Street Dog

My darling little Mooshy...my beloved Indian street dog.
I discovered a cache of pictures today from when we first found him - he was a tiny, undernourished, half-bald, moth-eaten, sick little mange of a thing. He looked like a four legged leper and had no energy at all - he slept for days and days and ate anything and everything he was offered. We worried then that he'd never be OK, that he'd be unable to find his mojo after such a rough start in the world. Ha.
With lots of love and patient attention he thrived. He grew and grew and although he's not terribly big at 11 months old now: 20kg, he is a bratty little monster, spoiled rotten by all of the fawning we've done.

I thought, had hoped even (as savage as it may be), that the cutting off of some of his boy parts would do more than just save us the trouble of a litter of puppies...I'd heard that dogs who are 'fixed' will settle down a bit and not be so inclined to mindless jumping up on people and gnawing on knick knacks. Alas. How wrong I was.

With or without testicles Mooshy is a holy terror.
When we asked the vet why he was such a freak and what on earth we could do about it he just replied, "He's a street dog...it's the breed." As if to say, "He's a pedigreed wildthing. Get used to it." And that's that.