One of the recent topics of discussion has undoubtedly been rabies. However, I’m not here to talk about the details of the outbreak in Taiwan, but rather the chaos this disease has brought to our society.
Many have suggested renaming “Rabies” to “Lapis Disease.” I’m personally indifferent to the choice; I’d rather just memorize the English name, Rabies. Still, I can understand the concerns of those pushing for a name change.
The point is that the “stereotypical” effect of common usage is necessary in real life.
In my view, forcing a change to “Lapis Disease” would only confuse the general public and add practical difficulties. This is why many biological terms have both a scientific name and a common name.
In medical or scientific circles, using “Lapis Disease” among professionals is fine. But for the general public? Forget it. While “Rabies” (literally “Mad Dog Disease” in Chinese) seems specific to canines, our intuitive impression is of mammals in general. When people see related symptoms, they project that term immediately. For the public, the priority is to avoid danger instantly, not to engage in slow, deliberate discussions like scholars in a lab.
Lately, a short clip has been making the rounds on Facebook, showing someone filming a ferret-badger “suffering from the disease” up close. What I found hilarious wasn’t the content, but the filmer’s caption: “News media, please do not use without permission. For commercial needs, please contact me.”
I showed that clip to frontline professionals, and their response was an eye-opener. It turns out that wasn’t what Rabies looks like; that ferret-badger had likely consumed poison (such as rat poison).
Contrast that with the filmer’s caption, and it’s hard not to question their motives. An image flashed through my mind: instead of rice steaming in a rice cooker, it was a stray cat or dog being used as a tool to earn a meal.
A township head in central Taiwan formulated a policy where catching a stray cat or dog could be exchanged for a 3-kilogram bag of white rice. Dozens have already successfully made the trade. If these strays are not adopted within twelve days, they are euthanized. Despite media reports and outcries from opponents, the township head has doubled down.
Taiwanese politicians are smart, but they often oversimplify things. This township head’s solution to strays roaming the mountains was to trade life for food—the end. What then?
—And so, this policy became the representative of the “evil” side.
From another perspective, some propose catching strays, performing TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return) and vaccination, and then releasing them back where they were found—like the National Taiwan University’s Stray Animal Care Society. I originally shared this view, thinking it maintained the animals’ right to exist while protecting human settlements.
But upon further reflection, I realized this could be a time bomb.
According to the Department of Health, when bitten by an animal, humans need the first of five rabies vaccine doses within six days for the best outcome. But for strays, we have no idea when they might have been exposed or how long the incubation period (Wikipedia suggests it can range from 3 days to many years) might be.
Simply assuming that if an animal shows no symptoms, it’s safe to vaccinate and release is a dangerous thought. Regrettably, I don’t have a better solution; I’m just good at finding trouble. I’ll have to leave that to the professionals.
As I mentioned at the start, one reason people want to rename the disease is that the word “Dog” is too specific. And the word “Public” often represents collective stupidity. As positive cases have increased, a silent wave of pet abandonment has indeed begun.
Dammit, a rabies vaccine for a cat or dog is only 200 TWD—that’s just the price of 6 cans of discounted beer. It only needs to be done once a year. Take your pets to the vet for their shots right now!
Of course, all vaccinations carry some risk. For indoor cats that never leave the house, owners can use their discretion.
Once vaccinated, cats and dogs have rabies antibodies. Think about it: when you take your dog for a walk and encounter some animal charging at you with foam at its mouth, your loyal dog would theoretically stand in front to protect you…
I dedicate this piece to the eternal “Benevolent Doctor” in our hearts: R.I.P. Dr. Lin Chieh-liang (June 30, 1958 – August 5, 2013).