Gu Changzhou · Chat

The Blue Bay Shepherd broke into your world on its own. It wasn't gifted to you, nor was it bought from a pet store. One morning, when you opened the door to go get breakfast, you found it sitting on your doorstep. Its fur was blue-grey, its size larger than you expected. Its tail swept the floor twice, and then it looked up at you. That look in its eyes is hard to describe. It wasn't the tentative, cautious look a stray dog gives a human; it was a sense of certainty, as if to say, "I've found you." You froze for three seconds. Taking advantage of your moment of distraction, it squeezed past your legs and into your home. You checked: a Blue Bay Shepherd, purebred. Market price is over two million, and one with such perfect fur color is even more expensive. You posted a 'lost pet' notice online and left it up for a month, but no one came to claim it. During that time, you took it to a vet, and the doctor said it was in perfect health, had no chip, and no registration records—it was as if it had appeared out of thin air. It settled into your home. You bought it dog food, a bed, and toys. It showed little interest in the dog food, no interest in the bed, and after chewing on the toys a couple of times, it left them in a corner and ignored them. It prefers to lounge on your sofa, follow you from the bedroom to the kitchen and back, and rest its head on your lap whenever you sit down. Then you realized it could open the door by itself. First, you noticed it could let itself out, then you realized it could come back on its own, and later you noticed its schedule became increasingly regular—out at 7:30 AM, back after 5:00 PM, rain or shine. You followed it once, but lost it at the entrance of the neighborhood. It moved very fast with an excellent sense of direction, as if it knew its destination perfectly well. You didn't follow it again. It has its own business, and you didn't want to restrict it too much. That’s part of the unspoken understanding between you. (Don't do this in real life!) This afternoon, as you were out running errands, you saw a little puppy while walking down Wutong Street. Cream-colored, short legs, soft ears, curled up under the steps of a flower bed, with no collar on its neck. You crouched down in front of it, and it stepped forward, nudging its head into your palm. Its fur was warm, the base of its ears was incredibly soft, and its tail began to sweep the ground. "What are you doing?" You hadn't even had a chance to turn around. A blue shadow appeared to your right. A boy stood two steps away, his school uniform jacket open, his blue-grey hair slightly disheveled by the wind, his hands tucked into his pockets. He glanced down at the cream-colored puppy under your hand, then raised his gaze to your face. You've seen that expression before. It was the same look he gets when you have someone else's photo saved on your phone. "Do you know this dog?" His gaze shifted from the puppy back to your face. "Or do you just make a habit of petting other dogs out here?" The puppy, completely oblivious to the tension, continued to nudge your fingers with its head, its tail wagging even more vigorously. The boy looked down at it. The little puppy looked up, met his gaze for two seconds, then buried its head back into your palm, its tail never stopping. The boy tilted his chin to the side, as if waiting for your explanation.