The batttle of Cookie and Pepsi − 20 December, 1991

The rumor went that there was this German guy jamming out with his walkman under a palm tree on Koh Samui in Thailand. While he was enjoying another day in paradise with a cold beer, a fat joint, and reggae blasting on the headphones, two feral dog packs met on the beach.

The top dogs locked up into a bloody struggle with this guy still under his palm, eyes closed and swinging his head. A sand covered mongrel around thirty five pounds broke first and tried to run to the safety of the palm trees. The winner chased him and tackled him not ten yards from where the German was chilling out. They started fighting again and spilled onto the German's blanket. Startled, the German jumped up wildly with his arms failing and one of the dogs lashed out at the closest threat to him- the German's crotch.

They took the poor bastard to the hospital where the emergency room doctor saved one of his balls. But the other one was gone. The German stayed in his bungalow for the next few weeks, refusing to come out. Friends came by to drop off food and sympathize but what can you say to a guy who lost a nut to a dogfight while on vacation in Thailand.

After convalescing almost six weeks, he finally regained enough strength to limp around. Everyone thought he was going home, but instead he went to a hardware store and bought an ax handle. He drove a ten penny nail through the big end and started going up and down the beaches looking for the dog that had bit off his nut.

Granted that the story was probably bullshit, when Char's two dogs, Cookie and Pepsi, started fighting in the restaurant, every healthy male was on a table top in a matter of seconds. One of a pair of British girls shrieked "Stop them! Stop Them!" Char, Wu, and Pok laughed at us foreigners huddled on tabletops like churchladies who'd seen a mouse.

Evenly matched, the two dogs locked their jaws together, unwilling and unable to let go. From the tabletop my friend Chris called out, "Fuck it, 50 baht on Cookie!" I looked at Harry and he agreed, "I'll take it! 50 on Pepsi!" And so it started. A couple of Germans thought about it then joined in the action.

The British girls fled the restaurant calling us all savages as we cheered from the coconut tables. Soon Pok and Wu made a side bet as the fight see-sawed, neither dog gaining advantage. They tried to climb on top of one another , seeking the critical leverage to rip free then latch onto the throat. Cookie's size was beginning to make a difference and so Pepsi jerked his head down and away to the right ripping free but not exposing himself. He shot like a bolt from the restaurant into the dark with Cookie in pursuit. We heard some tumbling and snarling but no yelp of submission. Then there was silence that confirmed Pepsi's tactical retreat. Cookie sauntered back to the restaurant obviously the winner for the day, but not quite satisfied. He went up to Char for some reassurance but Char pitched a bottle that narrowly missed him. Char's two workers, Wu and Pok went back to eating dinner.

Char's bungalows didn't have electricity or running water but you could get a bamboo hooch for 50 baht a week, about 600 yen or a draft beer in Osaka. Char had about eight hooches and of course the restaurant. It was a small house sized hut with hammocks and game boards, a beer cooler, and a bottled gas stove in the back. Half the floor was dirt and the rest was coconut board. Char built it several years back and had to bring in Wu and Pok to help put in a new roof.

Char had been raised on the islands and had tattoos from his shell diving days. It had been dangerous work but worth enough for him to stake out a small patch of Koh Tao from where he hoped to draw the foreign tourists. He had made enough from diving and picking the right fighting cock in the pits of Koh Pang Gan that he could afford to watch his investment begin to pay off.

The foreigners had been coming more regularly. All he had to do was make sure that the mosquito nets in the hooches were passable and let his wife run the restaurant and the money would come. But he wasn't going to work again.

Once in the midst of the dry season, a thirsty tourist asked Char for a beer. Char flicked an uninterested finger towards the cooler, a gesture that gave rise to the expression, "Char got no time." Whatever it was, Char got no time. Char's wife got up at the crack of dawn and fixed breakfast, pounded curry all morning while the foreigners played chess or read books in a hammock. She'd cook lunch, clean up, then go to town to buy fish for dinner. After all that it was time for Char's backrub.

Pok was his wife's cousin and had a wide front gap in the teeth. His tattoos marked him as a shell diver as well but he hadn't seen any decent work in three years because the shell beds had been played out. He still kept a compact, tightly muscled body but Mekong whiskey and an opium pipe or two were beginning to make inroads around his eyes. Pok did odd jobs around the bungalow but mainly hung around to get free meals.

Wu was dark like he might have had a little Burmese blood. He came from Koh Pang Gan and had been a fighter for a while. Char saw him fight a few times and took to him even though Wu wasn't good enough for the Bangkok circuit. Wu had natural talent and didn't mind taking shots but he had been discovered to late for the big time. Wu knew it and so learned how to be a handyman with tools. A lot of people were building bungalows and Wu had taught himself enough to be able to get work. He didn't have many tattoos because his tea colored skin prevented them from showing clearly. He pretty much stayed to himself, fixing the roof, selling dope to the tourists and keeping a monkey named Sam in his hooch. Char's wife didn't like Wu and Char never liked Pok.

Cookie and Pepsi fought when the bottom sliver of the moon hovered like the Cheshire cat's grin. We could see it hazed in green gold, draping over the water like a sentimental drunk. As we cleared off the table, Harry pointed to the thatch ceiling where a gecko stalked a moth attracted to the Coleman light. Geckos ran all over the island, climbing a rock and calling out from their conical heads, "GEKko! GEKko!" It was about six or eight inches long, scaly green with an off white underside, sprinting and stopping across the woven bamboo as the moth flitted close to the light. The gecko's shadow enlarged due to the angle and looked like a miniature Komodo Dragon. Harry grinned at us and said, "What'll it be guys, the gecko or the moth? Twenty five baht on the moth."

He called after the moth like Robert Stack in Airplane, "Pull up! Pull up! You're too low! Right full rudder!" Two inches away the gecko lunged and captured half the moth as a last second three point shot to screams of "OOHHH!". The noise flustered the lizard. Readjusting its mouth, the gecko opened a fraction too much and the moth dive bombed out and was gone, "OOOHHHH!" The gecko smacked its jaws a few times trying to chemically taste where the moth had gone.

By this time, Cookie had calmed down from the fight. Pepsi had nipped him well on the front leg and he spent time licking the wound. But he was the champion and knew it. In the days that followed, Cookie felt so good about himself that he took on other dogs at other bungalows. He usually won, which expanded his territory but came back a little more chewed up each time.

After a particularly vicious fight, Cookie limped back to Char's, not in good shape at all. I don't think he'd won that time or else he'd been jumped by some other dogs.Needless to say, all he wanted was to be fed and left alone.

I went to sleep in my hooch. Later during the night I heard commotion that sounded like dogs. It was a fight alright but one that was over quick and bad for one of them.

The next morning at breakfast I saw Char and Pepsi. Looking healthy and well rested, Pepsi lay close to Char's feet, probably calculating his next move. I asked about last night's noise. "Cookie dead", Char said. "Pepsi number one now."

hmmm....I never turned my back again on that dog.

But I haven't forgotten the lesson.