Dudou's Spring Festival Notes

From their tone, they were restless this Spring Festival. On New Year's Eve, I watched them open empty suitcases, pack them full, and bustle up and down, in and out—this wasn't just a simple visit to relatives. They packed a whole suitcase of food alone. Goodness. I pricked up my ears but didn't catch any arrangements for me, except a bag of beef they forgot to put in the fridge. By morning it had thawed into a puddle. That was probably mine, and now it won't smell nearly as good. I was a bit excited and a bit nervous—as long as they take me along, anywhere is fine.

There was this sore, itchy feeling around my bottom, as if thousands of troops were jammed inside, unable to get out or in. And it gave off a foul smell. They wondered, 'Is Dudou farting?' or 'Does he need to poop?' I couldn't figure it out either. We rushed out of the relative's house and onto the grass, where I did my business and felt better. Della noticed I kept bending to lick that spot. I wanted to fix it myself, but my body is long and licking there is awkward—yet I couldn't help it. They started worrying, constantly talking, both the adults and the young one checking phones, saying something about 'anal glands.' I heard Old Zhang calling Dr. Li. Oh, please don't send me to the hospital! I was so scared I began trembling all over. After a bit of fussing, they left me alone, saying we'd deal with it tomorrow. I was nervous: first, will they take me to the hospital? Second, will they leave me behind? The next morning, Old Zhang put medicine in the water. I had a hunch, but I gulped some down. Better than going to the hospital. My bottom still felt uncomfortable, but maybe a bit better. Anyway, they brought me along, so what the heck. Off we went by car.

One other mishap was Big Sister at home, who was quite disobedient. She insisted on going down to eat wearing her room slippers. The slippers were thin, and the stairs might not have been dry. She slipped and fell right on her bottom, tumbling down several steps. I was in Della's arms and shuddered at the sight. So now my bottom hurt, and hers did too—she came off worse, barely able to walk.

Our encounter at Qiandao Lake was another big surprise. After finishing fish head at Manyi Restaurant and heading back to the hotel, they suddenly spotted a Momo Animal Hospital. Old Zhang insisted on taking me in for treatment. Della insisted we shouldn't. Della spoils me and always thinks of me, but every time Della loses and can't win against Old Zhang. We saw a thin, small vet with a fierce glint in his eye. I trembled like a sifter. They took me to a treatment room. Della didn't dare stay with me and hid outside. Big Sister watched with schadenfreude. They squeezed a lot of stuff out of my bottom—so swollen and painful, agonizing, my fur almost curled up. When would it end? Then they even had to give me medicine! Wasn't the squeezing enough? Why medicine? I'd rather take the stuff dissolved in water. I spat it right out. Then the vet used something like a long gun to shoot it straight down my throat. My gosh! Half my life was gone! But for the remark, 'It's not about what you eat—dogs just have this issue,' that Momo vet had at least one redeeming point. Ha ha. They also bought me Gulu Gulu sauce, a delicious kind of treat. Heaven looked after me: the medicine they bought got lost, but the treats didn't. The rest of the trip I felt so much better. Thank Old Zhang for his decisive decision to fix my bottom. Strange! Big Sister's bottom just got some ointment—why no injections or medicine for her?

At Shushan in Suzhou, we met a red-scarved boss. He was humble and refined, speaking gently and politely. He introduced the family room, then explained that during Spring Festival the B&B was short-staffed, so the dishes might be fewer and slower. The food came half an hour late, and he apologized again and again, offered discounts, and threw in free drinks or something. The steamed yellow croaker (the menu said small yellow croaker, but what came was a big one that filled the whole plate) had a wonderful aroma, covered with a thin layer of pickled cabbage. The pickled juice seeped into the fish, and that flesh must have been so tender! They gave me nothing, saying it was because of my bottom problem. I was so hungry! Not only did they ignore my feelings, they wouldn't even let me whimper softly. They pretended I wasn't there and ate with great relish. Next morning at breakfast, the boss added an egg, specially for me. Really nice! When we left, he called the kitchen on my sister's behalf to ask for ice. A boss like this—I'd take a dozen! Sister must give him a five-star review!

The apartment hotel at Qiandao Lake allowed us dogs, great. But if the boss loves us, we have to mind public hygiene and order. Some dog friend lifted his leg right by the pillar in the lobby—so rude.

The restaurants around Qiandao Lake didn't shun us dogs. I sat quietly while Della said I could only eat fish head meat because it's lighter. The boss of Manyi Restaurant, after a small mix-up, kept apologizing. A boss who owns up to his mistakes—no wonder his business thrives!

The Wuzhen Xizha Scenic Area explicitly rules no dogs allowed. From their tone, they were definitely going. I was so worried. One plan was to put me in a free pet drop-off and they'd go sightsee; another was for two of them to go while Big Sister stayed at the hotel with me, waiting like an idiot. I opposed both! Since we're here, either we all go in, or none of us do. Old Zhang, always the decider—after all, he's my boss—has guts and insight. I looked at him with woeful eyes: Please take me in, I'll be good, no noise. Old Zhang put me in Big Sister's camera bag, zipped it up. For the first hundred meters inside the gate, my little heart pounded like crazy. I didn't dare breathe, curling up and tucking my paws, praying for everyone: Don't notice me, don't notice me. Once inside, Old Zhang let my head out. I could finally take a deep breath.

The nightscape of Xizha was dazzling, lights twinkling, water linking bridges, boats linking water. Under the lights, the buildings—whether grand or delicate—were all luminous and crystalline. What a pity Old Zhang missed seeing Mao Dun's former residence and Della's cherished Feng Zikai's Yuanyuan Hall. I didn't need to walk, just calmly enjoyed the view. Occasionally someone spotted me; some looked scornful, others gasped in surprise. On this night tour of Xizha, I was proud of my behavior, waiting for a reward. My owner, my boss Old Zhang, is a decent guy with plenty of tricks. He sometimes scolds me or nudges me with his foot, but he's truly good to me. Thumbs up for him too!

Pingjiang Road's Gala Chicken Feet were a bit pricey, but they all said the flavor was good—balanced saltiness, tender but not greasy, chewy but not tough. For health reasons, I only got a few tendon strips from the foot. They were so delicious! But so few, I barely tasted them before they were gone. Actually, they didn't have enough either. I understood. The stinky tofu, potato starch skin, and cheese rolls weren't for me; I just smelled their fragrance.

If you go to Qiandao Lake, you can't leave without eating fish head. After drinking fish head soup, I looked forward to the chopped chili fish head. After trying that, I thought the red-braised hake tail must be the best. In the end, I still felt the fish head soup was top-notch. For people, it's always the thing you can't get that's best, or what you struggle hardest for. The white soup with Wu fish head, light and fragrant, pleased me too—soft and fresh. In their words, the fish head soup at Manyi Restaurant had a natural elegance: it melted in your mouth, went down to your stomach, seeped into your bones, warmed your whole body, and nourished every pore. In just a few spoonfuls, it was gone. The next day, we ordered four pounds instead of six. The third day we sought that feeling again, but could never find it. That's the truth of cherishing the present moment.

On the second day, we went to A-Gen Restaurant early to grab a seat, but their gas ran out and they had to borrow a pot from next door. We actually got to see how the fish head soup was made—they used Erguotou liquor! The third night we tried to chase that taste again, but every restaurant was packed. We finally found a spot in the cold wind and waited an hour without anyone starting to cook. We had to leave empty-handed.

Wuzhen's Grandma's Restaurant was very popular, ranked among the top, with warm and attentive service. The Dongpo pork was truly the ceiling of meat: flaky, tender, fresh, smooth, rich but not greasy, absolute energy replenishment. I tasted a bit of lean meat, but too little. The yellow catfish was also tasty, without any of the fishiness or staleness they worried about. Actually, when you're outside, you encounter both the exquisite and the sloppy. Good or bad, it's all experience, all feelings—especially with food.

I love grass, I love parks, and meeting dog friends is the best. They say Suzhou is the most humanistic and pet-friendly. I felt it. The first stop was a pet paradise, on a drizzly day. It was attached to Huqiu Wetland Park, just like any park. There were no people and no other dogs, but running free in the drizzle felt so good. I could sniff traces of friends who'd passed by, figuring out what kind of dog, how old, what temperament—things people find filthy or incomprehensible are, for me, fascinating and worth exploring. People know, 'You are not a fish; how do you know the joy of a fish?' but they rarely act on it.

The hotel apartment at Qiandao Lake had large rooms with good sound and light insulation. From the floor-to-ceiling window of the north room, Qiandao Lake stretched out: a thousand hills in one green, tranquil as a painting, serene and gentle, with the atmosphere of a Fujisan dwelling painting. From the hotel to the road, tall stairs with wide steps and water below tested my timidity. I took it as a challenge, walking the steps alone, then looked back and felt proud.

They originally planned to take a cruise, leaving Big Sister and me in the room. They went twice, both times in vain. First time, the wind was too strong on the lake, so no boats; they had no patience to wait. Second time, Old Zhang thought the Didi driver made sense: 'Cruises are for tour groups or older folks. Too many restrictions. The best way is a self-drive around the lake.' So they turned back. We drove, stopping at points to see the lake, stroll, and play. It was fairly free. First stop was the Asian Games Village, where we got down to play in the water. As the sun set, light dappling the rocks, though there were no fish, I really wanted to cup the water and drink. Ha ha, I didn't want to, but they all drank it. It was too cold, the wind making our eyes squint. The car was much warmer.

Second stop was Wenyuan Lion City. Della was a bit tired, so she held me in the car to wait. Old Zhang and Big Sister went to look. When they came back, they vividly told us what it was all about. It's said that before the 1950s, there was no Qiandao Lake; after the Xin'an River reservoir was built in 1959, a thousand mountains became a thousand islands, and two old towns were submerged. Wenyuan Lion City is a replica of the underwater ancient city. I learned a lot, but I was so dizzy I don't remember any of it.

Third stop was Xiajiang Village, beautifully built. We even saw the filming location of 'My People, My Country'.

In Wuzhen, because both Dongzha and Xizha required tickets, and we'd already seen Xizha's night view, the next day we wandered the free Nanzha area. Actually, it wasn't entirely free—they each paid one yuan to see the Zhang family's old house. I didn't need a ticket. Who would charge a puppy admission?

Nanzha was pretty, but it felt similar to the ancient villages my owners had taken me to before.

I must try harder, be more sensible, so I can always follow my owners and see a bigger world. Awesome.