Fate is Hard
He wasn't a puppy, exactly, but still too young to call him an adolescent. He was by his own, perhaps disowned by his mother. He may never have had and may never will have a master. He is too sickly to be wanted. Like many of his type you might call him a ‘mutt.’ He is a stray dog; like so many in
We were walking a trail eastbound and there he lies part cuddled, part up. He was flee-infected and was working with his snout to his leg, addressing the disease of itch. He was patchy-- bald in places-- and we felt sorry for him.
After the evening's fresh rainfall he had made the moist path his residence for the night. Now that traffic picked up, like us trekkers, he would most likely move on, forever miserable in his existence. He was ugly, and being that he was so young I personally wondered what chance he had for any kind of real life.
If he should live to puberty he may look for a mate. Food will certainly be a priority. He'll get sleep. I assume he'll have some fights but hopefully the packs of jackals will be leaving him unnoticed.
Again, I felt for him. I or we left him with a mantra as we passed by him on this quiet and sometimes harsh trail. Fate is hard.
May the Source be with you!