I happened to be in Bali many years ago during Galungan, the celebration when spirits of deceased family members return to visit their earthly homes. I appreciated how the daily offerings in small palm leaf baskets, Canang Sari, were placed everywhere, on sidewalks and on top walls, on steps and in doorways, up high and down low. Those placed up high were for the benefit of good spirits, while those on the ground for evil—the hungry ghosts. In addition to the colorful flowers—frangipani, hibiscus and marigold—and incense sticks, these baskets also held rice, fruit and other morsels. I’d notice how the many stray dogs would devour the food left in the offerings at ground level, food meant for the spirits, in this case, the hungry ghosts.
Ubud dogs roam streets in search of morseled offerings of rice and sweets and burning sticks and find delight, or so it seems, in scattered grains and ash and seeds, that one might think no need to feed these ill-bred dogs of Bali. With food for gods and spirits gone these canine beasts as hosts become a dwelling place, the sacred space, for hungry ghosts of Bali. From day to night these mongrels lure their parasitic spirit herd down streets that curve where traffic lurks. They’re barely missed, though some are nicked by cars and trucks, the motorists do try to dodge the roving dogs of Bali. The streetlights glare for drowsy mutts to settle down in fields, on roads or on the ground; but at the gate no master’s face, no whistle’s call, no beds await, no leashes tug to safely lead the homeless dogs of Bali. For a strangely blessed cur, in desperate heat, with matted fur, it’s understood there is no cure for the holy dogs of Bali.