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Churches in, left, Arbanassi and, right, Veliko Tarnovo

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VT’s fortress long shot, and view from top

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Marc climbing cliffside ladder, Lisa from summit, cave

We came down from Arbanassi into the outskirts of Veliko Tarnovo and heard a highpitched wail. On the side of the road in a broken green milk crate was a puppy, abandoned, crying, dehydrated, not three weeks old, unable to stand, all greasy hair and fused eyes and an awful stink. We poured water on it which quieted it down and carried it into town. No one knew where we could take it. There’s no such thing as the Humane Society in Bulgaria. No vet, we were told, would take it. Some women looked concerned but wouldn’t help. Take it down to the river and toss it in, our hostel manager advised. Deciding against that course – we didn’t want puppy murder to be our predominant memory of Bulgaria – we wandered forlornly toward the park, planless. We saw a dog tied up outside a bodega and a woman inside with a kindly face. We put the crate in the shade with a little food and water and the other dog started nosing around it, then barking querulously. Later the manager said he saw the woman feeding the little puppy from a bottle.


While you’re at it, throw these cats in the river, too

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Good bye Bulgaria; hello Romania