Flash, the One-Eyed Pirate Dog

During my eight years in India, one of my favorite escapes was Thailand.

On one such journey to the Land of Smiles,I discovered a tiny pinprick of an island off the coast of Ranong Province, where Thailand meets Burma. Here, the Irrawaddy River empties into the Andaman Sea, creating lagoon-like waters layered endlessly with islands. The area echoes of enchantment, mystery, and in-between worlds. Stories both beautiful and bewitching lie in those lands.

I had arrived weary: weary of fending off pestering men, of long, dusty bone-rattling bus rides, and of a lingering, mysterious illness that had eluded me for years. I longed for a quiet bungalow by the sea where I could write, sing, pray, and rest. 

On one of the many islands in that maze of little lands, I found myself restless with dissatisfaction. I was staying at a guesthouse run by a young, drunk British man and his equally inebriated Thai girlfriend. After a week, they had come to realize I wasn’t interested in their nightly parties, nor did I frequent their bar during daylight hours to run up a ridiculous tab. They informed me of reservations for the hut I was staying in and gave me three days to leave. It was perfect. I had become tired of the loud, booming electronic music until three in the morning and of all the grumpy hungover humans lurking about the next day. 

I had noticed another, smaller island just offshore, and a fellow traveler told me it was leased by an Italian couple. There were whispers of bungalows and a restaurant, though no one was sure if they welcomed outsiders. My friend suggested I try my luck anyway and see if I could sweet talk my way into one of their huts.

Ko Kaa was only reachable by boat, or at low tide, when a crusty strip of land emerged from the sea as a bridge between the two islands. I arrived on the beach opposite Ko Kaa when a gorgeous golden and white dog bounded up to me, all wags and smiles, as if he knew me. As if he had been waiting for my return to an island I had once loved. He greeted me with a joy so immediate, so intimate, that it felt less like meeting than remembering. The dog had one eye. Where the other eye had been was a half-healed wound. The eyelids had already come together in an attempt to conceal a traumatic past. 

Without hesitation, he led me toward the sea. He waded in first, then turned back, waiting, urging me to follow. Together, we crossed that fleeting bridge of sand. But it was more than a crossing. Walking beside him, I felt I had stepped into another realm, through a hidden portal into an enchanted kingdom.

We arrived on an island that held another world. I didn’t realize it fully at that moment, but the island shimmered with something otherworldly—a hidden treasure that would only reveal itself later. At that moment, it was just me and the pirate dog as a companion.

The island’s bungalows stood quiet, as though abandoned, but I walked around until I found Silvia and Lorenzo. Silvia, a chef with the heart of a mother she had never been allowed to be, took one look at me and decided I belonged. By the end of our conversation, they had offered me a bungalow and a place at their table for an old-school traveler’s price. In that instant, I was adopted by the Italian couple—and by the one-eyed pirate dog.

I soon learned his name was Flash, for the lightning-white stripe down his back. He became my most loyal friend and my guardian. He slept outside my front door, swam beside me in the sea, and loved leading me to explore the wild side of the little island’s rugged coastline. He tore through the jungle chasing monkeys and unearthed seafood snacks along the shore while I combed the beach for chambered nautiluses, red coral, and enormous Shiva eyes. I came to understand that Flash was more than a Thai island dog.

Once while I was standing upon large slabs of stone ribboned with iron ore overlooking the sea, I was given a glimpse of the island as a magical kingdom. Maybe it was from a time long ago, or maybe it was an alternate reality in a parallel existence, but what I did understand was that my boy, Flash, was a prince. I had been brought to Ko Kaa to know his story.

I stayed for months. Ko Kaa became my sanctuary, a place that restored me. Its magic seeped into my writing, inspiring the island scene in my book, Ruby Red. But the day came when I had to return to India. The hardest part was saying good-bye to Flash. 

Under the full moon of my final night I sat with him on the balcony. For days I had explained that I had to leave. I was trying to prepare him, and I knew he had understood me. But in that moonlit moment, he was ignoring me. He chewed on a wooden post, making lots of noise and a big mess as if to say he did not accept it. Finally, I reached out and touched his back. 

“Hey,” I whispered, “I know you are upset, but this isn’t the end for us. We have been reunited, and I will come back. We will see each other again. Please trust me, this isn’t the end.” 

Flash stopped chewing and rolled onto his back to face me. The moonlight glimmered in his one eye. Then he reached up with his paw and placed it gently on my cheek. At that moment, he was my truest friend. Beauty and the beast. It isn’t always a story about romance. Sometimes it is about soul-companions, long lost friends who find each other again in another life, another time on a mystical emerald island in a sapphire sea.