Down that empty, lonely road, he watched life pass him by.
From a group of teens, marched in laughter, to a hasty merchant, frown in his face. Motorcycles with kids, with mothers, with guys.
Me alone, watching the sky.
I stopped by his side for a while, wondering. But I pick him up, and put him close to my cheek.
There was not much left there, and I have many to care. But I put him inside my bag, and walk my way.
I am too early for the next line, so I sat on the floor, and open my bag. He was draping on my purse. He rolls his eyes, looking at me, but then turn away. I think he no longer care, he was ready to die.
I had to open his mouth and put bits of minced beef for him to eat. I had to drip water and milk so he can drink, I had to spray Frontline, giving up after two hours of picking healthy fleas. I can’t deworm him because he is less than an ounce, and he has protozoa kills him from the inside.
I had to wrap him in three towels to keep him warm, I had to go back and forth giving him liver broth.
I had to skip work the whole weekend, and worried I’d lost my job if I didn’t make it then.
But on Monday morning, he walked out his towel and walk on his own. He trots like little turtle, but he drink on his own.
He is skin and bone, but his nose is red.
I put him down on my bed and he sits on his own.
I call him and he looks at me.
I open my arm, and he ran toward me.