A Siberian Husky in Pattaya: Songkran, Fireworks and a Very Long Evening

When we told friends in Russia that we were moving to Pattaya with a husky, they laughed. When we told friends in Thailand, they stared, and one auntie at the market said, "Poor dog." Fair. Laika is a red-and-white Siberian husky and her ancestors were bred for minus forty. But she was already part of our family, so we built her a life that makes sense here.

She lives in the air-conditioned living room with her nose pressed to the vent. We go out only after sunset, when the pavement has cooled, and we skip the hottest months of the day entirely. Ice cubes are a luxury snack. She also has a cooling mat and a kiddie pool in the shade of the balcony, where she stands with very serious, very wet paws. Our vet in Jomtien told us to brush her undercoat out well each week, but never to shave her, as the coat helps insulate against heat too. I do not fully understand it, but I follow it.

Songkran was our first real challenge. Pattaya does not celebrate for one day, it celebrates for a week, and Jomtien in April sounds like an enormous water-gun battle. Laika, who talks back with long dramatic howls whenever I leave for work, took the first splash at the front gate very personally. By evening she was hiding under the bed. The truck full of laughing, soaking people, the music, the shouting, all of it was too much.

So we made a Songkran plan. For the week, we stay in. Curtains drawn, a playlist of calm music, the air-con at a gentle temperature, a frozen lick mat in the evening. Walks happen at dawn, before the first water guns, in a quiet corner of the neighbourhood. When fireworks start at New Year, the same plan returns, along with a long chat with the vet beforehand. She said not to give any human medicine, to keep the dog in a safe quiet room, and to ask her for advice if the fear is severe. Laika got through it with her head on my lap and a very slow tail.

I have also learned that a husky howl can be a conversation. When the fireworks stopped, she started to sing, one long note after another, and a neighbour three floors above sang back. For a few minutes, the whole building was a choir. I recorded it, of course. She dreams about snow, I know, and I tell her about the winters I remember. She listens with her head tilted.