It's funny how having a dog/dogs changes your perspective on things, provided, that is, that you like dogs in the first place.

Driving with my sister the other day, we were fast approaching her house when we saw, walking down the street, a stray dog of the more-fur-than-dog, indeterminate ancestry variety. From the length and dirtiness of its coat, it seemed it had been away from its home for more than a few days.

Long story short, we actually didn't stop for the dog. We kept driving, got home, went in her house and generally didn't give him (or her, possibly) much more thought.

But I felt guilty.

In past times, I'd have looked on the dog with some annoyance ... with the owner(s) for having inadequately kept the dog and with someone for not having called the pound and had it picked up.

But I wanted to take the dog home, care for it, show it attention and try to find its home. It's apparent to me how Monty feels when I'm just away from home for too long. Life for a dog in the warmth of Phoenix without caring human companionship and shelter must be very hard indeed.

Maybe I'm just a sentimental sap. I don't know. And why I, in the end, didn't do anything for the poor thing after all is a subject for further consideration.

All I can say is that I love my dog, and he doesn't seem to mind having me around, either.

Now if I could just get him to stop peeing on things to claim territory (e.g., our apartment) ...