Mutts and monasteries
The writer running through Phajoding Goenpa. The snarling yak-herding dog tore within the mossy ravine and skidded to some halt around the opposite bank. Black dirt oozed through its Yeti-sized front paws when i backed into dripping wet ferns lining a sparsely trodden footpath. My friend Sangay’s advice exhibited through my thoughts: “No. No trail …