Meet Jackson

A.K.A 'Hungry Jack'
I went outside late morning as per routine to feed the feral cats. This buddy ambled, slowly and cowingly, up from the end of the driveway. He stood at the base of the porch stairs looking up...
I walked him back to the end of the driveway, boding him go on, looking for someone he might have free-leashed himself from-- as he had a collar, and I'd not seen him around before, I figured he was one of the neighborhood's mutts loosed himself on a walk. Alas, no one in sight...

He followed me back to the porch.

I established the porch as off-limits-- front stairs and, later in the day, the back.

After getting Tigerbaby and L'il Bit momentarily sated, I watched out the bay windows to make sure he wasn't encroaching.

I'm not sure when I made the mistake-- it mighta been that first walk to the edge of the property. It mighta been moments later... alls I remember is, I had chickenfat treats for the pussies, and a buttered biscuit I knew they would nae eat (save for licking the butter off! ha!).
The buttered biscuit...

Back to the end of the driveway-- you're not eating/being fed on this side of my property line.

Back inside, I was discussing the errant pooch with our house guest. Jack looked healthy enough at first glance-- collar, no mange, freindly if somewhat timid..

Then the nasty "h" word were brought up...

Sure enough, next out I paid closer eye.

DAMN.

Still, I canna afford to... I do na have anything that might...

This was a trip out back, where I keep a second bowl of Friskies for... well, just for. There are woods out back, and cats that... well... the bowl was there before I was. So, it gets tended. Anyhow, back stairs being established as no-no, and no-no foods being proffered...

I came inside. And a welling of tears shot up from my core...

EVERYBODY EATS, remember? And Hungry Jack was that-- was hungry. I couldn't not... I had to find something...

I have a large bag of cat food, so... he was hungry enough to eat several bites, but it's obviously not so palatable. [I say so, because he was hungry. Not starved, or it would not have mattered so much.]

I know I'm not supposed to give chicken bones to canines-- supposedly the shards can mess with digestive tracts.

Fuggedaboudit. He needed calories, this hungry Jack cum Jackson.

He got them.
An hour or so later, he got some mas pan-- more bread-- biscits, from our bacon/cheese biscuit break-fast. Not so much, the bird suet he seemed to sense had rendered beef fat! Ha!
An hour or so later...

No sign.

I hope he went back... somewhere. Because, really...

But... I have a feeling we ain't seen the last of each other. After all, he's a dog. A friendly ony. And I'm a dog person. And...

And, I got more biscits...

Slainte, folks...

Cygnus.