Today the topic of the dog has been thrust upon me once more—because the dog has disappeared. At least, he’d disappeared as of last night, and if this morning he came back and then went out again, I know nothing about it because I slept until past noon. Anyway, I can’t help worrying about him, and his absence is impossible to ignore. Although it’s been over a year since he widened the gap in the fence and learned his way around the streets, a disappearance like this is unusual. He’s stayed out late before and not come back until after dark, but I don’t think he’s ever gone missing so decisively. What’s more, since moving day is getting closer and we don’t know if there’ll be room for the dog in the new house, we’ve been starting to think about what we might do with him. For example, we could give him to someone who lives farther out than us, ideally in the countryside, and can find some space for him. This matter has already caused some conflict, since the dog is very much part of the family and sending him away would be hard for everyone—for the dog and for us, I mean. But his disappearance now doesn’t solve the problem; it just makes us feel all the more guilty.

The day he widened the gap by himself and went through it to the empty lot next door, he returned a few minutes later as if wanting to ensure that it worked properly in both directions. Then he went straight back out and explored every square inch of the lot with olfactory relish, rolling around in the long grass and urinating at a number of strategic points to mark his territory. That day, he went through the gap over and over again in both directions. On the following day, he left the empty lot and went out onto the pavement. A few days later he was crossing the street, at first without looking and at great risk to himself, though later he learned to check for cars. Now he’s an expert, but accidents can happen to anyone, especially someone like the dog, who’s so much governed by his instincts. We have a child in this house, too—Ignacio—and he’s often risked life and limb careening across the street without looking, worried about the fate of a ball that’s slipped from his hands or bounced the wrong way off the wall and ended up in the road. The instinct to run after the ball overrules all the awareness of danger we’ve instilled in him.

The risk is far greater in the dog’s case, since his instincts are stronger and his awareness, if we can call it that, is much weaker. Especially when he’s in heat, and his aggression is running high. Yesterday, for example, he had an altercation with a little dog on a leash that was trotting past with its owner. He doesn’t normally go in for scenes like that. I heard the commotion and went out to get him, and when I made him go into the house he carried on growling for a long time afterwards, as if his rage would never subside.