The Badass Stray Dog That Didn't Get to Live Long Enough

He was a gangster in the streets and a lover when I had treats.

I’ve written about stray dogs in developing countries before, but never in my travels have I met one as badass as this.

If you read my other publication, Wildhood Wanted, you probably know that I’ve lived in Jamaica a couple times. After giving up my first apartment on the island, I took up temporary residence in my Jamaican “brother’s” spare room, and that’s where I met this furry badass.

Apologies for the poor image quality. This was in 2012.

This dog was the mongrelliest dog in the hood. A legit street boss. If dog packs were gangs, then he was the kingpin and from the moment we met, it was love at first sight. I’ve always had a thing for bad boys 😉

I named him Badman (a common word for gangster in Jamaica) and ultimately claimed him as my own.

As with 99% of dogs in developing countries, Badman was a stray street dog. If I could teach you anything about foreign street dogs, it’s that the minute you give one a morsel of food, he becomes yours for life…or for as long as you’re around.

The first time I saw him, I sensed kindness underneath his unruliness, so I threw him a cheese bun over the fence. He gobbled it like it was the last cheese bun he’d ever see, not knowing that I carried an unlimited supply in my car to give to strays. When he finished gobbling, he laid at the gate of the property for most of the afternoon.

Later that night, I came home around 3 a.m. to a dead, dark neighborhood. All I could hear through the silence was an unruly dog pack barking up a storm in the distance. As I traipsed up the steps to the house, I glanced up the dimly lit road, and who should come running out of the darkness?

It was Badman, running like a superhero on a mission.

He’d abandoned his pack to come greet me in the middle of the night. Of course, I had a cheese bun for him and I loved that he assumed I would. After gobbling it down he trotted back out into the darkness, pausing only to turn around and look me in the eye, as if to say, “Thanks mom! I’m glad you made it home safe!”

The next day, he reappeared first thing in the morning, and the rest was history for him and me. He was mine.

It took Badman several days to cross the threshold into the yard. I think he hesitated because Prince (my brother) kept shooing him away. Most Jamaicans don’t love dogs the way we do but I stood my ground. I told Prince to leave the dog alone, let him stay in the yard, and protect the house. As long as I kept feeding him, I knew he’d guard the property.

And guard it he did, as if his life depended on it.

Badman would bark at any human walking past the house when I was sitting out on the veranda. I don’t think he stayed around much when I wasn’t home but somehow, no matter where in the hood he was, he sensed the moment my car pulled in and came running home to his reward.

Little did he know that he WAS the reward 💗

It took Badman a few weeks to begin creeping up onto the veranda and poking his nose into my open door. He’d sheepishly approach, careful not to cross the threshold…I’d hand him a milkbone…and he'd run back out to the yard to eat it.

A few months later, a Canadian friend and her teenage son came to Jamaica to visit. Badman instantly latched onto her son. It was beautiful watching the two of them play in the yard.

Badman soaked up all the love and hugs he could get and although it made me beam with happiness, it also made me sad that EVERY stray dog couldn’t experience human love like this. Seeing a bad boy like him turn to mush over something as simple as a belly scratch melted my heart.

All the strays I encountered during my fifteen years of travel across Jamaica displayed this kind of goodness when they were shown even the tiniest bit of kindness and affection.

Lord knows, I would’ve taken them all home if I could have but sadly, there aren’t enough cheese buns in the world for the number of stray dogs that need one…or ten or twenty.

Badman played his official role of guard dog at Prince’s house for years after I moved out. Prince learned to live with and even enjoy the benefit of having a yard/guard dog, knowing full well I’d probably punch him in the head if he didn’t 😂

Any time I returned to their side of the island, I dropped in for a visit and always brought cheese buns.

Prince and I are currently going on twenty years of brother/sisterhood.

One day, when I was back home in Canada, I got a call from Prince. He was calling to deliver the crushing news that Badman had died. He found him by the side of the house and suspected someone may have poisoned him.

Sadly, this is not uncommon in countries where dogs aren’t favored by humans. And let’s face it…Badman was kind of a jerk to anyone who wasn’t part of his inner circle. That was his job as “yard dog” and he paid the ultimate price.

I was devastated. It had been months since I’d seen him and I didn’t get to say goodbye. I couldn’t save him.

So, let this post be a tribute to Badman and ALL the foreign strays that want nothing more than a bit of love and a cheese bun.

Badman…it has been at least ten years and you are NOT forgotten! You were NOT just a street dog. The rainbow bridge got a good one the day you crossed it. 🌈

Badman on the veranda, carrying out his guard duties with pride.

It would make me SO happy if you had a story about stray dogs to share in the comments below. Have you ever helped one in a foreign country or at home?

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Here’s a post about how you can help stray dogs in foreign countries….

And here’s a story about how one Substacker,

Robin Wilding

DID help a stray from Mexico…

Are There Tacos Over the Rainbow Bridge?