The way the two dogs approached me one night when I went out to photograph the pack’s usual play says everything about their demeanors. They’re like Adam and Jamie on Mythbusters. Beh can’t do anything without moving various parts of herself in several directions at once. Spike doesn’t do much, but she does it slow.
Over the last year Beh has grown from a scrawny, cowering, fearful runt with a quarter of her coat missing because of bad nutrition to a happy, energetic participant in the rough and tumble daily activities of the pack of dogs that I share a portion of the soi with. A friend and former neighbor provided the food, medicine and affection that powered the transformation. I took over feeding Beh after the friend returned to the US.
Spike, on the other hand, didn’t want for food or medicine. She just needed a human as bad as any dog I’ve ever seen. Beh needs about 10 seconds of greeting before she finds something better to do such as scratch herself. Spike will usually take all she can get.
They’re my four legged buds, something I haven’t had on a daily basis since my last year in college. Beh shows up for her 4pm feeding when she doesn’t have anything better to do. When I come home late she splits from play fighting with the other dogs and wants to do the same with me. Some days our paths don’t cross. On the other hand, Spike hangs out in the carport shade and wants me to stop, scratch and pet her each time I go in and out.