges like a Middle Eastern prince making a grand entrance at a State dinner. The guards leap forward to greet him. You may not know it, but in Bangladesh, his name has about twelve syllables. Ch-ummmmm-a-leigh. Okay maybe only four, but you get the point.

He is greeted with enthusiasm. The guards and the grounds keeper scurry over to pet him and laugh at his antics. He preens and shows off, basking in the glow of his absolute certainty that this is the life he was born for all along. Jasim will have pulled the car up directly in front of the elevator. Upon our arrival he leaps out of the car and holds the door open…for Chumleigh. I have to open my own door. Chumleigh gives him a regal nod of his head, we pile into our car, and Jasim drives us about a mile to the edge of town. This takes about half an hour. No…really.

Once the car is in motion, it is our duty to roll the window down so that Chumleigh may address his subjects. He perches on Derek’s thigh to give him extra height and without fail every person we pass on the street rushes forward to catch a glimpse of him. I suspect it is mostly so they may speculate on what species he actually is. There is pointing. There is shouting. There is excessive attention. There is probably a betting pool.

Traffic never moves quickly in Dhaka so there is plenty of time for his subjects to view him. This means that our car is frequently surrounded. Small brown eyed children point and yell “Beral”! That’s Bangla for cat. I roll my eyes and yell back, “Beral Nai! (not a cat) Chowto Kukur (little dog)”. They look confused, shake their heads and decide that clearly I am drunk. He has also been mistaken for a monkey and yes, once even a bird.

Yesterday, we once again piled into the car and headed to the river, only the landscape on the way to the dead end where we park had changed. Next week is Eid. Eid is the festival of sacrifice and thousands of cows, sheep and goats are brought into the city by meat merchants to sell. Then next week the animals will be sacrificed.

Where there had been only empty fields now there is a massive makeshift stockyards. I was fascinated by the spectacle and squealed at Jasim to stop so that I could take pictures. Derek announced that he would stay in the car with Chumleigh and I dashed away to explore. The locals were fascinated by the white lady hanging out in an Eid stockyard and were eager to show me the prize bull. A beast of an animal that Paul Bunyon would have fancied.

Once I finished taking pictures we headed back to the car and to my surprise, it was barely visible through the crowd. I was still trying to figure out why when Jasim belted out a laugh and yelled “Madam! They all must see Ch-ummmm-a-leigh”!

Sure enough a crowd surrounded the car at least four people deep on all sides pushing and craning their necks to be able to see Chumleigh, who was standing in the car window clearly thinking “Now THIS is how I should be treated”!

I climbed into the car, laughing my head off and snapped a few pictures of the crowd as they snapped pictures of us with their cell phones. Jasim pulled out, nearly running over people because they wouldn’t step back and we headed on to the river.

The crowds were much thicker than normal because of the holiday coming up. People lined the road all the way to the river.

As we parked the car and stepped out a little girl came running down the road yelling “Ch-ummmm-a-leigh!!!!” She followed us every step of our walk. Clearly we have been there too many times.

 

As we walked we continued to pick up more followers. It was starting to look like a parade. Each time Chumleigh stood up on his hind legs for attention his entourage went wild. People took pictures. Ma’am Chobi (picture)? Ma’am, selfie (yes. Selfie is universally understood)? The best part is, I love getting to visit with all his fans. They are warm and friendly and seem to appreciate it when we step into their world. They go wild when I try my Bangla on them. 

Eventually Chumleigh was spent. While he craves the attention, just like many celebrities, eventually he tires of it too. 

Amidst groans of disappointment from the crowd, we settled back into the car. He nestled down once again on Derek’s thigh, rested his chin against the window and breathed a sigh of either relief or satisfaction, I’m not sure which as he bade farewell to his throngs of followers, whom I am quite certainly, will be there waiting for him next week when we return.