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From my window, I can see the dog nextdoor. He is curled up in a corner in the morning sun. When the sun goes higher up, he will move to some place not visible to me. Usually that happens when I am busy getting breakfast. So I have never seen him get up and walk away.

I can see that he is a senior dog. He has lost fur in patches all over his body. His ribs stick out. He is mostly skin and bones. I wonder if he is ill or if it is old age. His face, with the floppy Labradorean ears, rests on his old legs. His posture to me seems one of defeat. Does anyone cuddle him, I wonder. I wish I could.

In a break from routine, today there was a man standing in the backyard smoking. From where he lay, the dog raised his head to look at the man. He seemed to debate whether to make the effort to get up and go. After a while, he pulled himself up and slowly walked to the man.

The man scarce gave the dog a glance, but the dog looked at him and slowly wagged his tail, then sat down as if tired. Come on, give him a pat on the head, I silently urged the man. You are either his master or someone he knows closely. He even got up to walk over to you!

But the man drew on his cigarette and totally ignored the dog. After a while the man walked away and the dog after thinking things over for a while, followed at a slower pace. Maybe it was time for him to go to his next spot, or get some breakfast.

Looking down at the scene from our third floor window, the L&M and I turned away with heavy hearts. ‘How different the lives of dogs are!’ he said. ‘Luci lived with us inside the house and was loved. Here is one spending its final days out in the open, sleeping on bare ground with no one even bothering to say a word to it!’

I don’t know their story, so will refrain from commenting further. But yeah, I do feel for the dog, very badly.

© Shail Mohan 2022