Two poor man dogs

Once, last year, a veterinarian asked us to help an old woman from a village. We helped her with her dogs, because she had nothing to feed them. It doesn't matter which doctor, which old woman, or which village. And we went to the old woman's house to do a social survey about the welfare of the dogs and to ask her why she needed any more dogs if she couldn't take care of them. And if he has no food, then where is he dewormed and vaccinated? All the questions on our tongue remained unanswered. They remained in the knots in the neck and in the rail files. For once stepped into Grandma's yard, the first feeling was one of shame. For here we met the hunger that looked at us through the eyes of both dog and man. If I didn't understand where to turn to pity, not even for whom it was. When people feel sorry for themselves, it's because they still have something that others don't have. Mila places you in a superior position, somewhere above the other, and maintains the illusion that you are a good man and that you care. It was pity for hunger, it was hard to accept, it was overwhelming and unfair. So I let go of my pity and my questions, I chose my shame and guilt.

Grandmother? Small and dry, brought from behind, years and worries, work and loneliness. Our eyes fell on his cracked, gnarled hands. And on his worked nails. Poor grandmother. The dogs? Two Pekingese both fit in a backpack and there was still room. They were housed in a rabbit cage. Then I glanced at the bowl in which they had food. Boiled potatoes. There was nothing more to say, no more words. And in our souls a carousel of feelings. Grandma gave us the dogs with her cracked hands. He didn't drive them away, he didn't take them into the woods. And when he couldn't, he made them feel better. But what was in his soul we would never know.

The dogs arrived well, on the fluff. They forgot about Grandma. But Grandma didn't forget about them. It's been a long time since then. Time does not heal, but what you do with time. Grandma's story didn't heal either. And our thoughts flee to that wound left open and gaping. And we, discarded by the feeling of pity and compassion, have just finished the series of winter holidays with tons and mountains of food thrown in the trash. Time when hunger looks at us through the eyes of people and animals. Sometimes it seems indecent to eat, with so much hunger around. But to understand it, you have to go down there among them.

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