The Saga of Salchicho

Am I officially obsessed with the street dogs here is Santiago? You be the judge....

The house is located in a heavily residential part of Santiago called La Florida. Here is a photo of our street:

Each house has a gate in front, tall enough so that dogs can't jump over and the bars are close enough together so that (most) dogs can't come in. Of course, whomever designed said gates was not thinking about Salchicho. He lives down the street, and is called Salchicho (or "Sausage") by us gringos because he is, you guessed it, a dachshund.

And he's not a street dog. He definitely has a home, with a gate, and his owners have gone so far as to put netting in front of the gate so that he can't get out. But he does, and can be seen around the neighborhood awkwardly running and wreaking havoc.

On my third day here, I almost killed Salchicho. It was a weird neck-in-fence-Lauren-not-paying-attention fiasco, followed by screaming and serious overcompensation to the dog who "barely escaped death". Needless to say, Salchicho lived on, without a scratch. Of course, I was a tad shaken that I had almost snapped a little dog's neck. For visual purposes, here is the front of our house, gate open:

Two days ago, as Luke, Morgan and I were walking to a meeting of the minds, Salchico joined us, as he often does, jumping and yapping and hoping we'll give him some veggie burgers (which we feed some of the street dogs...we have ALOT of them). We start to worry that Salchicho is going to far from home...I mean, does he think that he can come with us to HBH? I've never tried to bring a dog into a collectivo, but something tells me it wouldn't go over well.

And then, tragedy strikes: Someone has left open their gate revealing not one, but two GIANT German Shepherds who are PISSED that the little sausage has entered their territory. A nagging feeling tells me that that normally Salchicho, free from the confines of his front yard, yaps away at the restricted German Shepherds (whom I will call Boris and Fritz), taunting them will his freedom.

Well its payback, and a chase ensues. I have no idea how Salchicho's little legs are able to carry him to safety (I'm not entirely sure that mine will, for that matter...Boris and Fritz sort of have us trapped), but off he goes around around the corner. We all breathe a sigh of relief.

All is well until Salchicho, much more stupid than what we originally imagined, comes back. I'll never know why, but he runs straight for Boris who nearly takes off his tiny sausage head. We feel compelled to protect Salchicho, but really he's digging his own grave and I'm afraid of Boris and Fritz. Surely the protection part should be Luke's job, anyway. He is much taller than I am and speaks perfect Spanish.

There's no time for any of that, because the dogs are suddenly in the STREET (and I'm fully screeching at the sight) running in circles and freaking us out and then there is a CAR and the little sausage head is once again at death's door.

But Salchicho lives (and if he hadn't, I have no idea how I would have explained it to Rita), and by some miracle disappears around the corner again, this time for good. Boris and Fritz take up watch duty on said corner to make sure that he doesn't come back. As much as we're compelled to wait it out a little longer, we take off in the opposite direction, now running late for our Very Important Meeting.

Makes me glad my family always had mutts. I don't think my heart could take it otherwise.