The House of a Spanish Dog 161
up on his back he looks very impressive indeed. From the little I know about dogs I can tell from the lustre of his fur and the look of his face that he is quite old. I walk up to him and pat him on the head by way of paying my respects to my temporary host. From past experience I know that dogs (so long as they are not strays who are in the habit of being badly treated by human beings) tend by nature to be friendly to people. This is especially true of dogs who live in lonely places. Such dogs will never hurt people who are nice to them even if they are complete strangers. Besides, their instinct tells them instantly whether a man is a dog-lover or the type that is likely to treat dogs unkindly. My theory proves to be correct, for the Spanish dog now happily starts licking my hand.
This is all very well, but who on earth is the owner of the house? And where is he? Will he be back soon? Despite my resolutions, now that I am actually in the house I am beginning to have compunctions. I am free to examine the place from top to bottom, but instead I remain standing by the large stone basin. Just as I had expected when I looked through the window, it only comes up to my knees. The brim is about two inches across and is provided with three grooves. The water runs along the grooves, round the outer edge of the basin and then spills on to the floor. Yes, to be sure, in places situated like this house this is one possible way to draw water. No doubt the people who live here use it for drinking water. The basin is certainly no mere ornament.
From the look of things this room seems to be serving several purposes at once. There are one, two, three chairs. Yes, just three—one by the basin, one by the fireplace and one next to the table. They are all practical, down-to-earth chairs; neither they nor anything else in the room bespeaks the slightest effort at elaboration. As I continue looking round the room, I feel myself gradually becoming emboldened. I notice that a clock is ticking away the time. Tick-tock, tick-tock—like the pulsation of the quiet house itself. Where can the
