|The grief of the breeding dogs - HH 4/25/1997|
|A month ago, I saw a "Chihuahua" as I passed through a traditional market.
She seemed anxious and frightened. I could tell she just got abandoned.
I bent my knees and called out to catch her attention. She hesitated for a moment, then crawled slowly and gently towards me. As I held her up, I found something shocking:
Like the pigs raised in the farm, the edge of her ear was marked triangle with cut. I then realized she was an abandoned breeding dog from a puppy mill. Any small dog that has been grown in a segregated environment, once abandoned will hardly survive on its own for over half month. How about she had only few teeth left!
I went to the supermarket nearby and bought a can of dog food for her. I watched her swallowed the food fast, wondered if she ever chewed. Mildly, I padded her body. My sympathy for her seemed to encourage me to take her home. Struggling with myself, I knew I couldn't do so. My little shelter had been adopting too many dogs. It was already full.
I took a business trip three days later. A day before I went abroad, I had been to see her again. I looked at her and said this to myself: If you are still here when I come home, I will try whatever I could to help you.
Unfortunately, I came back a week late than what I had expected; she was gone. Even though her leaving was predictable, it still made me sad. I didn't bother to ask anyone around the market about her. I knew people in the market were too busy making moneys, no one would care the existence of an abandoned dog.
- translated by Violet on 7/11/1998