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The Boy and his Dog

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They were a poor family. Their son would sit at home, alone, when they went off in their own separate ways of work, hoping he would be safe at home. When he was just in the blossoming years of infancy, they brought the puppy. They knew that they had made the correct choice immediately. One small hand on the nose of the puppy. Brown eyes stared solemnly into brown eyes. For the first time, the boy did not cry when meeting another being. Like a bond had already been made, both sat motionless, in direct contact with each other, as though unwilling to let go.

As the days passed, their bond only grew tighter. The family took the dog with them wherever they went, more to keep their baby son company than anything. From time to time the boy would once again rest his hand on the dog’s nose, reminiscent of their first day, and stare solemnly into his eyes, as if to say, “What is the use of a master without his dog?”

As the years began to crawl by, there was no distinction between the two. If there was no friendly bark from the dog, the boy had not come. If the boy had not eaten, the dog would not eat. There was a kinship between their two souls that surpassed even that of a mother and her son. Neither could lie to each other, or cheat; they could not make false promises and live together.

Then, on the day when the boy passed kindergarten and passed on to his first numerical grade, the terrible thing happened. They were crossing the road. A yell of surprise, a screech of brakes, and a swerving truck. The family took him to the closest medical center. But he had died during transit.

Gloomy skies highlighted the day. The family huddled around the grave. The mother wept silently and incessantly. But the two men, one patting the mother on the back and the other standing still, shed no tear. Not even the young one, who had been forced to watch the death of a loved one so early in his life. There was an infinite sadness in his eyes, as he stared, unblinking, at the mound of earth where his one and only best friend was buried.

The mother dried her tears and picked him up, carrying him gently to their apartment. He still refused to breakdown. For the next few years, he would stare out of the window, as if remembering his times frolicking with his best friend, their many adventures, even in the first time of his life. Of course, a new one came. But none could replace the joy he had had before. His family watched sadly as he was slowly cut off from the family,
sulking.

For what use is a dog without his master?



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