Dog Guilt

I have made friends with a stray dog in town. I first met him one evening a few weeks ago when I was walking home. I was strolling along in the not-too-fast-not-too-slow manner that is the custom here when I the shadow of a wagging tail behind mine. I turned around to investigate and outstretched my hand to introduce myself to a dignified and unassuming but definitely dirty dog. He was a mutt-ish wiry black with white whiskers. As I was walking along he licked a snack wrapper and drank from a puddle, but followed me to my neighborhood.

At the entrance to my neighborhood, a pack of the neighborhood dogs chased him away. I have since seen him dodging cars and sniffing around for food. He sometimes follows me; I think he can sense that I am a dog person, even though I never feed him. Bulgarians will kick and shout at stray dogs, but my heart is never in it when I attempt to do the same. It is more of a foot nudge. He followed me all the way home today, only to be chased away by Rexi, the dog of the house (he takes his duty of defending us from canine intruders very seriously).

In America we romanticize stray dogs, happily adopt them from no-kill shelters, and maybe even hope that one will ever so meekly follow us home. Here bony, flea-bitten stray dogs are common with nary a dogcatcher in sight. There is no way for me to adopt this dog while I live with my host family, and even to adopt another stray when I get to Svishtov would be wildly irresponsible considering my eventual departure. Still, I feel a little twinge of "dog guilt" when I see my stray.