I used to love dogs, really I did.
But I tell you, these Vietnamese mutts are a different breed. I don’t like ’em at all, and the feeling’s mutual.
Their alien radar seems to be on high alert, so every time I walk past one, it can’t resist a bit of a sniff and a worrying attraction to my heels.
With my ankle still only 95% healed from the bike accident in June, I can’t risk a nip from one of these wee devils.
All that aside, the worst thing about them is their yapping. But these aren’t the throaty roars of a self-respecting English-speaking dog.
Oh no, they’re the high-pitched yelping of castrati, and they take it in turns to go off their heads at any provocation.
Off their heads being the operative phrase. They need professional help, most likely because many are kept inside and/or on a chain 24/7 . With the result that every few minutes one of them lets loose with volley of protest.
In comparison with the Thais, the Vietnamese are much more security-conscious. The apartment I just moved from had five locks on the inner door. I’m not kidding.
Which explains why they keep these pitiful excuses for dogs. They make a noise. Never mind that they’d be an easy snack for a corgi, or an appetiser for a heavyweight hamster.
All dogs think they’re Rottweilers, and these things are no exception.
So it is back to the North for me, and signed up for a month.
Pros: ( relative ) peace and quiet, 2 minutes drive to the beach, and cheap-ish at 4.5 million VND / month. Cons: 20 minutes drive to work, and not as well equipped as the last apartment.