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Life is too short for boring stories

She was very small, but she did not want to be alone, she wanted to be with the big ones, even if she did not advance her short legs so quickly. It does not matter. She did her best. Just do not be alone. So she hopped behind the others. No matter where. Also on the road when it had to be.

There was no one to look after her. This is perhaps too much said. This dog-pack had probably a home, a garden, and someone who fed them, but otherwise they were entirely left to themselves. They were just there, like the flowers in the meadow, and if they were not there anymore, it would be just as good. Now and then a she-dog was pregnant, bore puppies and they were there. Again a few more dogs to feed. It was noted with a shrug. On the last roll, there were four puppies. She was the smallest, actually she needed it to sit somewhere. Every now and then one of the other dogs allowed it, but mostly it was taken away. After all, she had to get used to it. And so she ran after. She always tried not to lose the connection.

On this warm spring day they had laid down on the street. The asphalt was warm and pleasant. They lay there lazily, but always alert, ready to jump at risk and run away. She lay in the middle of them, when the buzzing sounded and a motorcycle rushed. Immediately the big ones jumped up and were with a set of them. She also followed their example, but her short legs did not like her. It would only have been a single leap. Perhaps she had just chosen the wrong direction in panic because she felt a pain in the side as the front wheel grasped it and hurled it to the side. As if stunned, she remained lying while the motorcycle pulled away and left her alone. Like their fellow-citizens. The pain now dragged through her whole body. Desperately, she tried to push her side, away from the street, but her legs failed her. She whined. As loud as she could. People passed by. Chatted. Laughed. Looked serious. She whined. Someone would hear. They listened to them, but they were not distracted. Even she did not cry as loudly she could.

Not for a moment during the next few hours that she was seriously wounded in the street, she did not ask a single moment about the meaning or nonsense of her life, about value or unworthiness, necessity, or unnecessary, for she only wanted one. Life. She did not ask because there was nothing to ask. With all her strength, without thinking about it, she struggled for her life, which had just begun to run. Contrary to all the ignorance and indifference that surrounded her, she fought, and she would not stop until she had no strength. Until the last breath, a life that might not have been, and yet was. She wanted to live, because it was just so that she was here and had that very life. She defended this. Just as she understood.

Hours, and she sensed that her powers were dwindling, but she did not let herself be puzzled, but whimpered until she heard human voices coming closer but not distant, like all the others. Only then, when she felt herself lifted, she closed her eyes and stopped whining, for her life was now in those hands, and she trusted. Unconditionally. She did not know what they do with her, but she did not hesitate. For life does not ask. It’s easy.

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