In my later years, feeling isolated, I thought a dog might fill the emptiness in my life.
One day, I found him in the street—dirty, hungry, and in need of help. I petted him, and he followed me without hesitation. From that moment, he became mine, and I became his owner.
We communicate in our own way, with him showing his love by licking my hands. "Fido, tomorrow we might not have much to eat, the pension is running out," I tell him. He shakes with excitement, knowing that despite everything, he’ll be by my side.
On that blessed day, I stand in line with the other pensioners, clutching the worn booklet in my hands, eagerly waiting. Fido’s joy is palpable, knowing that today we’ll have a little extra food.
As winter sets in and the house remains cold without a fire, Fido stays close, offering me warmth. When spring arrives, we give thanks for the sunshine together, and from the depths of my heart, I say a prayer: "Thank you, Lord, for creating the dog."
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