The Dog

The dog was lounging in the sun nearby, his tongue lolling, outside, longer than one would expect. It was hot, the dog was sweating. There was a plate of warm water, that it slowly got up and licked. It was thankful regardless. It had big wide eyes, brown skin. It was a street dog, this was its home. The grass behind it, the lines of trees that ran parallel to the road were lush and verdant. The parks smelled of dew and were evergreen. The grass and mud felt soft, and natural. No one took care of them, they grew naturally, by their own force and power, eating the beautiful rays of light, and producing full, beautiful green things. Right next to the lines of park was a busy road. Cars thundered along it mightily. Heavy metal beasts. Sometimes there were motorcycles, smaller metal beasts. Still very heavy. And sometimes, there were trucks, ranging from small blue ones with cloth roofs, to ones with no roofs at all, that were long and could hold dozens of fat juicy cattle. The sound was deafening during busy hours. On the other side of the road it knew, was a canal. It felt no urge to go there. And yet, sometimes it did. When it was especially hot, it wanted to. But the dog had survived all these years by not crossing the busy street. It had seen others try to. And they never made it.

Footsteps sounded nearby. It raised eyes to look at the newcomers, boys laughing as they walked by. It was time for the college nearby to start. The fruit seller with the wooden cart looked at them hopefully as they walked by. They did not get anything from his stand. A rickshaw sputtered as it passed by, going deeper to the other side, from the main road, past the park, into the building and residential area. There was a line of rickshaws standing on a road just past the main road. Waiting by the offices, sometimes people took them back, sometimes the rickshaw drivers just wanted to relax.

It smelled lush and evergreen, the dog retracted its tongue, it got another few sips of water. It relieved itself by its second favorite tree. It saw a squirrel but decided not to chase it.

Another man walked by, it was not a busy time for pedestrian traffic right now. Everyone, mostly everyone, was already here. The man was carrying a long wooden stick, he passed by the dog. The dog put his head back on the ground, eyes staring forlornly ahead. The man stopped, turned around and walked back towards the dog. He lifted his head, then snapped up. The man began beating him with a stick. He yelped at first, then began to snap and growl and bark, and when that did not work, he cowered, because men like these wanted him to react, and not reacting would make it so that the man would only getting gleefully angrier.