Long ago in my backpacking days, whenever I entered a new town the stray dogs would tell me how friendly the residents were. Not that they spoke to me directly, son-of-Sam style, but the meaning was just as clear.

If I entered a village and the dogs were well fed and ran up to me with their tails wagging, I knew I would be warmly received by the locals.

If, on the other hand, the strays were all skin and bone and snarled at me from a short distance away, the residents would undoubtedly be of similar disposition. I’d move my wallet to an inside pocket, zip my jacket up a little tighter and move on as soon as I could.

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