My folks and I left a church in Nuiatoputapu, a little Tongan island in the South Pacific. We walked across the church yard. Ane, a local woman who'd invited us to the service, sometimes stopped to introduce us to members of the congregation.
I suddenly heard a panicked yelp in the distance, followed by the screech of tires. The local women around us continued walking, only a few cast a wondering glance towards the noise. The sun seemed hidden behind the trees. My mother and father stopped to talk to some locals. I saw two men dragging something black behind them. “Mom, what's that?” Yet, before she could answer, I figured it out for myself. The black thing was a limp dog.
I watched the men and the dead dog. My stomach felt hollow. “That must have been what caused the yelp,” my mother said. “Ah yes!” said Ane, her handmade shell jewelry clinking together as she spoke. “They will take the dog to their house and stick it in the umu.” I imagined a little grave that Ane and the others would later crowd around with tearful eyes over the loss of their pet. …show more content…
“What is that?”
“Why it’s the oven, Dear,” Ane said. “They’ll cook the dog and eat it.”
My parents and I struggled to mask our horror.
“Dog is very tasty,” said Ane.
“You eat dog?” my mother asked.
“I guess that means nothing goes to waste,” said my father. He always joked as a way to lighten the mood.
I said, “What about the horses?”
Ane nodded and grinned. “Horse is good as well. Would you like to try some one day soon?”
I gulped. “No, thank you.”
My mind wandered to my seventh Thanksgiving. I had just adopted a calico kitty, Loolu. A couple days before the holiday, Mom and Dad were sorting through what remained of the frozen