| Two weeks after my arrival Fox died just after sunset
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| I was stretched out on the bed when he approached
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| And tried painfully to jump up he wagged his tail nervously
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| Since the beginning he hadn’t touched his bowl once
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| He had lost a lot of weight
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| I helped him to settle on my lap
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| For a few seconds he looked at me
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| With a curious mixture of exhaustion and apology
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| Then, calmed, he closed his eyes
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| Two minutes later he gave out his last breath
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| I buried him beside the residence
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| At the western extremity of the land
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| Surrounded by the protective fence
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| Next to his predecessors
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| During the night a rapid transport
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| From the Central City dropped off an identical dog
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| They knew the codes and how to work the barrier
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| I didn’t have to get up to greet them
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| A small white and ginger mongrel
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| Came toward me wagging its tail
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| I gestured to him
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| He jumped on the bed and stretched out beside me
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| Love is simple to define
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| But it seldom happens in the series of beings
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| Through these dogs we pay homage to love
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| And to its possibility
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| What is a dog but a machine for loving
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| You introduce him to a human being giving him the mission to love
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| And however ugly, perverse, deformed or stupid this human being might be
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| The dog loves him, the dog loves him |