The kids named him Carmel.
I call him Carmel-opolis.
That, or Pupper-Dupper-Do.
He's a Haiti dog, the son of Bee, the momma dog that followed me everywhere I went last year.
When we were getting ready to move to the new village, we found this tiny puppy, nothing but bones, and in very bad shape.
We began to nurse him along, trying to bring him back to good health, but each day he looked in worse shape.
A few of my Haitian friends were of the opinion to be rid of the pest, to throw him out with the trash, and they told me "That dog needs to go and die. Get rid of it."
"If he survives, he'll be a very good dog." I replied. "He's got a very good nature about him."
I had an empty Bibles box laying in the house, so I lined it with a blanket and wrapped him up inside. We gave him some flea medicine and a little milk, and began feeding him bits of food.
Weeks later, he's a brand new dog with a new lease on life. He guards the house at night and plays with the kids during the day. There's nowhere I go that he isn't underfoot, and everything I do fascinates him. He still sleeps in his Bible box. He will not go to bed without it.
We've been noticing a bit of a pack-rat habit he's picked up. This morning when I opened the door to wake him up, these were the contents of his box:
*3 shoes, that he doesn't ruin and just likes to sleep with.
*1 piece of PVC that I'd been working with the day before
*1 bit of bread from the day before (saving it for a rainy day)
*A piece of chicken bone.
*1 rubber bushing from my car
*1 piece of belt
and a chew toy, which is a piece of rope that he's been fond of. Today when I took the last picture, I think even he knows he's developing a bit of a problem.
Ya can't take it with ya, pup.