Hi, I have some very important news and it's that my mom let us have a little dog and her name is'cinnamon', although she's a street dog, I always wanted a street dog and now I have it, she's also the survivor of six puppies, she's very tender and 18cm tall, she was born on June 6th and she's like a yellow dog.
That's what I have written in my diary and I'm surprised I haven't written the whole process of how I came to adopt my pet.
Well, days before adopting her, I already knew that the dog that always came to the street of our house had given birth to six puppies. The sad thing was that the poor animals died little by little, one by one, either because their mother was very restless and forgot to finish breastfeeding them, or because someone hurt them and they became infected.
Every day there was one less and soon there were only two creatures left, they were already older and even a little clumsy, and my mother was the one who always gave them milk in a cup.
Before I adopted her, I asked my mom to see the puppies for a moment, and then my brother and I went to see them, when suddenly I saw only one dog, not two, and my mom deduced that he had the same fate as the others.
Sad that something similar to the only one left happened to her, I asked her if we could not take him home, even if it was at night, to which she replied that she did not want any more dogs, because Azabache was enough.
That night I insisted on it as much as I did my dad, and the answer was always the same. The next morning my mother woke me up and told me to run and get the dog because my father agreed to bring her, on the condition that she would sleep in the yard to look after the house. He thought the bitch would be giant and brave.
We looked for her and I remember that I spent the rest of the day playing with her, she was the smallest and tenderest thing I had ever seen, when they put her cup of milk in it, as she couldn't see well, she ended up putting her feet in the drink. It was like taking care of a baby, I had to put her to sleep every night, and if she woke up she would end up crying until someone came to see her. The problems were those days when it was raining, and she had to be put to sleep, especially in the cold.
She received a lot of hatred, so to speak, whenever relatives came to the house for a meeting, they discriminated against her because she was a streetwalker, preferring Azabache because she was of race.
It bothered me, and it still bothered me when people discriminate against a dog for not being of a breed, when they say they are ugly, fleasy, or wild, when they are not. Besides, the love of a stray dog is the most beautiful and sincere thing there is, because they thank you for having welcomed them or for giving them a simple piece of bread.
Here is a short video ↓
