I had a chihuahua-terrier named Spunky when I was a girl. My family spent hours walking the neighbourhood searching for Spunky when she snuck out at times. Until the day we didn’t find her.
But an old homeless man, who was standing in the fiolage of Floaden park cried the day she came home to us months later.
He wondered where the dog he had befriended and fed went. He sighed as he lured another dog to his tent. The little black dog, he had liked had no meat on her anyway. She was no substantial supper.
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