Rest in peace, dear friend
I love dogs. Especially stray dogs, since one wouldn’t fit in my house. A cat ended up being the fitting partner on an “asocial life”, but every day when I went to and came back from my walks in the morning, a few dogs would always be there to play with me, homeless dogs with no name and a happy face, playing with trash and each other, chasing cats and other small animals, barking at the disgraceful drunks that would throw bottles at them and scream so loud in the middle of the night that the poorly paid day-workers would throw bottles at them. Those dogs did not live a perfect life, never required to, never been offered to, but they were happy, making a handful of new puppies every year, a group that had an awful survival rate, either being killed by unaware cars or people or horses, or tortured to death by uncaring teenagers. Even though Mama Dog always did what she could to prevent the worse, almost all pups went to heaven early, and when they were all gone she would lay around s