Beware of Dog

I live in a semi-rural neighbourhood where city by-laws do not apply to dogs and the SPCA has no jurisdiction.  The kind of place where you build a fence to keep other dogs away, not to keep your own contained.  Now in all honestly, the majority of people control their dogs, walk them on leash if they don't play nice when other dogs are around.  Most of the dogs in the first circle of my neighbourhood are the small, yappy, 'I'd kill ya if I could get to ya' type.  But move out into the next circles of my area and things change dramatically in size and disposition, a la Dante's nine circles of hell.  I'm thankful for the fencing every time I walk by two very specific properties with the prominently displayed Beware of Dog signs while the dogs race barking and snarling along the fence line, all teeth and asshole.  And I walk very quickly and quietly -- trying not to let the tag on my dog's collar jingle -- past a few more.  These are the places where the dogs roam free.  The kind that approach with hackles raised.  The kind that wait until you walk past before launching a rear attack.  The kind where the dogs come racing out intent on quenching their blood lust -- even when their owners are standing there saying nothing until I yell at them to call off their dogs.  I'm not afraid of dogs.  I can snarl and bark too, let them know who the alpha dog is.  But they scare the crap out of my dog who will yelp like she's having a limb amputated and try to escape if she so much as detects hostility from an approaching dog.

Which brings me to the Camino, oddly enough.  In all the books I read before I left, I continually encountered a common theme -- 'Beware of feral dogs.' Apparently they roam in packs in some of the small, near abandoned little towns that dot the Way.  But like I said before, I'm not afraid of dogs (says she who has never run into a feral dog, let alone a pack.)  I figured I would be safe, armed with my long pointy walking stick to defend myself.  No problem...right?

Well, let me introduce you to The Feral Dogs of the Camino...

This little guy was mooching at a cafe but he wanted to be patted more than he wanted to be fed.  Sure, he was matted and dirty and kind of gross, but hey -- that's what hand washing is for...

Three guesses what this guy wanted...

This handsome fellow would't even make eye contact...

And this happy duo were the resident dogs at one of the most fabulous albergues we stayed at...

Here's the closest I came to a 'feral dog' -- and he ran in the other direction when I called out to him...

The one place I heard had a reputation for the marauding ferals was a very small semi-abandoned village called Foncebadon.  I managed to walk on by before these killers even knew I was there...

All this isn't to say that there aren't feral dogs lurking about, waiting for straggling pilgrims on which to dine.  It just wasn't my experience.  As for my own neighbourhood, methinks it might be wise to start arming myself with a long pointy stick.

Especially when I venture out into the seventh circle.

Back To It

Well, it's been over four months since I walked into Santiago de Compostela and almost four months since I landed back in Canada so I hardly feel I can announce, "I'm baack."  There are plenty of reasons -- nay, excuses -- why it's taken me until today to get back to this blog.  But that's all they are. Excuses.  Why is is that good habits are so hard to maintain but the bad ones creep up like ill-fitting underwear until they are once again a regular part of life?  Probably because the bad ones take no effort at all.  Not that I've been a total slug.  I've done some writing and some glass work.  And lots of walking.  Can't get that out of my system.  So I do have some Camino stories I want to share, but for today I'm gonna ease back into it and update my book list.  Here goes...

Promise Me - Harlan Coben:  I call this one a throwaway because I can't remember a damn thing about it.  Read it cover to cover on the trip over -- on the ferry, the bus, the plane, the train -- and left it in a hotel room in Bayonne.

Before I Go To Sleep - SJ Watson:  One of things I missed the most on the Camino was having a book to read.  Didn't want to add the weight.  So by the time I reached Santiago I was craving a book fix.  Not much selection for English books in Santiago and this looked as good as any.  Figured it out pretty quick.

The Ghost - Robert Harris:  I'd already seen the movie (The Ghostwriter) so kind of remembered the story.  But it's my kind of political thriller -- I understood the whole thing!

The Storyteller - Jodi Picoult:  I'm not a big fan of Picoult but this was an excellent story centred around the Holocaust.  One of the best surprise endings ever.  Didn't see it coming.

Longbourn - Jo Baker:  Think Carson and Mrs Padmore and Mrs Hughes from Downton Abbey.  A story of the downstairs folks from Pride and Prejudice, if you're into that sort of thing.  I'm not. 

The Fever - Megan Abbott:   Huge disappointment from every aspect.

To The Grave - Mike McIntyre:  Subtitled - Inside A Spectacular RCMP Sting. The infamous Mr Big scenario.

The Madman's Daughter - Megan Shepherd:  A YA novel and a bloody strange one at that.  Some very bizarro stuff here.  The first in a series.  I may read the next.

The Burning Room - Michael Connelly:  #19 in the Harry Bosch series. Connelly seldom disappoints and he didn't here.  

Face Off - editor David Baldacci:  Short stories.  Take the best in the crime writing biz and pit their detectives against each other.  The stories were hit and miss.  Picked it up because I wanted to read the Connelly vs Lehane story.  It was far from my favourite even though it's since been nominated for an Edgar award.

Miss O'Dell - Chris O'Dell:  For our December book club we read autobiographies.  This one read like an overly long People magazine article. Totally trashy exploits of a girl in the 60's who somehow got to work for bands like the Beatles and the Stones.  The only interesting part for me was her friendship with George Harrison.

The Secret Place - Tana French:  I'm a big French fan, but even though this book started out well, it was hugely disappointing in the end.  Not her best.

The Drop - Dennis Lehane:  A fairly short, simple offering.  I'm thinking it will be a better movie.

Sharp Objects - Gillian Flynn:  After loving Gone Girl, I decided to go back and read Flynn's previous work.  This was her first novel and I give it two thumbs up.  Loved her supremely flawed protagonist.

Revival - Stephen King:  Y'all know I love me some Steve.  Even when it's not the best thing he's written, I still love to read his words.  It's his voice.  No one can duplicate it.  Fair warning though -- this book probably has THE bleakest ending I've ever read.

Life After Life - Kate Atkinson:  The main character is born and dies repeatedly throughout the story.  Once you get your head around that, it's a fascinating read, albeit a tad tedious in one section.

As Chimney Sweepers Come To Dust - Alan Bradley:  #7 in the Flavia de Luce series.  Flavia is a great child protagonist -- ballsy enough to be entertaining without being precocious or annoying.

Dark Places - Gillian Flynn:  Another great read by Flynn, but she threw what I consider to be a curveball in the ending and that was a strikeout, not a hit, for me.

We Are Water - Wally Lamb:  I wanted to sit down and read this book cover to cover in one sitting.  I didn't, but I wanted to.  One of the better books I've picked up in a while.  And totally out of my genre, so that's saying something.

And there ya have it, all up to date.  Next up -- random shit from the Camino.