This bulldog has been my companion in quiet moments and those blossomings of hilarity dogs bring. He has that look about him when he's puzzled, or excited or serious, all those emotions that are so similar to ours. He is my hot-water bottle in the middle of the night and the welcome wagon when I come home. He's my best friend.
The bulldog walked as it's kind do, as if the body were a little too wide for the legs. Grace always thought they should be taller to off-set their girth. It's face of course had that squashed look and she wondered if this breed had any respiratory problems, she made a mental note to google that when she got home. She glanced around for an owner but the people who shuffled past on their way to the offices and stores were grim faced, already distracted by the worries of their day ahead. The dog paid her not the slightest attention, it was consumed with the scents of the street and seemed docile enough. So she dug into her satchel for a piece of sandwich and held out the cheap ham and bread. Then she called to it, coaxed it. She had planned to slip her hand under a collar when it came to her, but on closer inspection she saw that it had none.