A dog's life

It's taken just over three months for me to break my number one cardinal rule of living in an Aboriginal community: don't feed the dogs.
Because, as those who live here will tell you, feed one dog, and you'll end up feeding the lot, and the lot is, well, a lot.
Earlier this evening, I turn around to see my new friend, Bagobones (white, in centre), has now invited all her mates along for some good times at the kind-hearted white fella's camp. At one point, I counted 19 dogs, and, in true 'only-in-a-Aboriginal' community style, the pig from next door, all waiting patiently on the promise of free food.
For a dog person like myself, it's hard not to feel sorry for 'em. Despite being all shapes and sizes, and made up of hundreds of breeds mixed together, they share lots of similarities (like open sores, broken bones and flea infestations) and are eternally hungry.
Like everyone else here, the dogs are another community collective, and continually on the move from one house to another in search of shelter, company and food. Since Thursday, Bagobones has been getting all three from me - and hasn't been shy in letting the lot of four-legged mates know about it, either.