In the tapering lane of the busy thoroughfare lived Jack. A black street dog with white patches on his face. His family included two siblings and his parents. They often begged for food at the doorsteps of every person, some liked them but some treated them so cruelly that they were left with deep wounds. For me Jack was the favourite, hmm. Because he was good looking and smart. At times I think why God gave them such a life, Jack faced too many toil in his early life, at his first birthday he lost his father, killed by an arrogant speedy.
Now the head of his family was Jack, he brought food for both his mother and brother. On one Sunday morning before going to church I heard a loud cry, I ran to see Jack crying at the door post with great sorrow he barked. I understood something was wrong. Jack's mom had gone missing, it took four days until we found her. Bathed in the black water of the gutters, she laid on the manhole cover, dead and no more. It was a moment that I can never forget. After seeing their mother dead, the dogs cried till morning; they ate no food nor water. It was on the next day, we planned to send them to a pet home. But Jack wanted to stay with me. And it seemed cruel to send his orphan brother alone to the pet house. So they both lived with us for the rest of the time. We had fun, Jack loved playing with us. But his brother Ron often remained sick and could not enjoy the fun. We consulted a vet but before we could do anything he was dead. We mourned the death of Ron. For us he was a family member. And after six long years he left me. My first best buddy. From then onwards, I don't see any stray dogs near the street. And every year on 3rd June, we celebrate Jack's birthday in such a way as if he is alive.