Rantanplan showed us the way through the labyrinth of alleys in the old town. We had avoided the pushy cafés at the Metekhi bridge and were strolling along the Mtkvari river towards Dedaena Park. Rantanplan walked ahead, unimpressed by the traffic noise he occasionally sniffed a bush or marked a spot and every now and then he’d give us a look to make sure that we were appreciating the guided tour through his territory.
Artur, Anastasia and I had arranged to meet late in the afternoon at the climb to the Narikala Fortress. When we had grown tired of climbing and scrambling the crumbling walls, we had taken the cable car down to Rike Park and there we met Rantanplan, an old stray dog.
He was snoozing and watching the roaming tourists, and for some reason he chose us. From then on he accompanied us and disappeared only three quarters of an hour later, shortly before Liberty Square, like a guardian spirit who knew we were safe and his duty done.
The Tblisians love their strays. You see the later everywhere, usually peacefully sunbathing or crossing intersections at their leisure and unimpressed by the traffic. They are the sacred cows of Tbilisi, the mistresses and masters of the city. Years ago, the people of Tbilisi elevated them in this rank: when the city government wanted to put an end to the strays, the citizens protested. The plan was dismissed. Today the strays are cherished, cared for, loved and adorned with an ear tag, denoting that they are de-wormed and vaccinated.
I love the strays. Not just since the incident at Meidani Square. There, a good-natured stray had joined our kids for company. As a car did aggressively roar its engine next to the children, the stray attacked the car, protecting the children. Good boy.