Post by Vrancho on Mar 30, 2013 10:48:42 GMT -5
He lies in a puddle of apricot fur, reflecting the sun, his aureate eyes sparkling with love as he remembers his mother and father, and his siblings, but now, since the blizzard, he hasn't seen them, and oh, how heartsick he is, it can't be described, especially when such a small puppy has to bear it, but really it's unbearable, and he was beginning to give up.
Klipto could not hunt very well; he was very small for a Golden Retriever, or a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier, for that matter, even though he had both in his blood, he was also odd in his aureate eyes. These were the things that Klipto was bothered by most, because he was constantly teased about his size and eye color.
Now the little pup begins to stir, his awkward little body pushing itself up, hind end first, like a baby calf, which he was also mocked for, that and his very large appetite. But who could blame him for his large appetite because he was so small that it seemed he never ate, and so he got hungry, just like the rest of them. He ate only what he was hungry for.
Klipto is fully up, his pert little nose sniffing all the world. His little paws ache from traveling, the one thing he hates more than being separated from his family. The woods seems to call out to him, in dark, husky whispers, calling his name, passing it through the trees, like a secret of doom, and the sun does not give the grace of giving him a refreshing day. No. Instead it is scorching weather that singes his fur and the dust gets in his eyes.
So the only thing to do was to try to get shade in the woods. But there was no woods nearby, and he had to get out of the heat as soon as possible, and not faint like he had just done. It was wretched to have long fur, but, thanks to his mostly Golden Retriever blood, he wasn't suffering as much as he knew his family to be, if they were even alive.
He began to wander around, going right, and then he remembered that the Bumble Bee Cinema was this way, so perhaps he would find some shelter there. If not he would go the other way.
It was not until he reached the Cinema that he sensed other dogs. Suddenly he beheld a white shepherd of some sort, and a brown Newfoundland. He instinctively felt, for some reason, like they were family, or relatives.
"You are, who?"
Klipto could not hunt very well; he was very small for a Golden Retriever, or a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier, for that matter, even though he had both in his blood, he was also odd in his aureate eyes. These were the things that Klipto was bothered by most, because he was constantly teased about his size and eye color.
Now the little pup begins to stir, his awkward little body pushing itself up, hind end first, like a baby calf, which he was also mocked for, that and his very large appetite. But who could blame him for his large appetite because he was so small that it seemed he never ate, and so he got hungry, just like the rest of them. He ate only what he was hungry for.
Klipto is fully up, his pert little nose sniffing all the world. His little paws ache from traveling, the one thing he hates more than being separated from his family. The woods seems to call out to him, in dark, husky whispers, calling his name, passing it through the trees, like a secret of doom, and the sun does not give the grace of giving him a refreshing day. No. Instead it is scorching weather that singes his fur and the dust gets in his eyes.
So the only thing to do was to try to get shade in the woods. But there was no woods nearby, and he had to get out of the heat as soon as possible, and not faint like he had just done. It was wretched to have long fur, but, thanks to his mostly Golden Retriever blood, he wasn't suffering as much as he knew his family to be, if they were even alive.
He began to wander around, going right, and then he remembered that the Bumble Bee Cinema was this way, so perhaps he would find some shelter there. If not he would go the other way.
It was not until he reached the Cinema that he sensed other dogs. Suddenly he beheld a white shepherd of some sort, and a brown Newfoundland. He instinctively felt, for some reason, like they were family, or relatives.
"You are, who?"
Words: 435
Notes: Whoo hoo good to be back.
Muse: Molly and Klipto.
Tune: Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head
Tag: Klipto, Winnie, Max
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