Su was the first creature to greet me when I moved into the house, wagging her tail and barking at the strange rucksacked person that wandered into her territory. I noticed Su had a cast on her left front leg. She had broken it somehow, and her owners had made sure that she was taken to the vet.
Curious as to why their little Chihuahua was yelping so madly, our neighbours popped outside and were delighted to see us.
“Hello!” said one lady. She continued to speak in Vietnamese. To aid my confusion she pointed to the house next door. “Are you moving in?” I’m guessing is what she said through her gestures. I nodded in agreement. Then, as I sett off into my new home, I accidentally trod on Su’s broken paw.
Needless to say, Su has kept a vendetta against me from that day forward.
Every time I roll up to the house on my motorbike she’s lounging there, eyeing me up and growling with a hint of distaste. If I get too close and want to make friends she’ll start barking. Probably the worst first impression I’ve ever made.
Still, I can’t help but admire that little rat dog. She’s had puppies recently. Four bouncing balls of fluff wrapped in those dorky colourful vests. Just like their mama they’ve been led outside, adored by all the neighbourhood kids, chased mailmen, ran into our house followed by an embarrassed looking man from next door. They, like Su, have become part of that community in our little alleyway. Just like many little dogs in the big city of Saigon.