When I went out yesterday afternoon, I saw a little puppy coming to my door, and there were a lot of still snow coming out there, and the little guy looked like a cold and shaking outside, and it was a pain in the ass. When I went out, the little guy ran to me, and it was really a pleasure, and then he started looking at me like a kid who wanted to come home.
In fact, looking at its face is indeed lovely, because its eyes are filled with a very pure and impeccable look, leaving it in a cold street, which is actually cold at this point, with ice on the road, and it is not clear how it came back, and it is indeed a grotesque and unstoppable attempt to give it more warmth. It's so small it's called a stray dog, and it's sour when I think about it.
And the little guy, who ran into the snow like a stray dog, and he was so happy to be here, and I was really trying to keep it safe, and I was trying to keep it safe. I actually have a dog in my house, and I don't know if it's because of the connection.
When it snowed, a baby dog discovered it, and I saw it all, because I couldn't bear to let it drift, and then my heart was numb, or to bring it back to my home. Because I thought it was so small, if it was too little to reason, knowing it was so small, how could I live again, leaving it at the door, and talking about things like that, because I couldn't do it, or bring it to my home, and I thought it would be better to watch it become a stray dog cold or starve to death. No matter what, you can't just watch it die.