When I came home the day before yesterday, I went out to the market to get some food, but a few stores were closed early, so I didn't have to worry about buying food, and I was going to go home with it when I bought something like that, even though I wouldn't cook, but I bought something. I was waiting to get out of the market, and I saw this stuff run away, and at first I didn't care much.
And then when I was tired, and I didn't know that I had it again, the market ran into the same stray dog twice, and this time I saw it carefully: well, it was really dirty. It's a stray dog, but I'm not willing to give it any warmth, and I'm not sure if it's just because it's innate, I'm giving it something to eat, and it's afraid to eat when it's first seen, but it's only when I'm back a little that I'm worried.
Having seen its mouth full of things tasted into its belly, its innermost sense of accomplishment has risen, hardly ever before, to feed stray dogs. Since our families say that stray dogs are too dirty, and that they have never been truly mastered since childhood, it is a miracle that they can survive. I was ready to leave early after feeding it, but the bastard seemed to have misunderstood me.
It's not easy to think that I've fed it, but it's too much to think about, because I'm afraid to piss it off, and it comes with me, and I actually see it back home, and I feel like there's no reason to lose it, because I'm able to raise it, somehow, and I feel like I'm trying to stabilize it, and I don't expect it to float.