Post by LYDIA on Nov 10, 2014 18:14:37 GMT
Black paws quietly touched the earth, only to be picked back up again as a moving shadow made her way down the dirt path. Lydia looked up at the sky as leaves slowly fell from the trees. Fall had made its appearance, and it never failed to impress her. Somehow, seeing the leaves change as a stray was far more impressive than when she had been a pet. Maybe it was the fact that she had switched places in life, gone from a beloved pet to a stray, just to make her owners happy. She had no destination in mind, just out for a walk. It was her first time in Shorebridge, and so far she thought it was a nice place. Maybe if she still liked it tomorrow, she would stay. She hadn't ever stayed in one place for a long time. There was always something that told her to keep moving on. She didn't feel that today, so maybe this was the perfect place for her. She kept an eye out for any unfriendly looking humans. After being shot at by one of them when he discovered that she’d pushed over a trash can, she was not willing to run into one again. But she had skirted past the places where the humans gathered, even though the sound of the children playing made her want to go and play with them, just as she did with the neighborhood children as a pet. It would do her no good to bring up old memories. She had started fresh, and could not afford being around humans. They wouldn't see her as a friendly pet anyways. Most likely they would just see her unkept fur and skinniness, and flee, thinking she was a wild animal.
It’d been a couple of months since she’d left her owners, and had they seen her now, they wouldn’t recognize her. She’d lost a lot of weight and her fur had lost the shininess that a good diet brought. The collar that they’d given her was gone, torn off during a chase with an angry lynx. She had been extremely lucky to get away without a scratch. She wasn't keen on going back into the woods again, especially not after that experience. It was a miracle that she had traveled all the way from Kentucky without dying. She had little experience living on her own, growing up in a kennel instead of on the streets. Maybe if she had been born as a stray, she wouldn't be the happy-go-lucky, naive dog she was.
The black Flat-Coated Retriever shook her head, dislodging a few leaves that’d fallen on her head. She wagged her tail, happy for no discernable reason. Maybe it was the fact that it was a nice day, or that she hadn’t run into any trouble. Whatever the reason, she was happy, which was normal for her. Her mood only brightened up when she saw the pond, as well as the few ducks on it. Her breed was a retriever, bred to retrieve fallen game, and that breeding had instilled a love of water in all of the retrievers. Even though her family had been bred to be a show dog for generations, the one thing it couldn’t take out was her enthusiasm for all things with water. She eagerly made her way down to the pond's edge, staring intently at the birds. Every instinct in her told her to go after them, to see if she could bring one back. Had she been trained as a hunting dog, most of the game she would bring back would be dead, but there would be times where the hunter missed, crippling the bird. And then he would send her after it, commanding her to bring back the bird that would most likely still be flapping its wings, trying to get away.
But then she remembered that it was fall, and the water would be pretty cold. The three year-old dog didn't have much of a desire to jump in the water after that thought. So she sat down on the bank, still watching the birds intently. She thought she heard a noise and jumped up, turning around to face who or whatever was there. She might be naive, but she wasn't an idiot. Even she knew better than to have her back turned away from a possible threat.
It’d been a couple of months since she’d left her owners, and had they seen her now, they wouldn’t recognize her. She’d lost a lot of weight and her fur had lost the shininess that a good diet brought. The collar that they’d given her was gone, torn off during a chase with an angry lynx. She had been extremely lucky to get away without a scratch. She wasn't keen on going back into the woods again, especially not after that experience. It was a miracle that she had traveled all the way from Kentucky without dying. She had little experience living on her own, growing up in a kennel instead of on the streets. Maybe if she had been born as a stray, she wouldn't be the happy-go-lucky, naive dog she was.
The black Flat-Coated Retriever shook her head, dislodging a few leaves that’d fallen on her head. She wagged her tail, happy for no discernable reason. Maybe it was the fact that it was a nice day, or that she hadn’t run into any trouble. Whatever the reason, she was happy, which was normal for her. Her mood only brightened up when she saw the pond, as well as the few ducks on it. Her breed was a retriever, bred to retrieve fallen game, and that breeding had instilled a love of water in all of the retrievers. Even though her family had been bred to be a show dog for generations, the one thing it couldn’t take out was her enthusiasm for all things with water. She eagerly made her way down to the pond's edge, staring intently at the birds. Every instinct in her told her to go after them, to see if she could bring one back. Had she been trained as a hunting dog, most of the game she would bring back would be dead, but there would be times where the hunter missed, crippling the bird. And then he would send her after it, commanding her to bring back the bird that would most likely still be flapping its wings, trying to get away.
But then she remembered that it was fall, and the water would be pretty cold. The three year-old dog didn't have much of a desire to jump in the water after that thought. So she sat down on the bank, still watching the birds intently. She thought she heard a noise and jumped up, turning around to face who or whatever was there. She might be naive, but she wasn't an idiot. Even she knew better than to have her back turned away from a possible threat.
