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October 23rd. The very small dog.

It seems that size and teeth are not necessarily related.

The Owner says that any time a dog comes at me at twenty miles an hour snarling like a leopard whilst its Owner screams ‘Chiquitita!!! NO!!!,’ like that I should just lie on my back and play dead.

I say I wasn’t to know that a creature that size could be dangerous. I wasn’t even sure it was a dog, in all honesty. It was the size of a rabbit.

She says wasn’t it obvious from its body language from the moment it started across the lawn.

I say its body language was in Mexican.

She says Mexico is a dangerous place. She says they have shootouts in the street when the police arrest drug barons. She says corruption is a barrier to stable democracy. She that’s why chihuahuas have teeth like that, and if I want to retain all of the parts that I was born with I need to learn to read the signs.

In Mexican.

The necessary skills of the Moral Dog are, it seems, endless.

Categories: dignity dog dog philosophy

Hergest the Hound

I am a dog of many thoughts.

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