Dog Fighting in Kabul

This was created without any additional information

This was created without any additional information

This was created without any additional information

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.

On the outskirts of Kabul, nestled below the snow capped mountains, crowds gather to watch the weekly dog fighting every Friday, on the Islamic day of rest.

Dogs in Afghanistan are large bear like creatures, often kept outside the house for security.
Under Islam they are classed as an impure animal, and special ablutions are supposed to be performed after handling them.

The atmosphere is like a boxing match. There is no open betting as gambling is un-Islamic, but vendors sell snack as the crowds jostles. Gather in a ring spectators edge slowly closer to the spectacle, until an angry dog turns to lurch at them, or the ringleader, an old angry man with a medal and a large whacking stick marking his captaincy, beats the crowds back in a fury of abuse.

Not all the dogs fight on any day, many are brought to be shown off. There is a certain amount of showmanship. Some have their fur died with henna to make them appear more fierce.

Some dogs seemed more keen for the fight than others. Some bark and lurch at anyone that passes by, some only at other dogs, whilst some seem quite content to bask in the sun, or roll over as their owners give them a pre-fight massage.

Inside the circle police watch as the fighting dogs are prepared, overlooked by men with video-cameras and wealthier individuals whose status allows them a closer view, absent of the fury of the whacking stick.

In the crowd one is anonymous, but step into the circle and one has entered the world of underground politics. Handshakes and greeting are given, and ID’s shown to the right people (those with assault rifles and those in wealthy clothes) to ensure an entry unfettered by the ringleader who has taken a decided disliking to today’s outsiders.

A long length of green silk is held between the dogs, blocking their view of each other. As the silk comes down, glimmering in the hard winter light. The dogs are released and tear towards each other, mauling, leaping, lunging, biting, trying to outmanoeuvre the other.

The preferred, and winning grip is the back of the neck or the ear. For this reason, most fighting dogs have had their ears clipped, as well as their tails.

Just as with boxing, some fights are quick, some are long, some are clean, and some are bloody. Once one dog has secured his hold on the other he is declared victory, but the dogs hold their grip. Owners rush in to pry one dogs jaw off from the other, spraying water and wedging sticks between its teeth.

Once release the victor is slung over its owners shoulder and carried off triumphantly, whilst the defeated, is lead away. Both are washed, inspected and pampered as the next fight is readied.

Roughed up and bloodied, most look sullen or collapse into a slumber after the fight, and the spectacle goes on...

The dogs are treated like prize fighters: pampered and well looked after to ensure their readiness for the fight, and doted on for their victories, yet forever trapped in a web of mauling, violence and blood.