My routine now includes afternoon walks with my goofy dog and Syd and his five dogs in who-know-who-owns-it 170 hectares/500 acres of scrub in Villa Argentina north.
Yesterday, we heard barking in the middle of it. Where barking shouldn’t be. We changed our return path to pass by again, but heard no more barking.
Today, we heard the barking again, and bushwhacked to find a scared, barking dog, chained to a tree. But with a little plastic bag of dog food. But also with a large bowl, presumably for water, overturned.
With six dogs in tow, we made little progress in connecting. Syd returned to leave it water.
Being Easter week, probably best if it stays there: our favorite vet in the campo is fully booked with pets until Monday.
Previously, Syd discovered the remains of a dog similarly chained, and left to die (it could have chewed through a rope). But there’s evidence of some care here. But still a chain. I’m not racing to judgment.
The Spinky-Faced Oriental Sandhound and I have walked a few times now with Syd and his five dogs on his private 197-acre reserve. Well, OK, it’s not actually his private reserve, but hey. Nobody else seems to particularly own it.
At this rest stop, one — Jordie, the alpha male — had temporarily abandoned his haram, searching, no doubt, for rabbits.
Leaving five dogs, pictured. Turns out the Spinky-face has found a kindred soul (Kiya, foreground).
We returned from an afternoon in Punta del Este to find a new pile of sand (which, here, starts at a depth of 5 cm). I added the concrete top later to halt further work until proper permits were obtained.
The hole was surprisingly large, and the proud culprit was quick to demonstrate it. I thought he would start digging more. Instead, he disappeared underground before re-emerging.
The message seemed to be, See, human? This is how you get out of the heat.
And when you hunker down, no one can see you. Understand now, human?