They put a shirt on me. I did not ask for a shirt. I stand very still and let it happen, the way I let most things happen.
They put a shirt on me. I did not ask for a shirt. I stand very still and let it happen, the way I let most things happen.Someday they will find this shirt in a drawer and not remember why it is dog-sized. I will not be there to explain it. That feels alright.There is writing on the shirt. It says something about me, or about a team, or about nothing. I cannot read it and I do not know which side is winning.My tongue is out and I did not put it there. It just hangs. It is doing more than the rest of me right now.The gate is behind me and open. I could go through it or not. I stayed on the rug, because the rug is where I was when the shirt went on, and no one has moved me since.
