Bayou will run on playground equipment; she will go more or less wherever I point and say, “Bayou, go see.” She will run up walls; she sit in precariously balanced inner-tube with me on a river.
Five gets all the attention because he seeks it; Bayou resists attention, except from those she’s known for some time. They are both rescued strays, but her street life was brutally traumatic; when she came home, she was nearly hairless, bruised, with scabies and mange and an animating fear of any human contact.
I do not exaggerate the intelligence or personality of dogs; they are what they are, which is more than enough and how I love them (not as less difficult four-legged people). But anthropomorphizing is natural, and when I see Bayou anxiously peering out of the windows from her chair -which only she uses- I wonder what she remains vigilant against (picture below):
But maybe she is just looking for cats.
