They told me she was found alone on the street. Abandoned. She was just a puppy. Then the shelter lady closed the file, looked up and said, “That’s it. That’s her story.”
If only dogs could talk.
What would Coco-Seven Sunday tell me?
Would she tell me the reason she’s afraid to go outside in our front yard? Or why she can barely stand on the sidewalk without bolting in blind panic when a car drives by? Would she tell me why she bucks like a tiny wild horse, slipping out of the pink collar she’s yet to grow into, when I tug at the leash, urging her to come explore the neighborhood with me?