When I came home the day before yesterday, I felt a little bit wrong about him, so I looked at him more than ten minutes ago, and with no one's attention, the man left with a piece of what he had left on the side of the road, and he said what he had to say, and then walked away. Look at this. I thought it was something that wasn't essential to throw away. It was like throwing away a piece of waste.
And when you came close to what he threw, you looked unexpectedly at the road, and there was a little dog on the ground who had been born, little one, lying on the ground, and in the cold, and then you threw it off the road, and it was painful to think about it, and I had to go closer to see if it was inhaled, and it was seen by one of the people around, and then he was wondering, "What's wrong with him?"
And then I wanted to go and say to them, but it was when you came near the dog that you realized that it was moving in its abdomen, that it was supposed to be alive, that I forgot about it when I saw it, and I grabbed it, and I was afraid to step on it, because it was really soft, like there was no bones, and it was really confusing. I've just started to regret it, and I don't know if I'll be able to keep it.
So he called my best friend, and when he heard me say I was stupid when I picked up the drifting dog, he said, "If you picked it up, you'd have to bear it," or you'd have to leave it alone, and it'd be impossible, so he'd be dead, and then he'd go home, listen to the potion, buy it milk, and the little guy would drink it, and then he'd have to sleep satisfactorily with it. That's really comfortable.