As the dark night started to fall over the city one August evening, a lonely, hairless, cold Chinese Crested started looking for shelter. The days started to become colder, as the month started to change to September.
He walked past houses with lights shineing in the windows. He heard joyfull laughter of children with his little ears.
He rememberd how he never had anyone who loved him. He had slept against his mothers Powder Puff coat and felt her life disappear. He felt her last breath and heard her last heart beat before she crossed the rainbow bridge. Now he was with his only brother and only sister. Alone. The other sisters and brothers had allready died of heat stoke or of some other horrible things. After his sister died of starvation and his brother of suffication he decided he needed to get away. Many had tried and died while doing that.
The poor lonely Crested listend to the other dogs in their cages, just as crouded and just as filthy, screaming while he started to dig a hole. His mother had allready begun digging, but was too sick to continue. The crates were on the ground, but they walls had been put far down in the ground so nobody could dig him or herself out.
He continued his hard task and finally, FINALLY saw the light of the sun. He was FREE!
He ran away from the place he heard people calling a puppy mill and decided he'd never return!!
He survived that summer, bathing in the rivers, eating berries and little rodents of the forrest, but something always drove him to the city like a magnet.
Mabye it was the noise of laughter, or the smell of food, or the lights in the windows that seemed to be so inviteing and warm.
Now he had been free for a couple months and felt he desperately needed somebody to love, and somebody to love him back.
That night, as he was walking on the streets of the city looking for a warm place to sleep, he saw a girl and the girl saw him.
The girl looked at him with her big blue eyes and saw his ribs that were so noticable. She saw how dirty he was and how tired. She allso saw how scared he was.
- Don't be scared, little creature, she said very quietly and warmly. - Take all the time you need and come here. I'm not going anywhere.
He hid behind two big garbage cans, but the girl still was there. He built up courage and barked, growled and showed his teeth to the girl, but she was still there. He charged and bit the girl's hand so it started to bleed a little, and she was still there. She even sat down and took a big peace of meatloaf she had in her shopping bag and put it in her hand. She reached her hand towards him and talked to him softly, nearly whisperingly. Then after she put the meatloaf on the ground, she took her warm coat off and put it on the ground beside it. Then she went inside the house, leaving the door a little open. She turned on the lights and after a while came with a bowl of water.
The poor Chinese Crested ate the meatloaf and drank the water to the last drop. Then exhausted, he fell asleep on the coat. He was so tired he didn't notice the girl who lifted him inside her house near the fire place. He didn't notice that the girl lit up the fireplace or that she took a little peace of cloth, soaked it up in warm soap water and cleaned him up. She even cut his nails and cleaned his teeth while he was so out of it.
Now he was clean, warm, fed and loved and he didn't even know it.
The following day, he noticed he was still in the house, the girl took out a plate and put some dog food on it. Then she took a bowl and put clean water in it.
Later on she took the reluctent dog to the vet, who gave him his shots, dewormed him and checked him up completely.
He even got a name. Tom.
Several months went by. The two got closer and closer to eachother. Finally they were inseperable.
After a year had gone by since he had first met the girl, he started to think back. Everything he wanted, everything he desired, everything he didn't have. He had now. But still, he woke up crying every night by the meer thought of hís brothers, sisters and mother who lost their life because of one stupid human beeing who saw only money instead of the importance of one life.
Still Tom wonders what it could have been like if he would have been born in anohter place at another time. Would anything be any diffirent? Would his sisters, brothers and parents still be alive?
But would he then have met the girl he now loves so completely?

/Crest

"The eyes are the windows to once soul, but the heart is the door that takes you there." © M.S

Beautiful story, Crested....


Proudly owned by Honey,Licky & Mee Mee

Thank you sheltie. I don't know where theese stories of mine come from, but they seem to manage to come a little now and then.

"The eyes are the windows to once soul, but the heart is the door that takes you there." © M.S

*Sigh* That's a pretty story. Did you write that? Miia, you just gave me an idea of another section I could open at CFP. A "pet story" section. I just wonder if they'll be enough submittals to keep it updated. What do you think?

We have another CFP member "All Around Animal Lover" who writes beautiful stories as well. I think she'll grow up to be an author -- or at least, she should. She's talented.

Yes I wrote that story myself. Actually, I didn't even use any programmes like Word or anything. I don't have it on my computer. It just popped into my head when I was here, so I had to write it down.
It's hard to tell if there will be enough stories to keep up the forum, but... A page with stories would be pretty fun.

"The eyes are the windows to once soul, but the heart is the door that takes you there." © M.S

Great Story! You have a great talent!

Bravo! Excellent story. Is there a part 2?

Gloria: This mights sound stupid, but I don't know. I can never decide what kind of story it is going to be. I just start writing and the story builds up by it self. I never even think "Now I have to write a story." it just comes.
Sometimes I write the stories down, sometimes I don't.
It begins with an idea wich can be just one word that pops into my head.
I start writeing and then the story gets it's life. I imagine everything I write in my head. So I write what I imagine.

Argh! Now I got an idea for a poem of the wotd "imagine". This is sometimes annoying.

Immagination:

The boring life,
starts to take a turn,
as the images in your head,
start to make you day dream.
The images play like a movie in your head,
in living color and the sound's allso there.
You never know what's going to happen,
it's like watching a brand new film.
But at the same time, your hands work
and write the film down.
This is what I call immagination.

Hmm... That wasn't my best work, but that's what came in my head.

I know... I'm weird. According to this test on the internet I'm 30% psychopath, so I guess that explains it.

"The eyes are the windows to once soul, but the heart is the door that takes you there." © M.S

a pet story section would be kewl! crested ur good at that.

Beautiful story!!!!!