Goose first appeared in the fall of last year. She was a young pup, and she was hungry. Her visible bones pained us, so we fed her. She belongs to someone in our "neighborhood", most likely an employee of the school. Two young Indian girls appear periodically and call the dog "Scooby". The language barrier prevents any real conversation, but once we think they asked us if we wanted to keep "Scooby". By the end of the school year, the dog we call Goose was coming in routinely to eat and sleep. She can sleep for hours at a time, and very deeply. We began to think that it was only in our house that she could fully relax.
Last year she began to follow us up as we hiked to school. We discouraged her, partially to keep her off the two roads we must cross. She made the acquaintance of Mr. Barkey and Cocoa, the two dogs that live in the house above the first road. Soon, she would only go half the way to school, and we considered that a victory.
We worry about her when we are gone on vacation. When we came back from our summer break, she appeared to have been hit by a car. Her left hip is wonky and she rarely puts weight on it. She still barks at monkeys and any men who dare approach our house, but she has changed. She is no longer goofy. Her happy-go-lucky exuberance has been tamed. She is an Indian dog, and most dogs here do not fare well, at least to the eyes of soft-hearted, dog-loving Americans.