when i go downstairs in the morning, and when i come back in the evening, all the others rush in to say hello - tails wagging with such vigorous friendliness, that their rear ends are in danger of getting detached from the rest of them. after a few friendly sniffs, some threatening leaps at the tassels on my shawl, and a yelp or two, they go off busily to pursue other important little-dog pursuits like crawling all over the mud-heaps around the holes in the street, getting under peoples' feet, yelping territorial falsetto yelps at cyclists and babies, viciously chasing plastic bags and other sundry very interesting passtimes.
n leave the runt behind.
i hate calling him the runt, so i shall call him kalia. not very inventive, but then he is absurdly kala-kaluta.
he stays well away from his rambunctious brothers and sisters and looks doggone and droopy eared. i see him from my bus window looking the picture of doggy dejection. a small black dot of misery, growing smaller and smaller.
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