They are all over the city, running geese with tails and woofs. Many have mange, others have the signs of wounded battles, and others are like these, bones and waiting for the last day. Los perros flacos, and I saw this one a few weeks ago when I was reading at the Memorial Library on Culebra. There are two of them: one is a black pit, I call him "Negro," who loves me now, and this white one, "La Flaca," her bones crackle when she walks. Negro runs the show, I guess.
You need to get rid of these dogs, the homeowner says. She says that people dump dogs here, and the City hasn't been able to catch them. Since I've been feeding them, they come to me, and Negro jumped into my van this morning. He's ready to go. You ready for the doggie garden? It was the deer strips, I think.
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