When I was a child, there was a dog, not very friendly, his name was Mickey. I couldn't say he was my pet, because the only time I tried to pet him, I touched him gently on the side and he immediately turned violently and showed me his jaws. His growl scared me and I never went near him again, until one night my parents asked me to serve him food, they were going to a wake. I went around and around, but when I finally brought him the plate, he focused on it, ate voraciously and didn't notice my presence. Mickey had been brought home for me to take care of, my father tied him up during the day and let him out at night. It was the custom of those times.