Bread is my dog, I adopted him on July First of this year. We spent a whole day to find each other, in more than 700 dogs and a few men.
Bread has its birth date, which is unknown to me, I took the day he put his eyes on me as his birthday. He is small, skinny and humble, even as a puppy.
The first journey we traveled together was from the crowded shelter to the pet clinic. He got carsick and vomited badly on his ID certificate, which is simple and poor in handwriting. On that paper he was addressed as "little kid".
He got shaved at the operating table, I hardly bore looking at those scars and lice bites, the doctor advised an in-patient treatment for him. I nodded, sadly and quietly. On the way home, "Bread" came to my mind as his name, the doctor said its shaved body looked like white bread, and I was thinking of manna from heaven as my spirit food.
At that moment, I made the commitment to him and myself.
The day ended its one week treatment was a festival, he walked in a shy and cute gait, stopped and stared at each and every thing new, and finally came to my home with all the hesitation. I treated him with a bite of banana, which is his first one and I thought it will be his last one, since afterwards the doctor reprimanded me harshly for banana not for dog food.
He learned to sleep, eat, and figured out by himself the rules in this new place. I tried to soften myself in many ways, the odour, the spit, even the mid-night stroll. He awoke me daily and squeezed my spare time ruthlessly, he bite me recklessly and ruined my rugs and plants, but he accompanied me morning and night, sunshine or rainstorm, with his innocent eyes looking up at me.
He brought great pleasure to my life, and attracted many new people and things to my world.
He grew up and I got old.
This was his first fall, when he was chasing those fallen leaves, I told to myself. The doctor told me that he might live up to 10 to 15 years. He might not know, but I keep it to my heart.
September 2013
