Survival

Survival was brutal, and living on scraps was worse. A slice of stale bread landed near him, tossed carelessly by a passing stranger. Humans were strange like thatwhat was trash to one was a lifeline to another. He sniffed it, cautious but grateful, before taking a tentative bite.

Slowly, he crept toward the edge of the road. The midday traffic was a frenzied blur of cars, bikes, and honking horns, each vehicle a potential threat. One wrong move, and he’d be another forgotten smear on the asphalt.

He spotted a brief lull in the chaos and bolted across the street, his paws pounding the pavement. But just as he reached the other side, he frozechildren were heading his way. He knew their type. Some were kind, but others found cruel games in chasing or kicking strays like him.

His heart pounded as he darted behind a rusted dumpster, pressing himself against the cool metal. He held his breath, ears perked, waiting for the sound of their footsteps to fade. They passed by, oblivious, their laughter echoing like distant thunder. He peered out cautiously, relieved to see them disappear around the corner.

He knew this street well. There was a butcher a few doors down, a kind man who always tossed him a bone with some meat still clinging to it. It wasn’t much, but on days like this, it was everything.

Life was harsh for a stray dog, but for now, he had made it through another dangerous crossing, another hungry day. He padded down the alley, hopeful for a small kindness in a world that rarely offered any.