For many years, packs of stray dogs roamed the city streets at will, causing mayhem with traffic, spreading disease, and sometimes attacking people. The government set out to solve the problem with the Animal Protection Law. So, do the island's homeless dogs now feel more at home?
Tears are never very far away whenever Kuo Chiu-chu talks about Taiwan's stray dogs. Kuo works as a school adminis trator, but she is also a member of the Taoyuan County Animal Conservation Association (TCACA), where she sometimes learns more than she really wants to know about cruelty to animals. For example, she refers to a local newspaper article, written last February by a serviceman based on one of Taiwan's small outpost islands. He had seen his comrades carrying out their officer's instructions to beat stray dogs to death, or tie them up and throw them into the sea. She shudders as she recalls stumbling across a bitch and her puppies, exposed to a biting wind in a city stray dog shelter. "I've even heard of a dog being beaten to death at a high school under the students' very eyes," Kuo says sadly. "What kind of an education is that?"
Until recently, Taiwan's stray dog problem seemed to have attained the status of an epidemic that had run out of control. It started small, as such things always do. A few people abandoned their dogs, leaving them to roam the streets. Because they had not been sterilized, the dog population soon began to increase exponentially. There were no shelters to take them in and care for them, because the concept of animal welfare, long-established in many Western countries, was taking its time over winning a foothold in Asia. This combination of factors made for a frightening scenario because, although the island's last recorded case of rabies occurred in 1958, many of the dogs would form packs and bite anyone who approached them.
TCACA, established in 1998 and based in northern Taiwan's Taoyuan County, is one of several organizations that are doing what they can to set things right, particularly when it comes to educating people about "man's best friend." Such education is certainly needed. According to a survey released at the end of 1999 by the Council of Agriculture (COA), the number of stray dogs in Taiwan had reached approximately 660,000. Actually, however, the figure may be much higher, because excluded from the survey were several locations that such dogs love to frequent: marketplaces, garbage heaps, and mountainous areas. The official statistics were also distorted in that the estimate of the number of pet dogs--2.1 million- -included more than 380,000 dogs that had no home but were fed by well-wishers on the streets.
In a society where complaints of inhumane treatment meted out to stray dogs are still heard from time to time, especially from the expatriate community, TCACA is trying to cultivate a more caring and loving attitude. At the very least, its members are determined to eradicate the practice of eating dog meat, considered a great delicacy by certain representatives of the traditionally minded older generation when the weather turns cold. "We demonstrated against the so-called 'savory meat' stores, and that worked," says TCACA's Su Chia-ming, a Taoyuan City councilman. He is confident that all such outlets in Taoyuan have been eradicated.
Su complains that, where stray dogs are concerned, there has been a lot more talk than walk, and TCACA wants to correct that. Its solutions include promoting the sterilization and adoption of stray dogs, and helping set up humane animal shelters around the county. The Animal Protection Law (APL), promulgated in November 1998, obliges local governments to establish or authorize private organizations or groups to establish animal shelters, and TCACA intends to take over the management of Taoyuan City's stray dog shelter, currently the responsibility of the garbage-disposal squad. "Previously, they had a very simple, straightforward disposal policy in that shelter--catch and kill," says TCACA's Chen Yi-cheng, another Taoyuan City councilman. "The situation didn't change until pressure from our association forced them to change their way of thinking."
The methods used to dispose of stray dogs are at the heart of the ongoing controversy between the government agencies and private organizations with an interest in the matter. Most private animal protection groups are opposed to the catch-and -kill policy, even though the dogs are put to sleep by means of painless injections. Kuo Chiu-chu points out that many people are reluctant to send dogs to shelters, because when they become full up, even healthy dogs are put to death. Another group that resolutely rejects the policy is Shen Jung-chen's Chinese Animal Protection Association (CAPA), based in Taipei. "If our government goes on killing dogs," she says, "I'll defy it to my dying day." Shen, who is CAPA's chairperson, calls the APL "the animal slaughter law," because although it forbids the wanton killing of animals, it provides for as many as eight exceptional cases. "I am a Buddhist," she says. "Killing hordes of dogs isn't good for the future of this country."
CAPA, established in 1996, set out to promote the adoption of strays. Within a community, "volunteer moms" accept responsibility for sterilizing, feeding, and generally caring for a set number of dogs until a home can be found for them. This works well. As dogs are adopted or, in the case of the older ones, die from natural causes, the number of strays gradually diminishes and the neighborhood environment improves. Dogs will not come from outside to swell their ranks, because each animal generally keeps to its own territory.
Shen's volunteer moms do their best to hide their charges from the city dogcatchers. "They belong to the community," she says. "Nobody can take them away from us. We know we can't keep them on the streets forever, but how can we send those dogs to shelters, public or private, when we don't trust them?" She tries never to let a dog that has been sterilized be put to death. "Why should they suffer twice? It's oppressive and shameful."
Every rule has its exceptions, of course, and sometimes mercy killing is the only acceptable last resort. Even CAPA's Shen Jung-chen approves of euthanasia when it is carefully supervised and truly necessary, for example if the dog is seriously ill. But many government officials and the experts who helped draft the APL argue that this is to take an unduly narrow view of what is, on any showing, a serious problem.
It is simply not possible to house all Taiwan's stray dogs for an unlimited time. Resources are already stretched and must be used wisely. "If you want to talk brutality, talk about the people who abandon dogs, not those who catch and kill them," says Hsia Liang-chou, a professor of animal science at National Pingtung University of Science and Technology (NPUST). He points out that numerous Western countries countenance the killing of stray animals, sometimes posting a higher annual death toll than Taiwan. "Killing's not the point," he argues. "It's the way that we kill. It's important to make it painless."
According to Hsia, the Buddhist reluctance to kill has had a negative impact on stray dog control in Taiwan. People simply do not know how to deal with animals that, for one reason or another, they no longer want. It is hard to find new homes for them and, for many Taiwanese, killing is simply not an option. Put like that, the situation sounds helpless.
In fact, however, the picture is less gruesome than many animal protection groups allege. For example, although the APL permits shelters to destroy animals not claimed, adopted, or otherwise lawfully disposed of seven days after notification to the registered keeper, shelters have a wide discretion and, as long as they have space, they may defer putting animals to sleep. NPUST's stray dogs shelter, designed and supervised by Hsia, adopts a very flexible policy. Helpers try their best to arrange for dogs to be adopted, even after the seven-day period has expired, although their efforts are somewhat hampered by their decision to impose an "only-two-dogs-per-adopter" rule.
They do have one important advantage over the rest of the island, however. In rural Pingtung County, on Taiwan's southern tip, many local farms need fully grown guard dogs. They have no objections to "oversensitive" animals that would be harder to place in a family with young children, for example--indeed, the more aggressive the dog, the more likely it is that a farmer will choose it. The result is that, except for diseased dogs or those which for some other reason must be destroyed, shelter staff manage to rehouse almost all the strays that pass through its doors.
In the NPUST shelter, fully grown dogs, half-grown dogs, and puppies have their own special areas separate from the others. Dogs are likewise segregated from bitches. There is ample room for recreation, and the dogs are regularly checked for fleas and other mites. Visitors are struck by the almost total absence of unpleasant smells. Hsia is justly proud of this estab lishment which, he claims, is the first of its kind in Taiwan to set such high standards. It is one product of the COA's recent drive to establish quality shelters all around the island. In May 1999, acknowledging that many stray dogs were confined in the most appalling conditions, the Cabinet approved a budget of NT$110 million (US$3.55 million) to enable twelve cities and counties to set up refuges. "Building these shelters is definitely the most important task," claims Hsia, who has helped design and set up refuges in several other areas.
The NPUST shelter also serves as a training center for dogcatchers and the various other animal protection officers and shelter-keepers that every city and county is now obliged by law to employ. In August 1998, fourteen representatives drawn from the COA, various local governments, and NPUST attended a training course organized by the Hawaiian Humane Society, where they learned how to pass on the necessary skills to others concerned with the stray dog problem--things like how to catch, clean, and examine strays, the various methods of adoption, and building bridges with the community. The shelter has now processed more than a thousand trainees.
And that is exactly what the island needs, according to Yeh Li-sen, a professor of veterinary medicine at National Taiwan University (NTU), who believes that human skills are what count. He points out that Taiwan boasts no single umbrella organization able to exercise full, effective, and above all independent authority over the island's huge stray dog population. Different government agencies, such as those responsible for animal welfare and environmental protection respectively, somehow never manage to work together under a unified chain of command with clear accountability.
Such a fragmented system means, among other things, that the right people for the job rarely find themselves in the right place to do it. Sadly, all too often in the past, strays were put in the care of officials who possessed neither expertise nor enthusiasm--which is precisely why Yeh regards the NPUST training program as so important. "If you end up with the wrong people in place, they'll misuse government resources, buying useless equipment and so on, and only succeed in driving improvement projects into the ground," he says. He suggests that American and European models should be followed in order to establish a capable and consistent administrative system staffed by well-trained, carefully selected personnel.
One cause for celebration, according to Yeh, is the highly visible, overt nature of the problem. "Those dogs are out there, wandering the streets, where they can easily be seen by locals and tourists alike," he points out. Foreign pressure is a valuable weapon in the war against indifference. Some local animal protection groups, such as CAPA, have developed good contacts with overseas counterparts, especially in Germany. Whenever a major case of dog maltreatment hits the headlines in Taiwan, CAPA's Shen Jung-chen makes sure that the report finds its way abroad into the hands of aggressive organizations like People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, which can be relied on to trigger international pressure. Not all local activists approve of this approach, deprecating such heavy reliance on foreign aid. Shen is unrepentant. "They say I'm a troublemaker, but if these things are reported by foreigners in Taiwan, we'll find ourselves in even more trouble," she says. "I'm serving as a kind of shield for my country. Otherwise, we might find ourselves ambushed by international economic sanctions."
"What tarnishes our image abroad is what our government has failed to do, not what people say about it," Yeh Li-sen says. "Blaming people for speaking the truth, if it really is the truth, is out of order. Blame should be seen as a healthy impetus." The high-profile visibility of Taiwan's stray dog problem at home and abroad, for Yeh "a stroke of luck for Tai wan," did actually result in stricter regulations. The APL, for example, mandates a pet registration process that has yet to be made compulsory in many Western countries.
According to Article 19 of the law, owners must register pets' birth, acquisition, transfer, loss, and death with competent organizations that provide IDs for registered pets and may implant microchips. The latter are particularly potent tools in the struggle to protect pets: they cost about NT$1,000 (US$32) each (a fee that covers registration and a rabies shot) and can be inserted painlessly between the animal's shoulder blades by means of a simple injection. "This regulation is meant to deal with the situation that arises when people buy animals on an impulse that soon cools down to indifference and ends with abandonment," says Yeh, who led activists pressing for the passage of the APL throughout the legislative process.
On paper, the APL is a milestone for animal welfare in Taiwan. It affords all animals legal protection, but Article 19 is of particular relevance to the island's stray dog population. Unfortunately, however, the law's implementation is still at an early stage, and not everything has gone smoothly.
"The government isn't well prepared," complains TCACA's Huang Wan-ju, a Taoyuan County councilor. "At present, this law is just empty words, because essential enforcement machinery is missing. It's all light and no heat." Examples? For one thing, hiccups in the supply of animal-implant microchips have put a damper on the compulsory registration procedure. For another, the government has yet to establish a comprehensive system for recruiting animal protection officers, who will play a crucial role in enforcing the law. Huang recalls bitterly how she once reported an illegal dog-meat vendor to the police. One officer told her: "We had no idea we were supposed to protect animals as well as human beings."
As always, education is the key to solving this problem. "Parents often warn their children to stay away from dogs, because they bite," NPUST's Hsia Liang-chou says. "That's the wrong way to define the human-animal relationship." He suggests that all schools should provide courses to teach children how to respect and care for animals. Who knows? It might even lead to an improvement in the way human beings treat one another.