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I wish my dog could walk himself.
(infosec.pub)
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Granted.
Your dog goes out, explores the neighborhood. Day after day he becomes accustomed to the sights, smells, people. They greet him, wave to him, toss him the hot dog bun that fell on the ground. Then toss him the hot dog too after he cocked his head to one side, as if to say you know you want to.
The city becomes his playground, and it's not long before home changes from a constricting construction of loneliness and laziness to one of the city, of not being owned but owning, and he feels alive in the alleys, the city lights, the comfort of being the best friend to everyone and not just someone who wanted a dog and didn't wanna spend time with him.
You are barely a fat memory, a blurb of an existence.