Sunday, September 12, 2010

Mangy Mutt

Every morning, I open my front door to walk Flash and Roscoe, and am greeted by:

I'm not sure who he belongs to, or if he can be said to belong to anyone. Michelle, the little girl who lives below us, feeds him, but when I asked her his name, she just shrugged. Dogs here are rarely named, even when a family claims one as a pet. Even more unusual is for a dog to be allowed indoors. Michelle stands at our front door and stares, spellbound, at Flash and Roscoe wandering freely through the house. 

"Where do they sleep?" she asks, unable to envisage the circumstances.

I must admit, I have the same question about him. 

He is an excellent watchdog. We can always rely on his bark (oddly reggae-rhythmed) to alert us to roadcows or other potential intruders.

HB has taken to calling him "Number 3", in reference to the idea that he is somehow our third dog. Aside from the consequences of claiming him, I think the name "Number 3" may be ill-advised, as I have a history of unintended pets named "Number 3" becoming long-standing members of the family. 

I'm sure that won't happen in this case.

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