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His eyes rested
on his faithful shadow, a British Bulldog called Fury, eighteen month’s old,
twenty-inches in height stretching its muscular body. That is etched with scars
and nicks resulting from professional dog fighting and rat-catching. Bulldog rubbed against thy master’s
legs. He got down on one knee
cuddled it hard, pouring his heart out to it, kissing repeatedly the animal’s
bullhead, and stroking its muscle body with respect. It barked growled licking his face and hands happy just to
be beside him. They had a special
friendship. Fury was a major
player in his life. To look at a
fighting-dog observers can only admire it. It would not break hearts.
Four star review by goodreads as want to read.
ReplyDelete“You’re right about the world it drowns in hate.”
ReplyDeleteThe history of the world continues to be violent no one can correct it.
ReplyDeleteThe violent world again turns calm no one can respect it.
The violent world again returns no one can prevent it.
The violent world again resumes no one can protect us.
The violent things God does to us no one is born to be special.
“Quick Tom it’s happened Ratter’s in heat. For god sakes hurry! She’s going crazy to get outside if we don’t’ hurry. She’ll burst the door open to get what she wants. Fury must be First to mount Ratter. Come on Tom, hurry hurry.”
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