When I came down the stairs yesterday and threw waste, it happened that I didn't know who was down there with a stray dog, and looked at it as if it was crazy to wait for the owner to come home and not to leave, and that the baby was still at home, afraid that the owner would come back to find it. The scene was really bitter, and I didn't remember what to do when the owner of the floor came back, and then told me whether or not my dog would come back, and what the owner would do with it.
When I heard that, I was very emotional, but I had to be calm, and I thought it would bother me, because I had to pull out the trash, and the dog had to look at me in the garbage, and I had to help me, and then I had to pull it out, and the sour smell came to me, and it was really good, and I saw the dog's eyes, and I was so bitter, and then I went home with it, and I didn't care to take it, but it was a pity that nobody wanted it, and my conscience wouldn't allow me to see it.
When I brought it home, the little baby was as if it had broken the curse, from the thickness of the beginning to the way it jumped on the top, as if it had changed a dog, and then I couldn't stop at the bottom of the stairs, and I did wonder, was it really the look of it, or did it want to help me with the pitiful look, to make my attention, to bring it home and thus to help me with the pitiful act, and then suddenly I felt like I was in it, but all I had to say was to bring it home.
When I said how I couldn't see it, it ended up being tired or sleeping in a corner, to see that it had not fully learned to lay down its guard, that it would not be easy to find a corner to sleep, that it would finally fall asleep, that I was happy, that I would never regret bringing it home, that the puppy had a home, and that it would never have had to be so pathetic that it would never have been necessary for someone else's pity.