The Blind Dog
‘Know what happened!’ cried the blind man. ‘This dog ran away. I should have died in a day or two, confined to my corner, no food, not an anna to earn – imprisoned in my corner. I should have perished if it continued for another day – but this thing returned-‘
‘When? When?’
‘Last night. At midnight as I slept in bed, he came and licked my face. I felt like murdering him. I gave him a blow which he will never forget again,’ said the blind man. ‘I forgave him, after all a dog! He loafed as long as he could pick up some rubbish to eat on the road, but real hunger has driven him back to me, but he will not leave me again. See! I have got this-‘ and he shook the lead: it was a steel chain this time.
Once again there was the dead, despairing look in the dog’s eyes. ‘Go on, you fool,’ cried the blind man, shouting like an ox-driver. He tugged the chain, poked with the stick, and the dog moved away on slow steps. They stood listening to the tap-tap going away.
‘Death alone can help that dog,’ cried the ribbon-seller, looking after it with a sigh.
