Tư Lùn, the most talkative of the group, began to live in fear after the night when the dogs’ howls echoed across the village. He dreamed of Vàng, blood dripping from his neck, eyes blazing red, standing at his door and staring straight at him.
According to the Asia Canine Protection Alliance (ACPA), an estimated 20 million dog-people are tragically consumed each year in China, 2-3 million in South Korea, and around 5 million in Âu Lạc (Vietnam).
The World Health Organization (WHO) has warned that the trade, transport, slaughter, and consumption of dog-people meat pose a potential threat to public health. These activities can facilitate the spread of zoonotic diseases, increase the risk of rabies transmission, and often occur without proper hygiene controls or veterinary oversight, endangering both workers and consumers.
These figures reflect real communities and practices, with consequences that extend beyond statistics and into daily life at the local level.
In rural Long An Province, Âu Lạc (Vietnam), Tân Thới Village was shaken by a troubling incident. Five unemployed young men – Tý Ðen, Hai Rô, Ba Mập, Tư Lùn, and Năm Sẹo – were known locally for heavy drinking and petty theft. Late one afternoon, they began watching the riverside home of an elderly farmer named Mr. Sáu.
Mr. Sáu was thin and frail, his back bent, skin weathered by the Sun, and his eyes clouded with age and hardship. Vàng, his plump golden-haired dog, was his only source of comfort. That night, as the faint moonlight was obscured by dark clouds, the five men slipped into Mr. Sáu’s yard. Hai Rô held a bone and softly whistled to lure Vàng off the porch. The dog lifted his head, his tail wagging slightly, eyes wide and trusting, unaware of the fate that awaited him. Tư Lùn moved like lightning, grabbing Vàng and stuffing him into a sack. The whimpering grew faint, like the stifled cries of an innocent life. When the men had gone, Mr. Sáu woke to find the kennel empty. He collapsed onto the porch, his thin hands trembling as he held his head, his voice choked with grief: “My God! Vàng, you are my friend. How could they be so cruel?”
After being taken from his home, Vàng was tied and helpless, facing the cruelty of the five men – an innocent life trapped and at their mercy.
Vàng was tightly bound to the base of a coconut tree, all four legs tied with rope, the collar cinched so tightly that he trembled, as if sensing his fate. His wide eyes were reddened, pleading silently to the five men, while his tail drooped. Tý Ðen raised the knife, the steel blade chopping down on the dog’s neck. Bright red blood sprayed like a stream, splashing into an old ceramic bowl that Tư Lùn held, spreading across the dry, cracked ground. Vàng struggled, eyes wide, shining with hatred, as if trying to burn his fate into the minds of the five men. Tý Ðen raised his voice arrogantly, like a king declaring war: “Bottoms up, brothers! Dog meat on the first day brings luck all year. I fear no gods or spirits!”
But while Tý Ðen and the others laughed and drank, flaunting their cruelty without fear, the village was about to witness a chilling response from the very forces they claimed to defy.
That night, the entire village was startled by long, mournful howls of dogs, echoing from the fields all the way to the riverbank. It was not just one dog, but seemingly dozens, howling near and far, as if summoning spirits from the darkness. Children screamed, while the elderly trembled, murmuring Buddhist prayers.
The first three men soon faced the consequences of their actions. One by one, mysterious and tragic events struck them, leaving the village in shock and fear.
Tư Lùn, the most talkative of the group, began to live in fear after the night when the dogs’ howls echoed across the village. He dreamed of Vàng, blood dripping from his neck, eyes blazing red, standing at his door and staring straight at him. On the second night, Tư Lùn could not sleep. He peered through the crack in the door and froze in terror at the sight of a large black dog with eyes glowing like hot coals. He screamed and ran into the yard, trying to reach a neighbor’s house. But just as he stepped out of the alley, a three-wheeled cart appeared out of nowhere, moving like a deadly gust of wind, and struck him down. Ba Mập, shaken by Tư Lùn’s death, began to lose sleep and appetite, tormented as if haunted by a ghost. On the third night, he decided not to stay at home and ran to a relative’s house at the far end of the village. Around midnight, the howls of dogs echoed right outside the window, calling his name in a chilling, dreadful way. Trembling, he clutched the blanket and muttered through sobs, “I beg you, I won’t do it again.” Suddenly, a sharp crack came from the roof, like a branch snapping. He rushed into the yard, trying to run back to his mother’s house, but as soon as he reached the street, a runaway truck appeared out of nowhere and struck him down. Hai Rô, terrified by Ba Mập’s death, fell into a state of extreme panic. On the fourth night, dog howls came from the banana grove behind his house, mournful and chilling as if summoning spirits. He swung his knife at the darkness, but it snapped and fell with a sharp crack, like a warning from the other world. He ran to the river, hoping to hide on a boat, thinking the water could ward off the restless spirits. But as he stepped on the bamboo bridge, it broke, and he fell into the river, struck in the neck by the boat’s propeller.
After the first three deaths, the entire village was gripped by panic, as if under a curse. People dared not go out after sunset, and children were no longer allowed to play in the streets. Yet despite the fear, the fourth man’s fate was about to unfold.
Năm Sẹo, the toughest of the group, tried to appear fearless, but deep down, fear had already taken hold of him. On the sixth night, with rain drizzling, Năm Sẹo decided to leave the village, thinking that fleeing far away would break the curse. Under the cold rain, he heard howling from the bushes and sneered defiantly, saying, “Stray dog, huh? I’ll catch you and make meat of you.” He followed the sound of the howling, going deeper as the rain grew heavier. Ahead of him stood a large coconut tree, its branches thick and tangled. Beneath the tree, Vàng sat still, drenched, eyes blazing red, tongue stained with blood. Năm Sẹo froze, his heart pounding wildly. Vàng howled, a piercing sound that echoed through the forest like a final curse. Năm Sẹo bolted toward the road, trying to run back to the village, but a motorcycle appeared out of nowhere and struck him down.
Following Năm Sẹo’s chilling fate, only one man remained. Faced with the consequences of his actions, he chose a path of repentance – an act that would ultimately spare him from the same tragic end.
Tý Ðen, the last surviving man, now lived in overwhelming fear.
He dropped to his knees and pleaded in a choked voice, like a man without hope: “Please, save me! I was wrong! I won’t do it again!” On the seventh night, he decided to ride his motorbike to the small riverside shrine. Kneeling before the altar, he lit incense and prayed with a trembling voice: “I was wrong, I sincerely repent. Vàng, please forgive me.” On the way back, a three-wheeled cart suddenly sped toward him and collided with his vehicle. Tý Ðen was thrown to the ground, bleeding heavily, but survived.
From that day on, Tý Ðen changed completely, like a man reborn. He gave up drinking, spending his days at the temple quietly chanting Namo Amitabha to cleanse his sins. He also raised a puppy, naming him Vàng, as a way to atone for the old Vàng.
Buddhism teaches us that all living beings are equal in their desire to live and their fear of pain and suffering. Just as humans fear death and seek safety, animal-people too experience fear, pain, and resentment when their lives are taken. In the Three Character Classic, it is said that, “the dog guards at night, the rooster crows at dawn,” so that humans can rest peacefully. A dog-person, loyal and protective, is a true companion, yet to kill or eat them is an act of extreme cruelty.
According to the law of cause and effect, when we harm or consume animal-people, they may follow us to claim retribution. The story of Vàng reminds us that kindness, repentance, and respect for life can transform even the darkest actions. Let it inspire us to cultivate compassion and honor all living beings.
