The other day, when I was out at dinner, I saw a puppy sitting down at the store waiting for good people to feed, and it looked like it was pitiful in my eyes, and then my compassion broke out, and I ran into the house and made some food for it, and the little guy looked really hungry, and it looked like he was hungry, and he was so anxious, and it would really hurt.
I'm afraid I'll just sit at the door and wait for a nice man to come and feed it. And when I finished feeding it, it followed it, and it was called an inch, and when I saw it like that, he said, "Suck it up, you can't feed it, you can't feed it. It's fine. See what you can do. It's right behind me.
As if I were afraid that I would throw it away, I did not want to leave him, even though I wanted to feed it, even though it stuck it to me like a non-dry glue label, and I didn't want to see it, so I didn't think about it, so I immediately brought it to my home, and remember it this winter. It would then be hard for it to go to other people's shops to eat and to do what others look like.
Until I brought it to the house, I realized that this little thing was smart at first, that it had just begun to get more and more open in the first half of the day, and that it looked so much fun to go and jump, but that it had to be too much fun to say that our garbage cans and tows had been stung, that it had been full of waste, that I had run around with it, and that I was really tired of seeing it out there, that there were too many poor days, that the smell of culture, that it had to be properly corrected after a few days, because it had to be patient about it.