Our neighborhood is not new and has colors that have gone out of fashion. Among the buildings are built shelters that house the rainy afternoons children's squares in black. Under another shelter is a house of veterinarians, and I often see their animals carried: cages, pet paws, cats, dogs, rabbits, birds...

There I saw the scene. When I was leaving the children in school, a man and a woman entered the veterinary office. The man was not very tall, a simple man, quite young and with black hair. He was holding a dog in his arms, a big dog. She was next to the man, willing to help.

When I got closer, I heard crying from another place. There were two women crying from the distance, watching the scene, standing, waiting. So, I looked back at the dog. They were wearing a blanket.

I thought he'll be sick...

But no, of course. As I approached, I joined the pieces of this little puzzle. I looked better at the dog, and I realized that they only looked at their feet. He also had his head covered. Then I realized the dog was dead. The man was dead in his arms. They entered the veterinary office with a dead dog.

So, I also cried a little, just a few tears, unintentionally, unaware. I felt a pity, suddenly, without thinking much, for that great dog, and for the pity that all those people had to feel, for the emptiness that I had to feel in the next few days; for their big, stuffed, maybe joyful dog. and for accompanying.

Then I thought that this is how we humans are, able to feel sorry for others, to worry about others. Strength and weakness of humanity.

For example:

The woman has put the plant in the sun. Think he was wrong where he was so far. "She needs light," she thinks.

That little violet orchid that he gave me has not been able to endure the summer. I had to get out of his little pot and throw away the recycle bin. As I cast it out, I have seen its slender and weak roots, totally dried, and I have felt sorrow and a little desire to cry.

The bird was on the sidewalk. He couldn't fly, and the man has taken it very carefully. He puts it in a box and gives it some water. In five minutes I was no longer in the box. It was flying. What a joy.

The snail runs through the reel peacefully. It goes slowly, but it goes. The child takes it very carefully and leaves it in the herbs on the shores. Just in case.

"Open the window, mom, to get that bumblebee out," the daughters tell me. And it's gone.

Etc.