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Sad dogs and an Englishman

It’s a good job I’m a cat person and not a dog person. City streets in India are full of (well, liberally peppered with) dogs. These animals are medium-sized, short-furred, and usually some mixture of pale brown and white. Often they look pretty mangy and scabby. Sometimes they’ll have some more serious injury like a broken leg. Evidently, they live off the refuse that is also ubiquitous in urban areas.

People seem to ignore them as one would ignore pigeons. The dogs spend a fair amount of time – the hot part of the day – just sleeping. I walked through a bazaar in Delhi once and a clutch of dogs came through having an argument, snarling and snapping at each other. That was the only time I ever felt anything like threatened by them.

Often you’ll also see puppies – which are, of course, as cute as any small animal, and haven’t accumulate the injuries of their parents. I took a couple of photos of some in the ruins of Fatehpur Sikri.

I’ve only seen two or three people walking dogs that I can remember. The hotel I stayed at in Agra, Hotel Sheela, had a couple of dogs hanging around that must have belonged to the owners – a smallish fluffy dog and an Alsatian.

Of cats, I’ve seen perhaps half a dozen or so in the month that I’ve been here.

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