A dog’s life

“Dja skilos?” (for the dog), I ask the butcher’s wife in my best Greek. “Aaah, kokkalla …” she replies enthusiastically and turns around. I’m curious what she will come back with. Then I see her open the waste bin next to the butcher table and fill a plastic bag. When I inspect the contents, I look into six large, questioning eyes of three skinned heads of lamb and some other offal. No paying necessary. I thank her kindly. Our dogs are having another feast tonight.

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