Even in the most remote part of the world, there are dogs that will accompany you, will want belly rubs and will patiently beg for food. Arborek island is a tiny fragment of sand and palm trees, less than 1.5km long, off the North-West tip of Papua Indonesia. Despite its size it is rich in biodiversity, and among the community of people exist varying morphs of mongrel. Within the two groups different cultures existed. Remarkably the dogs had taught themselves to excrement in the ocean, a trait that is passed down from mother to pup and helps keep the island clean. Most of the houses had a dog, not in the same way as Western pets, but a home which one or two dogs would proudly stand and protect. The two dogs that guard the territory I am staying at, are Ringo and Foxy. Ringo is a protector, carefully inspecting visitors with a fearsome bark should danger be nearby. Foxy is shaped more like a cow than a dog. She lumbers around the island with a hearty appetite which unfortunately included her litter of puppies a few years ago.
I was lying in a rather low to the ground hammock, on one warm afternoon, eating strawberry yogurt. Foxy sat by my head on the sand, watching mournfully at the pink spoonful’s that went from pot to mouth. By my feet I noticed three hermit crabs, a small group out of hundreds that patrol the beach, however they caught my attention as they appeared to be about to fight. Fighting is a remarkably regular behaviour in hermit crabs, where individuals use a claw to repeatedly whack the shell of another crab. All is done in the hope that the losing crab will excavate their shell and the victor can steal it as their new home. These crabs were of three sizes, one no bigger than the nail on my smallest finger, and one a little larger than the end of my thumb, with the size of the third one being in-between. The largest shell was chipped, not an ideal home, and I wondered if the larger two were going to commence in a series of shell wrapping to see who could hold ownership of the intact shell. The crab with a considerably small shell had perhaps come along, sensing a fight, to swoop in if either crab left their shell. I sat up, yogurt still in hand ready to watch the fight. Foxy now realising she was behind me rather than level with the yogurt pot, lumbered forward to ensure her front seat in studying the food. She sat her hind legs down just behind the crabs staring earnestly at the yogurt pot, then in a clumsy manoeuvre to lie down, her belly hit the sand, directly on top of the crabs.
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