Chapter Four: Barbie Pink
The hot, midday sun burned my back as I walked. It was unbearable; I felt that there could be nothing better than to simply melt into a puddle, joining my sweaty paw prints, but I struggled on. I had no idea what neighbourhood I was in, having left the country lanes hours ago, and the last traces of breakfast had long disappeared. I hoped there would be an open dumpster around here soon. I couldn't reach the tops on four legs and couldn't risk being seen on two legs.
To my right, a door opened, bringing with it the mouth watering aroma of a good, old fashioned Sunday roast. Mrs. Potter's lovely cooking seemed a million years ago.
"Tilly!" A voice called. I followed it through a gap in the fence. It was lucky I'd gotten so thin.
"Here girl!" She whistled. I hesitated. I could never pass as this domesticated Tilly, since I was quite obviously a stray.
Then I saw Tilly.
She ran forward, bark- no, yapping ecstatically. I stared. Her claws scraped and scratched against the weedy paving stones. The Barbie pink claws seemed somehow more repulsive than the remains of the fox earlier that morning. Tilly's huge ears seemed to flap in the nonexistent midday breeze, and her tan coloured muzzle was directed at the stupidly pink bowl of leftovers, so she never saw me. I was relieved; pink claws were one thing, but a chihuahua was another thing altogether.
I backed away, heading back toward the jagged hole in the fence in fence I'd come in through. But I was too late.