Petra

My dog Amber is long dead. His life is now held in the pages filled with words and pictures scribbled by me, at times in a hurry, at others more painstakingly. But a part of him I find everytime I get a glimpse of the neighborhood dog who lives across the street. His name is Petra. Amber and he were great friends, so much so that when Amber was alive, Petra was the only one from his species he wouldn't hesitate to like. The difficult dog that he was, Petra's affection would melt him alright. So on evenings it rains like this, my heart aches for Petra, who is shrinking with each day, has lost most of his teeth and is hardly to be seen. I wonder where it is that he finds a place to sleep, and fear when it will be the last that I will see of him.