The dog bared its yellow teeth. Dusk was cloaking Bucharest and there were two ways past the wild mongrel with its rolling unfocussed eyes.

One was to edge along the far side of the pavement clutching the scabby, powdering facade of the tenement houses. The other was to march, shouting, towards the vicious mutt rotating my arms like a windmill. I chose to retrace my steps, walking backwards.

The street belonged to the dog. Indeed, great stretches of the Romanian capital are in some way beholden to the strays, the so-called caini communitari. Animal rights campaigners say that there are 40,000 on the prowl, some friendly, some hostile.

Whether they howl at night or simply flop on a stranger’s doorstep, they have become a metaphor for Romania’s flailing attempts to escape the tormented communist past.

“The situation is dramatic in the city because of people, they insist on feeding the dogs,” says Simona Panaitescu, head of animal surveillance at Bucharest city hall and effectively the nation’s top dog-catcher. “They are used as guard dogs but no one wants to take responsibility for them.”

Outside a car workshop four flea-bitten dogs scratch themselves in the sun. Their quick snarl deters customers but also scares thieves, a thrifty alarm system. The owner’s wife throws them scraps twice a day, and that is enough to buy their loyalty. Dr Panaitescu, who has three dogs of her own in her garden, has six three-man dog catching teams at work around the clock.

As soon as they have pin-pointed a “nuisance dog”, they shoot it with a tranquiliser dart and dump it in a van. If no one claims it in seven days, it is killed. “Very humanely,” she says. “We use the same drugs used on humans by euthanasia doctors in the Netherlands.”

They are Ceausescu’s hounds. The Communist dictator evicted thousands of city-dwellers from the crumbling high-ceilinged apartments of the old town district into high-rise estates in a mad act of social engineering. The dogs had to be left behind. Today’s strays are already the third generation and if you dare to look closely you will see traces of once-noble breeds: a bit of wolf hound, a bit of Airedale terrier, a bit of long-haired Alsation.

Scavenging on rubbish heaps they and their offspring survived the 1989 revolution, the shooting of the dictator and his fearsome wife, the arival of the International Monetary Fund and entry into the EU.

They almost did not survive Traian Basescu, who as Mayor of Bucharest between 2000 and 2004, ordered the slaughter of the strays; there were up to 200,000 when he took office, around 20,000 when he left. Animal rights campaigners dubbed him the King Herod of the Canine World.

Now Mr Basescu is Romanian President, albeit suspended until a refererendum tomorrow, and at least part of his popularity is based on his dog-slaughtering.

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