There's a dog on the street, let's call her Carey. Carey's just given birth to gorgeous black pups - two that I've spotted so far, maybe more hidden in incongruous parts of the apartment block that only a resourceful mother of young pups would be savvy to.
The bitch (it's amazing how using that word within it's rightful context can give license to a writer!) - she's scrawny. I must admit that I am frankly concerned for her wellbeing. The pups look quite healthy but the mother's literally got a frame that would make Kate Moss burn with envy.
This is life in a puppy mill/ I want to run and play but I never will. I’m just a dog, and not a man / I will never understand Why life must be so cruel…
Note - It's truly amazing how, at 2:45am on Sunday morning, this issue of how to help a helpless dog is at the forefront of all my concerns! Anyway, returning to Carey, I just chucked a slightly-burnt sausage at her. She sniffed at in disdain, gave me a look of utter contempt and walked away from what could have been my late-midnight snack!
