Why Rai is now: 'The Mange'

Back in the days when we traveled around the world with nothing to call our own but the clothes we wore and the few meager possessions we carried in our packs, we met a lot of interesting people. People of every nation, people of every color, race, and religion. People from every walk of life -- poor, rich, simple, sophisticated. We also met a lot of animals.
It was only the brave folk that would maintain prolonged interaction with (or should I say, exposure to?) us. We can freely admit it now: we were nothing more than dirty, homeless vagrants. And, we smelled (one of us still does). Most kept their distance from us. Some, the curious ones, approached, for purely anthropological, or maybe even scientific, reasons. Animals, however, were not afraid. In fact, they took a liking to us. It's as if, somehow, we were one with them. The open road, a clear calendar, the freedom and... the animals. Those were the days.
And, the animals that loved us best were the mangy, street dogs. In virtually every single place we visited, we were immediately befriended by the one, or the pack, of wild, mangy street dogs. We gave each dog a name and that name was 'Mange.' Still today, when I see even the most well-groomed dog, walked down the sidewalk by the richiest of the richies, I'll still call out, involuntarily, "Mange... Mangy!" Oh, the looks I've received.
So, it is only fitting that you, our little boy, are now our little 'mange'. The spitting image of your Dad, you wear your raggedy t-shirts with their stretched collars and drool stains, hair a-mess, and goofy grin with pride. You are the Mange. I am the Mange. Like father, like son.