This is a sign advertising Caucasian Mountain Dog puppies which, according to our taxi driver, sell for $500 each and are, of course, completely inappropriate for a city flat. I hear a story of one suffering from rickets from too little exercise.
When we visit the wonderful Georgian artist, Tina Bukia, we are greeted by two dogs, a cat and a kitten. Her flat has no doorbell but Tuka and Daisy immediately know when someone is at the door of the third floor flat and raise the alarm accordingly. Daisy is an elderly prize-winning Dalmatian and Tuka is a Hairless Mexican Dog - or a possibly a Mexican Hairless Dog. Both breeds are slightly other-worldly. It's impossible to see a Dalmatian without thinking of Pongo and Perdita. The HMD (or MHD) is a new one on me - she is somewhere between a little dark humanoid and a teradactyl, scampering around the flat, flying up on to our laps or squeezing behind us on our chairs. Wierdly, Tuka is hot to the touch and stroking her skin, not entirely smooth, feels like running a hand up the hairy leg of a woman who has taken to shaving (yes, I've done that). She has soft, floppy, pointy ears, intelligent eyes and a little top knot that apparently requires coming with a special comb.
At the other end of doggy life in Tbilisi, are the wild dogs that live on the streets.. As Nata and I crossed a city centre park, we met a pair of indeterminately ferocious breed having a stand-off. The one backed into a corner was baring a row of pointy fangs and snarling in a caricature of a truly terrifying dog.
Bakhtrioni Street is patrolled by a gentler wild dog who, with his shaggy coat and waving white fan of a tail, seems to have retriever blood. His side-kick is a partly Alsatian bitch with a diseased tail and teats that suggest puppies somewhere. Together they criss-cross the busy road and purposefully case the bins and wasteland round about. They seem oblivious to the human life in their midst, ignoring pedestrians and at night, howl and bark to their canine compatriots in inner city Tbilisi.
