Hot dogs and roast lamb

In the late afternoon, as the sun drained from the sky, he started sharpening his knife. Late that night, the dog started barking. Then it howled. Then it was silent. Hot dog, anyone?
The incident occurred on our first night in our new lodging – which is where we will be spending our final four months in Burkina. We are on the second storey, with a clear view of our neighbours; the suspected dog-eaters.
Needless to say, we were both a little disturbed by their appetite. Eating dog is inherently wrong … isn’t it? After a little time passed, I decided to ask around, to see how widespread the practice was. “Dog,” my French teacher responded. “Of course we eat dog. It’s tender, oh so tender.”
“What I don’t understand,” he continued, “is why you white people treat dogs like, well, people.”
(I instantly thought of those French dogs sitting on cushions in Parisian cafés.)
I looked around for a leg to stand on.
“Well, I prefer lamb,” I said sheepishly, not honestly being able to compare it to dog. “Lamb,” he replied, astonished. “You eat cute, little lambs.”

Jon