The Life and Death of 'The Hammer': Adorable Puppy and Random Act of Kindness

Life in China has continued on just unlike always. 

This past week, my impulsive nature coupled with my compassionate weakness for things dejected, lonely, and helpless, and together birthed a series of events, both completely unexpected and emotionally surprising.

Tuesday, Stephanie and I were walking by the main Square in Jinan, deep in our quest to find the perfect New Years’ party dress. Thus far unsuccessful, we were enthusiastically pondering our next attempt when we noticed a short line of roadside vendors selling puppies. There were about five vendors in total, each with boxes wiggling with the excitement of the cutest puppies you have ever seen (puppies which, in my eyes, were even cuter given the fact that they were forced to huddle in the freezing cold, away from their mothers, handled carelessly by their ungrateful masters). “Aw, I want a puppy so bad!” I said to Stephanie off-handedly, undisguised yearning dripping copiously from my words . “I’ve wanted one for so long!” she replied pointedly. We looked at each other, and neither of us could summon up the courage to say the words we knew had to be said ("No, we can't get a puppy!"). So we just didn’t say them, and went to have a closer look.

There were several adorable and equally qualified candidates, each as fluffy and friendly as the rest, fitting naturally into the crest of our arms like there were made to be there. When the vendors told us that the last price (we had been haggling, like always) was 200 Yuan, we turned out backs. We hadn’t really planned on buying one anyway, we told ourselves, as our hearts secretly sank in our chests. Out of the blue, another vendor sprinted toward us, practically throwing a sick-looking puppy in our hands. It was puny, haggard, and shaking from fear. She snatched it back almost violently, threw it on the floor, and made it follow her hand by teasing it with food. We were absolutely appalled by the way that she was treating this poor animal; a wave of pity swept over me as I watched it scramble after it’s sneering master, shaking from fear, pausing only to look up at me with those irresistibly sad eyes, which simply screamed ‘Help me’!

So, for 30 Yuan, Stephanie and I decided to give this puppy a better life, for what remained of it. It shook and whimpered as we held it close to our chests through traffic. We bought a food and water bowl, a cardboard box, some food, and some towels. We then took it back to my apartment, and began promptly to show it some love.

Andy came over soon after, bringing with him his spectacular new camera, which works magic on even the most ordinary of occasions. This included our new furry friend publicly cleaning his bowels on my jeans.

We snapped photo after photo of our now peaceful, sleeping puppy, which now and again awoke to look at us, not with fear, but pure adoration.

We tried to decide on a name, preferably something Chinese. Shou Xi Wang (Little Hope) was settled on temporarily, but was still not that perfect name we wanted. During a string of contenders, Andy suggested ‘Hiro,’ to which I chuckled incredulously and asked, “Did you just say ‘Hammer'?" And thus, 'The Hammer' it was.

Thursday morning, after sleeping the second consecutive night on my chest, in the crest of my arm, and occasionally stretched across my neck like a scarf (which is actually quite nice), 'The Hammer' began to act odd. As I placed it down on the bed, it had a violent seizure, which caused Stephanie and I to freak out. It was horrifying to see such a tiny, helpless creature in so much pain.

We rushed him to the vet, who informed us (via a friend telephone translator) that it did not look good. We left him there overnight, returning the next day to find a much perkier puppy. The vet informed us that he was not eating anymore, and had worms in its stool, casting a grim predication for the future. He had warmed up a bit, though, which was good. With a few last injections (and an insanely low vet bill), we left for home, knowing that the end was near.

Andy had the weekend off, so was in charge of caring for the puppy while Stephanie and I had class. Saturday, when I arrived home, The Hammer, who had been sleeping all day, woke up immediately and began prancing happily around the room. He crawled right into my hand, and began eagerly licking my face. He hadn’t drunk a lot of water that day, so I put some water on my lips as he continued licking. Anything for the puppy, right? We got him to eat a bit, using a technique I had observed at the vet. I said goodnight to a suddenly very sleepy and unusually weak Hammer.

Sunday, I arrived home to face my greatest fear: Andy and Rob walking silently into my apartment, that look of 'We have bad news' written all over their faces. All that night, the puppy had been whimpering on and off. That morning, The Hammer began whimpering again. When Andy took it into his arms, it became quiet and still, and died.

It was a feeling of shock for me. I had been so upset and worried about it over the week; it was as if I had exhausted all my emotional supply already. Later that night, I cried a bit more. How sad, I thought. This poor puppy, dead because it was taken away from its mother too early and not properly cared for or loved by those vendors. What else can one do than give it a happy ending? And I think we gave it just that.

Monday, nearly everyone left for Beijing. Due to dwindling funds and the overwhelming burden of stress in several different areas of my life, I decided the best decision was to say behind and a have few days to myself. However, this meant that I was solely in charge of burying the fluffy creature formerly known as ‘The Hammer’. Not helped by the fact that the ground was nearly frozen, or that I lacked a shovel anyhow, I set off to find somewhere to put this dejected puppy to rest.

Much to my dismay, there is literally nowhere to bury a puppy in Jinan. It is all metropolis, and what parks we do have would certainly reject a shoebox containing a dead dog as it rolled through the scanner machine.  No, I said to myself. I’m going to have to be creative. Luckily (or unluckily?) for 'Hammer' here, this was one of my strong suits. I decided to take a walk and explore my options.

There are a number of construction sites around my home, many sporting gaping holes in the ground and nearly deserted premises during the day. Seeing the city in a new light, these normally ordinary locations became full of possibilities. I imagined myself nonchalantly entering the site, walking straight up to the nearest hole, and placing the shoe box discreetly inside. Continuing along in my morbid state of daydreaming, I realized that they would keep working, most defiantly spotting the large black Vans box contrasting with the neutral dirt , and toss it in with the garbage. I imagined his body rolling around over piles of rubbish, next to rotting food and old, smelly shoes. And that is not something I wanted for the puppy.

Continuing on my walk, I spotted a deserted cement truck. I looked quickly around to see if anyone was looking (they weren't) and I climbed up onto the truck. Fantasies again consumed me, and I saw myself drop the puppy into the cement mixer. This way,  he would be infinitely buried in the ground, never to be disturbed. But, again, my fantasy continued, and I saw his clumpy body swirling around for ages inside this big truck, finally pooped out one end, and noticed (with faces that plainly indicated nothing short of disgust) by the workers. They would scoop him out, throw him to the side, where he would become a lone scrap of rubbish. And that is certainly not something I wanted for the puppy.

On the rest of my walk, I failed to locate anywhere that would successfully contain, undisturbed, this poor creature. Walking back through the gates of Lixia Dasha with a heavy heart (not to mention a dead dog in a shoe box), I headed over to the rubbish house. I did not want to do this, but I had no other options. 

Then, like a gift from above, I noticed a nook on the side of the building, hidden from passersby, protected from the weather, a filled with scrap metal, old blocks of concrete, and broken branches. Glancing quickly over my shoulder to be sure I was alone, I tossed my purse up onto the tower of rubbish and began to climb. Almost dying several times I finally succeeded in crossing over into said nook. I cleaned a small area and placed the box neatly on the ground. As tears fell from my eyes, I covered the box with as much rubbish as I could lift. Surrounded by the never-ending presence of students, laughing and loving each other, I could not imagine a better place for The Hammer to rest. 

And that was our latest random act of kindness.