Stray dogs and trash on sticks

There are dogs everywhere in Chile. Many are pets, but yet more are strays. The thing is, these are no ordinary strays, at least by American standards. They wait at intersections and cross at green lights. They are polite and well-mannered. They work the tourists like street buskers. This little guy, for example, started following us at a discreet but clearly intentional distance through the streets of Punta Arenas.

Your backpacks are huge. There's no way you don't have sausage.

 After five or six blocks he met a fellow perro vago, exchanged butt sniffs, and then caught up with us for another 10 blocks. At that point he seemed to give us up as "no chorizo" type people, and we parted ways.

On the island of Chiloé, we witnessed what appeared to be a pack hazing ritual. The one with his head down just stood there in the middle for several minutes while the light-colored one barked at him. It was a little unsettling, actually. I kept waiting for the whole pack to turn their heads toward us in sync.

When you're a Jet you're a Jet all the way

The large stray dog population is the only explanation I have for this next curiosity: trash baskets on poles. 

This house needs a trash trough on a stick.

I saw the empty baskets when we arrived and wondered idly what they were. Then trash day came, and all was explained.  Kind of.

But back to the dogs. A local I talked to has the theory that the government doesn't kill all the strays, but it does remove any that give them an excuse, so the remaining population is smart and non-aggressive toward people. 

To those virtues I would add patient, even in the rain.