A dog's tail.

As I left the house to do a Migros run, the small, fuzzy black dog sat at the edge of the garden. He had a roll in his mouth. Dogs off leashes and dogs without owners near by are about as common as wooly mammoths.
"Hello," I said. When he didn't respond, I tried "Bonjour." Obviously, he was a French speaker because his tail wagged.
As adorable as he was, he was also scruffy. He had a collar and I hoped a tag. I enticed him into the kitchen. He was content to trade his roll for cat food and water but he would not let me look at his collar.
I am not sure who to call to pick up a stray dog in this commuity. I didn't want to leave him in the house because of Munchkin, the cat. If she were my cat I probably would have, but then you know the saying that you always take care of other peoples' children (or in this case cat) better than your own.
"I tell you what," I said to the dog in French. "You go outside, and I'll stop at the vet's on the way to Migros, unless of course I can convince you to get into the car."
His response was,"Outside, okay. Car? You are out of your ever-loving mind." With the roll in his mouth he backed away.
Knowing he wasn't hungry I was willing to risk he'd be
1. okay until I get back
2. more apt to hang around because he knew there was a meal there
3. really wasn't lost and would find his own way home
In any of the cases I didn't have to worry. Just as I was pulling out of the drive, a car passed going about three miles an hour when most cars approach the curve at 30 anyway. The driver's window was rolled down and a grandfatherly man was looking and calling.
I waved madly.
He parked and came over. "Are you looking for a dog?" I asked.
"A little black one. He's infernal, always disappearing," he said.
The two were reunited.
Half of me was sorry, because I would have loved a dog like that, but again with Munchkin, again with both my housemate and me travelling as we do, a dog is about as practical as making that elusive wooly mammoth a pet.