I’ve been feeding the black dog for 3 days now.

Every night at the same time – I sneak him cups & cups of Dog Chow and clean water.

I hide them away in Eric’s winter Army coat – it’s got huge, deep pockets inside so I wind up looking like the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man when Maggie & I go out to walk now.

But I still haven’t thought of a name for him. So when I walk up I say, ”Hello, Baby. Hello, my beautiful boy.”

He can smell me & Maggie coming down the road before he even sees us and as we get closer he jumps up & down, big ol’ tail swinging 90 miles an hour & he starts to whine – anxious for us to hurry up.

Yesterday, day 2, I discovered he wasn’t going to be food agressive, at least with me.

As I was pouring the food in the bowl he looked up, sniffed my hand, licked it a few times & then went straight for the food.

Head down – chomping away.

And today he let me pet him – while he was eating. Which is a really good sign – at least it would be if we were home & I could call the ASPCA to come get him. It would mean he’s probably adoptable.

Although if we were home, I’d just take him, fatten him up, make sure he gets any medicine & shots he needs, let him sleep in warm blankets at night (it’s starting to get cold here), work on training him & then find a good home for him. And if Eric was retired from the Army & we weren’t moving around anymore, we’d probably just wind-up keeping him.

But I can’t call the ASPCA – they don’t exist here. I can’t snatch him up & bring him home (although I’ve spent the past 3 days trying to figure out how I could do it & get away with it). And I couldn’t keep him because we’re still Army nomads. And trying to find places to rent with one big dog is hard enough…Maggie’s breed is unjustly considered agressive (which is a complete fabrication) but it’s a stereotype we have to fight everyday. People hear the word ‘Bullmastiff’ & somehow think it must mean Pit Bull.

Even if I were to successfully rescue this dog, hide him away in our backyard & begin rehabilitating him – we’d get caught.

The custodian mows our backyard – he goes back there whenever he wants. And he knows all the neighbors – although the neighbors would probaby figure it was me even without his help. I’m the crazy American lady who pays attention to all the dogs.

And as horrible as it is to say, there would be another half-starved dog there the next day.

So for now, I continue to feed him – watching over him from a distance.

When we see him, I make Maggie sit a good ten feet away & tie her leash to a post while I feed him.

She does great – no whining, no barking, no trying to get free.

(But then again, she knows if she sits still & behaves she’ll get a treat when I’m done.)

Then I walk up & kneal down to feed & water him – try to see if he’s beginning to fill-out yet at all or if there’s any other signs of abuse or injury.

But I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was knealing today.

And even you could smell me comin’ down the road.

(Damn four foot chain.)