Not My Idea of an Adventure, but Something New

Some of my earliest memories are of dogs, and few of my childhood memories are dogless.  Mum loved dogs; Dad tolerated them, and all my many siblings delighted in them.  I hope.  Life in a seven-dog-plus-probably-some-puppies household would have been pretty miserable for anyone who didn't delight in them.  Honestly, I feel a strong affection for the lovely, black-and-tan female dog in my neighborhood who has decided my yard is the right place to bring her snacks.

Her snacks, however...  This element of life in Namibia seriously has, I think, no parallel in any of my previous life experience, which is a surprise.  It's a pleasant surprise to know this is something that can happen in your life, and it hasn't happened before in mine.  It is no longer, sadly, a surprise to me to come home to find sights like this in my yard.

Welcome home!

You know what that is?  The white-and-blue spot in the upper left is a diaper, well-chewed; the curvy thing next to the bit of greenery in the lower right is a horn.  Probably a cow's horn.

Why are they in my yard?  We get strong winds in my desert home, but no, these did not blow in through the various fences.  The lovely doggie brings them in, and munches on them for a while, and then departs, leaving her detritus for me to collect.  Yes, she eats significant portions of used diapers.  I get a nasty gag reflex just typing it.  And maybe once or twice a month I have to pull on the gardening gloves and pick up one of those - or a collection of truly bare bones - and turf it into my black plastic for the weekly trash pick up.



Just to be very clear about what I'm dealing with here.

Most houses in town have a dog or two attached; this is commonplace in Namibian towns, where housebreaking is also sadly commonplace.  The dogs are generally not companions or loved family members; they are guardians, ill-fed and rarely washed or brushed, so they become scavengers.  Some get aggressive with people, but almost all will run off if you bend down as if you're picking up a rock to throw.  So how useful are they as guardians, I wonder; but many locals I know are very scared of dogs.  My neighbor dog has her full measure of that skittishness, which makes it very difficult for me to establish a rapport, and clarify for her that, while she is always very welcome to visit, I prefer she do her gnawing elsewhere.

I think there was a wedding in town this weekend, and this is a trophy from a fatted calf.

 

I don't like picking up other people's toothmarked horns, either.

The lovely culprit.

I think I'd best resign myself, however.  While, perhaps, keeping a small brain space turning over the question of how to convince Foxy - Matilda - Saddle - what am I going to call her? - to take her nibbles elsewhere.