Pita the abandoned puppy

The dog was in no danger of freezing, so I tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away even when I yelled at it to shove off. I expected it to be gone in the morning, but there it was at the gate, tail thumping. And the morning after that. By this stage I knew it had to be really hungry, and it was obviously young; though he had all his teeth, he didn’t look fully grown. I went to the gate to meet the dog, and it came crawling towards me, cringing and trying to lick my hand, rolling over, showing its belly – his belly, clearly – and being completely submissive. I put a hand to the puppy’s head – his fur was a good ten centimetres long in wavy locks, soft as rabbit fur. He had long white eyebrows and a black fringe over his eyes, with a white beard, white legs and chest. As dogs go, he was pretty cute. I took some photos of him, with George Cat perched above him on the fence, glaring down at him. Not able to face the thought of a puppy starving to death at my gate like a Dickensian orphan, I took a bowl of dog biscuits up the hill…

 

 

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