This boy needs one of those orange jumpsuits you see in American prison TV shows. Django is an ideal candidate for a ‘Reality TV’ show all on his own. We knew we would have some issues with rehoming him after more than 4 months in ASH Animal Rescue, but he is still full of surprises. Where to begin? The first morning after he arrives finds a steel-toecapped boot of mine left midway up the staircase and a ten inch potlid in his bed with a puddle of pee at the foot of the stairs. He appears to have difficulty differentiating between the hard surface tiled floors on the ground floor of our house and the paved area of the back garden it seems, having only a couple of minor mishaps on soft surfaces, usually brought on by over excitement. The ground floor of our house has no carpets, a deliberate decision on our part given that we have dogs who shed fine white hairs all year round, so the occasional plumbing problem is easily dealt with and we’re sure is only a temporary behaviour anyway. His food motivation however is more of an issue. KiKi is a notorious counter-surfer, but she’s really quite small for a Dalmatian so can only cause so much havoc, and she has learned over the past two years that this behaviour is not welcome. Django is hungry. Always hungry. Dribbling, drooling, slobbering hungry. Always. And, he’s big, really big. While before we knew that if we pushed stuff towards the back of the work surfaces it would be safe from theft, this boy can reach anything. And does. Anything. Everything. Potlid, teapot, butterdish, milk jug, scone loaf tin, pasta jar, frankly I’ve given up on keeping a list already. He has figured out the snap-lock on the food bin and the pedal on the waste bin. Weighing either down with a bag of potatoes held him up only momentarily. The more negative aspect of his food fixation became clear all too quickly, sadly. We routinely hand feed our dogs with raw vegetables after we have eaten, carrots and broccoli usually since both are beneficial for dogs. Leica, with her failing eyesight will sometimes snap in the general direction of the scent, but send the food through the air in her enthusiasm to take it and, more than once, has sent it flying in KiKi’s direction, losing out as a result of KiKi’s better vision and faster reactions. Careful that we not instigate an issue with the introduction of a third and strange dog, we choose to feed them their vegetables and a few leftovers in their respective bowls. Django is unenthusiastic, or perhaps unused to such foodstuffs, pushing his bowl around and, scattering them on the floor, choosing not to eat them all immediately. Scenting the food now on the floor, Leica moves towards the apparently unwanted scraps and in an instant Django snaps at the back of her neck to fend her off. Before he can make a second contact with her, I reach around his chest and haunches and push him, hard, through the doorway and close him out of the room. It is hard to overstate how upset we all are by the incident. Leica is truly the gentlest dog we have ever known and we are profoundly upset that this could have happened to her. Ultimately, it is entirely our fault and not his. His gentle if powerful presence, had led us to drop our guard in our developing understanding of this new creature in an unfamiliar environment. We will not be caught unawares again. Django meant no malice we are sure, his past life as a solitary dog means that communal food times are new to him and he is arguably a little under his ideal weight, needing some readjustment in his feeding before he can feel relaxed around the other dogs at meal times.