Dogs, mutts and strays and bitzers, nothing pure or bred about any of them, live in an integrated parallel universe within the human world of Chile. They lounge, saunter by and occasionally skip off to a barking match without care or need for human contact. They do not seek approval, kindness or recognition, ignoring locals as thoroughly as stumbling tourists. Dogs of Chile can take more sun than their domesticated brethren elsewhere; they drape shaggy bodies over curved steps, dusty wall-fronts and street-corners from the time the orb rises over rooftops. These dogs never hasten to avoid car or pedestrian and they never get hit. The world of two legs is but an ambient fact of their existence, well understood by anyone listening after 10pm, when canine cries of alarm, disdain and bullshit - 'get fucked, no way!' disrupt every corner of the darkness.