This dog thing is strange but somehow rewarding.
Two examples:
1. On Sunday I decided to be slightly more domestic than usual and cooked a chook with all the trimmings in a roast pan.
Great on the day and good for sangers on the Monday.
Normally I use the remains to make chicken broth for later use in curries.
But when I looked at the roast pan yesterday, I wondered how I would ever clean it up afterwards.
So I just stuck it out for Rox.
It came back clean.
Everything was gone: unthinkable bits of chook, baked on vegetables, the whole bit.
Made washing up a doddle.
2. On our circuits around Minjup, I find myself having to explain the vagaries of humankind to an entity that can't understand them: or, indeed, my explanations.
Why do people keep horses, emus, alpacas?
What are these things?
(Roxie seems to think they're big dogs.)
What is a country road?
And why do you have to keep off it; or at least, if on it, face the oncoming traffic -- sparse as it may be?
A hundred questions like this.
Dog-keeping may well be a new anthropological methodology.
