Dogs in Bali: True Stories
- Olga Kurak
- 6 hours ago
- 17 min read
It took me a long time to write this. It wasn’t easy — neither putting it into words nor reliving it all again. And honestly, even now, it’s still hard.
It all started with frustration, anger, and rejection of what I was witnessing on the island.
My first notes were filled with rage and condemnation of how animals are treated here.
I needed time to process those emotions. Now I just want to share a few stories about what life is like for dogs in Bali — without extra comments or judgment.
And in the end, I’ll share what stayed with me in my heart.
Table of Contents
Dog Sacrifices
Bali is predominantly Hindu. We’ve all seen those beautiful photos of women offering baskets of flowers and fruit to the gods. But there’s a side of the culture that is rarely spoken about: the tradition of animal sacrifice. Ducks, chickens, and even dogs are offered to the gods.
I had heard about this long ago — that these rituals still happen on the island. I’ve personally never witnessed it. At no ceremony I’ve ever attended were animals sacrificed. But people say it happens — quietly, to avoid criticism. Even among Indonesians, more and more are speaking out against these practices.
You could be at a ceremony and have no idea that an animal had already been sacrificed.
One such story happened to a close friend of mine. A local acquaintance invited her and her husband to a ceremony marking the beginning of a new construction project. There, they met another “bule” — a foreigner who had also been invited. He was visibly unsettled: “This is surreal... They sacrificed a dog. It’s hidden over there.”
My friend, who grew up with pets, couldn’t believe it. She went to ask the hostess if it was true. The woman smiled and said, “Yes. Because a chicken protects us for three years, but a dog — for seven.” (I don’t remember the exact numbers, but the idea was that a dog provides protection for a longer time.)
My friend was horrified. She quickly came up with an excuse and left the ceremony.
Later, she asked me, “How is that even possible? She’s not uneducated. She worked abroad, lives comfortably, has dogs. I think they sacrificed one of their own puppies.”
Back then, I didn’t know what to say. And honestly, I still don’t.
Dog Meat and Illegal Trade
Every year before major holidays, like Christmas, animal welfare organizations in Bali urge pet owners to keep their dogs safely enclosed — because it’s the time when dog meat traders become more active.
This is usually done by people from other islands, most often from Java, where in some regions the dog meat trade still exists. Last year, 64 dogs from Bali were discovered in the hands of dog meat traders in Banyuwangi, East Java. A link to this shocking incident can be found on Instagram — in Indonesian and English. (Warning: very sensitive content.)
The investigation and rescue of these animals were carried out by Indonesian animal welfare charities fighting against the dog meat trade: Animal Hope Shelter Indonesia and Dog Meat Free Indonesia.
Fortunately, the dogs were saved. A campaign was launched on social media to help locate their owners — a list was created with photos and descriptions, and people began sharing it to help.
This case gained a lot of attention, but sadly, it’s not an isolated one.
Since late 2024, posters began appearing in Uluwatu warning, in Indonesian, that anyone caught poisoning or killing dogs would face serious punishment. This came after a wave of dog disappearances in the area.
According to some locals, the disappearances were linked to construction workers from other islands — Sumba, Flores, and others — where eating dogs is still part of the culture. They kill dogs for food.
The method is simple: they spot a dog on the street, drive by, throw poisoned food, and leave. When the dog eats it and passes out, they come back and take the body.
Dog Poisonings in Bali
Last year, I was at a veterinary clinic with Java, one of our three dogs. While waiting for our appointment, I met a man who had brought in a stray dog in very poor condition.
As we chatted, he shared his story. He’s been living in Bali for 17 years and helps animals here. While attitudes toward animals have improved since the early 2000s, when he first moved to the island, many issues remain unresolved. In the past few years alone, he lost over 20 dogs to poisoning. And that’s not even counting his neighbors’ dogs, who suffered the same fate.
I asked if he knew who was doing it. He said yes — it was his neighbor.
I was stunned. How could that be?
He told me he had gone to the police multiple times, but their answer was always the same: “They’re just dogs.”
Eventually, he gave up reporting it.
Neighbors simply shrug and say: “What can we do?”
No one wants to fight with a neighbor.
And that’s the reality.
According to locals, old beliefs — especially among the elderly — say that dogs are the reincarnation of evil spirits or the souls of bad people. That’s why there’s often hostility toward dogs in Bali. The younger generation is less likely to believe in such things, but the stigma remains.
It’s not uncommon to see older people chasing dogs with sticks — or even injuring them with machetes. And if a neighbor’s dog is perceived as disturbing the peace of an older local resident, it might be poisoned without hesitation.
From time to time, there are rabies outbreaks in Bali. If a rabid dog bites someone and the case is confirmed, the local authorities often respond with mass dog killings in that area. In many cases, locals take matters into their own hands and begin poisoning dogs themselves.
When this happens, animal welfare organizations in Bali — such as BAWA — post warnings on their pages, urging people to keep their pets safe. They emphasize that the solution is not poisoning or culling, but timely vaccination.
Here’s a link to one of these announcements.
Abandoned Puppies
We have three dogs: Java, Catatau, and Sumba.
All three have the same story: they were rescued as puppies from the streets.
Java was sitting, confused, in the middle of a busy road in Canggu when Santi spotted her. He picked her up and started offering her to customers at nearby cafés and shops — with no luck. So he took her home. They’ve been together since 2017.
Catatau was found by Santi’s friend — left abandoned on the roadside, also in Canggu.
And Sumba? A local man drove up to a café where our friend was relaxing, dropped the puppy off at the entrance, and drove away. She took him, brought him to our place in Sunrise (where we live), and Santi agreed to foster him.
Santi did everything right — he made adoption posts and tried to find a home. But after three days, he deleted them all: “I just can’t give him away.”
So Sumba stayed.
A month later, I arrived. I walked into the house, saw three dogs and thought:
“Two is already a lot. Three is too much.”
But what could I do — they came as a package deal with my husband 😊
A week later, I couldn’t imagine life without Sumba.
In rural areas of Bali, sterilization is extremely rare. Dogs give birth every few months. That’s why it’s common to see tied-up bags or boxes with puppies dumped on the side of the road or in trash bins. It happens constantly, everywhere. Most adoption posts you can see online about dogs in Bali come from such stories.
Bebe's Story
Thanks to my morning runs, I know most of the dogs in a 5-kilometer radius — in all directions. I know who has a family, who is a stray, who recently gave birth, who disappeared, or who got sick.
Dogs in Bali often suffer from a range of illnesses. The most common are skin diseases caused by a lack of care, poor nutrition, parasites, ticks, and worms. That’s why you often see dogs without fur, covered in scabs, scratching themselves until they bleed.
About 1.5 kilometers from our home lived a local family — visibly living in very modest conditions. They always had many dogs who would play or nap directly on the road with heavy traffic. That’s the reality here: in many households, dogs in Bali spend most of their time on busy roads. So, unfortunately, accidents — dogs getting hit by cars or scooters — are very common.
I always stop to greet the dogs I see along the way. Some of the puppies in that family already showed signs of demodex. I contacted our vet clinic and asked them to visit the family to help treat the dogs.
The vet came, examined the animals, and recommended starting with vaccinations, antiparasitic treatments, and medication. The woman from the family was given tablets to administer over 14 days. The vet also asked for her phone number to check in later on how the dogs were doing.
A week later, I passed by — and didn’t see a single dog. I thought maybe they were just kept inside. But days went by, and still, no dogs. They were gone. Only one remained — I named her Bebe. Her skin was in the worst condition.
I contacted the clinic again, asking them to follow up with the woman. Her answer was: “I went to work. When I came back — all the dogs were gone. Only one was left.”
I was shocked. How could that happen?
I tried to find out more through L., a woman I met by chance one day. I was giving water to the neighborhood dogs when she pulled over to feed them too. It turned out she runs a small private shelter and drives around every morning to feed stray dogs.
I asked her about this family. She replied: “I know them well. They always have dogs that appear and then vanish. Most likely, they eat them. They’re not originally from Bali — I think from…”
I was in total shock. But we had to help Bebe. Her condition was getting worse. And on top of everything — she was already pregnant.
The woman from the family stopped answering calls from the vet clinic. At the same time, construction started on the land where their shack had stood. The family left — and abandoned Bebe.
L. spoke to the landowner, who allowed Bebe to stay on the construction site. Every day, Santi and I came to feed her, and I applied cream to her skin. After every visit, my heart broke — I didn’t know what else to do for her.
Bebe gave birth to three puppies. One died immediately. Two survived.
Construction continued. L. built a small shelter on the site for Bebe and her puppies. We took turns feeding them. We agreed that once the puppies were old enough, I would start posting adoption announcements.
After about a month, L. messaged me: “The landowner called. He says he can’t keep the dogs on the construction site anymore — and will just throw them out.”
She quickly picked them all up.
A week later, one of the puppies died from a virus. Bebe and her son remained in L.’s shelter. I still visit them from time to time.
Bebe turned into a real beauty. Now she has a roof over her head, food, and care. She’s been sterilized and vaccinated.
This little girl is one of the lucky dogs in Bali.
The Story of Mama and Her Puppies
I first saw Mama back in 2020. She was always hanging around the neighbors’ house, following them as they tended to their cows. At first glance, she seemed like a typical Balinese street dog — always outside, always pregnant. But back then, she had a family.
In 2022, I saw her for the first time with a litter of puppies. There were five of them. Always hungry. It seemed like the family had stopped feeding her — and certainly not the pups. I started bringing them food.
The puppies lived in the bushes — on an empty lot between our villa and the neighbors’ house. At the time, I knew very little about what life is really like for dogs in Bali. I reached out to a few animal welfare groups asking for help. No one replied. Now I understand — they get hundreds of similar requests every day. If the dogs are healthy, alive, and someone is feeding them — just homeless — they usually don’t respond.
After about two months, all the puppies disappeared in a single day. Only Mama was left. That’s when I started to look deeper into what’s really happening with animals here in Bali.
Mama stayed in the bushes and waited for food every morning. One day, while bringing her some food, I met L. — she was also coming to feed Mama. I’ve already mentioned her in Bebe’s story.
L. confirmed that Mama used to belong to the family across the road, but they’d kicked her out long ago. They didn’t feed her anymore and wouldn’t let her back in. So she became a street dog. That’s when L. started feeding her — just like she does with many other stray dogs in Uluwatu. She’s the one who showed me what life for dogs in Bali is really like.
We agreed: L. would bring food, and I would bring water. During dry season, water is hard to find for dogs. The land where Mama stayed belonged to a local family who kept two cows there, cared for by two elderly men from the same family. They hated Mama. Hated all dogs. Hated L. And soon enough — hated me too.
My water bowls kept disappearing. Sometimes they were smashed and left in pieces — a message that we weren’t welcome. And yet, whenever I saw the men, they smiled politely. The next morning — another broken bowl. A typical Bali contradiction.
Mama never had peace. They chased her away. She’d vanish for days, then come back. In early 2023, she had another litter — three puppies: one girl and two boys. They were about 6 weeks old when I first saw them. All of them were skittish. Mama didn’t trust anyone either.
I knew that if I didn’t act, the same fate would await them as the last litter — they’d just disappear. Again I contacted animal rescue groups. Again, no response. Our vet clinic refused to sterilize Mama because she wasn’t vaccinated. Over the years, L. had tried many times to catch her for sterilization — unsuccessfully.
One of the pups — a black one — disappeared. That left a brown boy and a little white girl. I named them Choki (from the Indonesian word “coklat” — chocolate) and Putih (meaning “white”).
In late 2023, L. told me she’d be going to Europe for a few months and asked if I could feed Mama and her puppies while she was away. I agreed. They became part of my daily life. I came every morning, rain or shine, and they were always there waiting for me.
To avoid conflict with the landowners, I started coming early — before 7:30 AM. Instead of bowls, I brought water in empty kibble bags — less noticeable. That’s how we maintained an unspoken agreement with the owners: I’d feed the dogs quickly and leave. The dogs didn’t linger either — they ate and disappeared.
There were many challenges — I’ll spare you the details.
By late autumn, Mama was pregnant again. I fell into a depression. I didn’t know what to do about Putih and Choki, who were still wild. I tried to get them used to coming closer to our home so I could feed them there and avoid going to the hostile territory. But they were afraid of people, afraid of traffic. And now, new puppies were on the way.
Mama gave birth during the rainy season, early in 2024. This time, she didn’t leave the area where I fed her. After one of my visits, I followed her — and found two baby girls living in the bushes. Too close to the road. And even closer to the landowners.
We asked the owner of our villa to speak with Mama’s former family and ask if we could set up a doghouse on their land. After all, Mama was their dog. We promised to take the puppies once they were old enough, and to sterilize Mama. The former owner said he needed to discuss it with his family. Days passed, but no answer came. Eventually, he started avoiding us.
And then something happened that changed everything.
The puppies were about six weeks old when I came to feed my strays — and three of my own dogs followed me, along with Lala, my friend’s dog, who had escaped from our house. Chaos. Mama got scared and started defending her space, lunging at Lala and my dogs. Putih and Choki nervously tried to eat.
At that very moment, the landowner showed up. A man who despised dogs — now facing a scene of seven dogs barking and running around his land. Lala ran up to him and barked aggressively. He grabbed a machete. I thought he was going to kill her. But instead, he started cutting branches to block off the entrance to the area.
I rushed to get my dogs out. Mama calmed down. I approached the man and said,“Please don’t touch the puppies. I’ll take them today.”
I called L. and told her what happened. She came and took the girls to her shelter. I immediately started posting adoption ads. But it’s not easy — there are dozens of similar posts every day. And I wanted them to go to a good home. You can’t trust just anyone.
One man asked if I’d give him a cage along with the dog. I told him we don’t give dogs to people who keep them in cages. That’s another local issue — some people here keep dogs in cages.
Another man said I should transfer money to his account after adoption — allegedly for “sterilization,” which we had promised to cover. I explained that all payments are made directly to the clinic. He disappeared.
I asked for Facebook profiles, questioned them about their experience with animals. Most locals didn’t want female dogs, and expats almost never responded to adoption posts.
Eventually, we found a family for the brown girl. The black one stayed with L. Her name is Isha.
L. and I agreed: we needed to sterilize Mama and Putih urgently. On the day L. had planned to bring them in for surgery, Putih was already pregnant. And we couldn’t catch Mama again.
I started looking for a way to handle Mama’s sterilization myself. I convinced our vet clinic to help — but only if I could find a professional to catch, sedate, transport her, and return her safely. I found someone like that.
But then came a warning: Mama was old, unvaccinated, and had lived her whole life on the streets. Her body was weak. She might not survive the operation.
At that time, we were helping another Balinese family sterilize their dog. She was 8 years old. She never woke up after the surgery. So I hesitated. Everything was ready — but I had a bad feeling.
By October 2024, Putih had already given birth. She disappeared for a week. Santi and I searched everywhere — through bushes, every direction we could think of. Nothing. A week later, she came back. Skinny. No longer pregnant.
Around the same time, trouble began with another landowner across the road — he also had cows on his land. About a month before Putih gave birth, a new dog appeared — a walking skeleton. I fed him. The next day, he came back again. But his presence caused chaos among our little pack — he chased Choki off and stole food from Mama and Putih.
I didn’t want to add another dog and risk upsetting the landowner. But I also couldn’t bear to watch this poor thing starve. I told Santi,“I don’t like this. I don’t want to keep feeding him.”But the next morning, I brought food again.
Soon I met the dog’s owner — it was the landowner with the cows across the road. He was furious. In broken English, he asked why I was feeding his dog. I apologized, said I didn’t know, promised not to do it again.
Turned out, the dog had followed him one day, discovered we had food, and started coming on his own.
This made the landowner even angrier. He began chasing away not only his own dog but also Mama, Putih, and Choki. Sometimes I’d show up — and none of them would be there.
A few days later, I saw him again. I asked,“Where are my dogs?”He waved vaguely: “Somewhere over there.”
But they were gone.
Mama had disappeared. So had Putih and Choki. I searched every day, multiple times a day. Nothing. And that starving dog never came back either.
Eventually, Mama returned. And she was pregnant again.
L. helped search too. No sign of the others. After about a month, I told her,“It seems to me that Putih and Choki won’t come back.”
Then I asked her,“Be honest… do you think they might have been used in a ceremony?”
It just so happened that the landowner with the skinny dog held a ceremony around that time — among his cows. And the landowners where I used to feed the dogs were also there.
L. paused. Then she said:“They usually use dark-colored dogs for ceremonies... I didn’t want to tell you, but… my worker found dog bones — without skulls — near where Mama and her puppies used to spend their time.”
My heart sank. It still hurts.
Mama was the only one who came back. She looked lonely. Sometimes, she’d just sit quietly by our gate. I started encouraging her to come closer to our house, so I wouldn’t have to feed her on that land anymore. She was very smart. She understood quickly.
On January 12, 2025, she disappeared for a week. It was the peak of rainy season. I was worried. But then she returned. She had given birth — just one little girl this time. Her fertility was declining. She was getting old.
Still, no matter the weather, Mama came to eat every day.
I checked on the little one often. At first, she only slept. Around week three or four, she was already sitting up and becoming active.
L. told me right away that this time, she wouldn’t be able to help and take the puppy.
I asked Santi,“She’s starting to walk. And they’re so close to the road. I want to take her.”Santi said, “Amor, then take her.”
So we did. We brought her home and named her Kaya.
What struck me the most was that, in the days leading up to us taking Kaya, Mama had been sitting near our gate, howling. I checked on her and the puppy — everything seemed fine, but she was clearly restless.
When we took Kaya, Mama saw us. She didn’t show any aggression or worry — she just stood there, silent. And after that, she stopped howling. As if she gave us permission. As if this is what she truly wanted.
We started looking for a family for Kaya. And we found one. She now lives in Bangli, in the north of Bali. Her new owner sends us photos and videos from time to time — Kaya playing with two other dogs, living her best life.
She’s doing great. And I hope it stays that way.
As for Mama…
She continued coming for food — every day at first. Then every other day. Then less often. I stayed in touch with L., and she would check on Mama too, whenever she passed by.
On February 19, 2025, I fed Mama for the last time.
L. hasn’t seen her since either.
Mama never came back.
This whole story — about Mama, Putih, and Choki — still hurts.
I’m writing this with tears in my eyes.
Because it’s not fair. It’s not how it should be.
Final Thoughts
As I said at the beginning — I’ve gone through all the stages here. From intense anger to full acceptance of life in Bali, as it is.
What helped me?
People. The ones who care. And there are many.
Learning to see not only the dark but also the light. Like when we helped a dog who had complications after giving birth — her Balinese family tried to pay us back for part of the treatment. They truly cared about their Brownie. There are so many stories like that.
Studying the island’s history, culture, and traditions. That changed how I see things. Because Bali isn’t unique. The eating of dogs and the dog meat trade — it’s not just an Indonesian issue.
Back in Ukraine, I also lived in a bubble, thinking things were almost perfect when it came to animals. But once I looked deeper, I realized my country has many problems too. Sure, we don’t eat dogs. But there’s poisoning, abuse, abandonment. And it’s not rare. The war made it worse — people fleeing left their pets behind in active war zones.
And despite all these painful stories —
there are always those who help.
Those who believe, no matter what, that saving even one life matters.
I chose that side — the side of hope.
To be there, where I can help.
To save someone — because even one rescued soul is already something.
It’s already a drop of kindness — a small but meaningful contribution to the lives of dogs in Bali.
And the ocean is made of drops too.
I chose to be one of those drops.
To act. To help. In my own way. However I can.
This post is dedicated to Mama, Putih, and Choki.
They will forever live in my heart.
Thank you for reading 💛
Yours,
Olya
Comments