They recognise everyone in block 13 on an individual basis, either by smiling at, being indifferent towards or sometimes barking at them. It goes the other way around as well. “I know all of them by name: there’s Bobby and Lucky, Jeffery… Richie…and Jo-Jo – our resident street dogs,” says Nasi Teryakova, a human inhabitant.

Throughout much of Varna, stray dogs have staked out their own territories, filling in a metropolitan, ecological niche. In summertime they lead carefree lives, casually strolling, frolicking and lying about. Food is not too great a concern as many generous (or mischievous) tenants toss out their kitchen and table scraps from their windows; and in a testament of our modern convenience culture, some strays even appear obese. Most however, remain scrawny.

Winter is another story. Then they huddle in corners or crevices of edifices, amidst rain, snow and subzero temperatures. The same people who affectionately feed, pat and talk to them would never dare take them in, for fear of rabies – or worse, laughter.

While they freeze outside, their luckier brethren, pedigrees, get royal treatment in nice, cosy homes that some city dwellers would envy. Their owners, backed by an industrial complex of pet shops, veterinary clinics, dog food companies, even fur grooming services, do their utmost to make them happy. These “exotic, pure breeds”, ranging from Chihuahuas to Irish wolfhounds, conceived and reared in plush kennels, only made their debut in Bulgaria in the late 1970s.

The strays or their progenitors, on the other hand, had the misfortune of having fallen in the pariah status, many in the aftermath of the fall of communism.

“During this period of uncertainty, confusion and apprehension, many pet owners, struggling to feed themselves, simply let their dogs loose,” explains Penka Buchvarova, head of the Society for the Protection of Animals in Varna.

Consisting of a small group of caninophile volunteers, they work tirelessly to improve the lot of street animals, including rescuing the sick and injured, and bringing them to the city animal shelter, or private clinics, where veterinarians often treat them for free or at discount prices.

Another major task is rounding up ear-tagless dogs, and having them neutered or spayed. Unlike the Hollywood stick version where gruff, scruffy men chase and snag mutts with nets and haul them off in vans to dog pounds, the team uses carrots – or rather biscuits – a sweet smile and charming voice to lure them into their vehicle.

And thanks to the society’s successful campaign for animals’ right to life (coupled with an apparent restitution for the 1960s when caninophobe officials banned all non-hunting, non-pedigree dogs, read: put to death) sterilised strays are released back into the wild, that is, the urban landscape. Most citizens do not seem to mind.

Fortunately Buchvarova, formerly of the hotels trade, has formed new alliances. Enter former Peterborough resident and dog trainer Ann Curry, who herself has adopted two stray dogs in her village of Gaburnitsa, 34km west of Varna.

“We raise public awareness and try to enlighten people’s attitudes towards animals,” she says. Namely that the love and affection that urbanites shower on their pedigrees be extended to farmers and strays. She encourages her neighbours to treat their dogs more humanely, not just chained up, relegated to vicious watch-dogging, and fed white bread. “And people should start appreciating mixed breeds and strays, adopt them, and invite them into their homes.” With her husband John, she gives presentations to schoolchildren about the symbiotic relationship between animals and people.

To foreign holidaymakers her message is to not buy dogs in Bulgaria for convenience, only to abandon them upon departure. She points out that besides causing immense trauma for the dogs, it encourages locals (gypsies) to breed more pups for sale. “If vacationers do adopt pets, they should take them back home.”

At the opposite end of the entrepreneurial spectrum, large companies tolerate strays, even keeping them “on their payroll”, as they scare off criminals during non-operating hours. “Every time I walk by industrial sites, especially at night, these dogs would appear and start barking,” says Antoaneta Pophlebarova, a small business owner. “They also roam about in packs and howl. It’s spooky…like in a ghost story.”

Still the society has reason to cheer. Since 1998, more than 9000 strays have been sterilised, dampening their population growth. “But we still need to reach outlying areas where dogs still roam about, feeding the city’s stray population,” says Elena Valeva, a teacher and volunteer.

And though Animal Life Switzerland, an animal welfare group has helped support their mission, like everything else in life, funding is never enough to fully handle the situation.

As a result, Curry now holds monthly charity drives, rallying British pensioners behind the cause, though all are welcome to contribute. The first took place at an English pub, where they traded used books for a lev each. Jina and Fred Southey hosted the second at their home in Vinitsa on a warm October Sunday. As well as serving shepherd’s pie, peas, cake and drinks, they held a mini bazaar, with homemade arts and crafts, honey and marmalade on offer. The climax was a raffle, with prizes that included wine, chocolate, and a box of English sweets. All proceeds went towards the caring of stray animals. Curry hopes future events will grow in awareness, size, participation, donations – and fun.

Next on the agenda: Cats.

Ann and John Curry can be reached at ajnonhn@hotmail.com