She's always lived in this house- this house with its big windows and middle class wallpaper and average garden. She knows it's not a bad life, really- she's feed and walked and patted-gingerly. She knows it not bad, because she always sees him outside, a ragged scruffy dog with naked ribs and scars. And he always grins at her, a lopsided loose-tongue thing, though she thinks he must hate her- the sleek dog in the pretty decent house with her mannerly people, the one who gets two generous meals a day. And it goes on for years- she gets her two square meals, she refuses to sit and beg, and he stands on the other side of the fence and smiles at her.
Until she doesn't see him anymore, and assumes he's gone the way of most rogues- taken or dead or dying. She's upset, though she never spoke a word to him, the under-privileged. She never asked about his scars, never counted his ribs. She must be getting sentimental in her old age, she concludes, but after that food doesn't go down as easy as it did before. Her people seem worried, she guesses, and they coo at her more than they ever did, but something in her now enjoys their incessant petting.
Then comes the day when her neighbour brings home with him a strange smell, an odour not entirely unfamiliar. A new dog, she thinks, and sullenly thinks of having to put up with a yapping puppy, having to teach it manners, of all things. The next day, she hobbles out to investigate, sniffing suspiciously against the fence line. Through a gap in the white wooden slats, she glimpses a dog cautiously circling the central bird bath. He is black and tan and white, all over, and though she can see his scars, she can't see his ribs. She huffs in surprise, and he turns; after a moment, that trademark sloppy grin is on his face as though he never left. In her surprise- she can't help- she grunts and sits down, forgetting for a moment she refuses to sit for anyone at all. It's a personal policy, after all.
the dog au which no one asked for
in which sable is a border collie and strong a collie x german shepherd thing
you are welcome