שלום לכולם
היום הלכתי על סיפור באנגלית, ואני מקווה שזה לא יבאס אף אחד. הוא קצר, מבטיחה.
למי שבכל זאת יקרא, הייתי רוצה לבקש שתענו בתגובותיכם על השאלה הבאה: האם השינוי בגוף (לפעמים הפנייה לכלב היא בגוף שני ולפעמים שבשלישי) מפריעה לדעתכם? האם היא תורמת לסיפור? האם היא חסרת משמעות?
מקווה שתהנו 
The dog was small, redish-brown, and alone. He had a collar on, but with no name or number, and he was thirsty. He stood on the sidewalk, cocking his head at us, waiting. He was hungry for our touch, and came closer every chance he had. We enjoyed his attention, thinking this was going to be just like any other dog on the street – a two minute romance before we head our separate ways. We thought this would be nothing special – just the regular old excitement of meeting a new dog, and forgetting his existence, or at least what he felt like, a few moments later.
Only when we bid him farewell and began walking down the street did we sense that something about this was different. The dog was following us. He was impossible to shake off. The words "go home" startled him. Ignoring him just made him more persistent. We wanted to do the right thing. We didn't want to cause any worry to someone sitting home alone waiting for their dog to come back.
After he followed us for three blocks we knew he was now our responsibility. His devotion to us was almost complete, and when that faltered, well, when that happened there was meat at the house. One piece and you were in, doggy. A second piece and you were on your back on the carpet, waiting to be touched. We were gentle with you, feeling how scared you were, imagining how long you must have been out of the house.
My love was worried. He was sure you were hurt. He was positive that you were mistreated. You had some wounds. Nothing too terrible. And you were thin. And hungry as hell. My love felt that you were terrified out on the street. That something awful must have happened. I don't know about that, but you sure did take us into your heart. You treated us as though we were your own people. Thank you.
I couldn't sleep most of the night, though the dog and my love were both breathing quietly. I was worried and thrilled at what would happen the next day. Would we be the brave rescuers who bring you home? Would we become your adopting parents? There is something so pleasant, even necessary, about being someone's savior. About having someone to need you. You made me think of that, love. This was not like playing with a strange dog, or absently stroking your parents' dog. This was giving someone who needed you what he needed. This was caring for a living thing. Being his rock. This was parenting.
In the morning, after the joy of waking up to be kissed by the dog's wet nose and taking him for a walk, after cuddling on the sofa and dancing with him in the hallway, we drove him over to the sad little city pound and located him mom. She lived about a 20 minutes' walk from my house. He really went the distance.
We left you there to be picked up, and left each other for the rest of the day. Each of us alone. Two of us thinking of it constantly. The next few days were blurry. Nothing changed, really, but the house felt empty. Every time I came home I felt the absence of a dog so tangibly that it almost felt like the house was aching. Where were you now? Were you treated right? Did you run away again? I keep expecting to see you waiting for me outside my door, returning to me, to be my dog.
We held each other at night, me and my love. We comforted each other. Being together was good, but we couldn't shake the feeling that we were ought to be a trio. Mornings were suddenly meaningless, drinking coffee and watching the dish that contained your food lay silently on the drying rack, as it had for the last week. We were doing alright before you came along. Now we were like two dysfunctional people trying to make up one semi-functional couple. We looked into each other's eyes silently.
This is nothing. This is not important. This is just the way things are.
