III. Once upon a time, there was a puppy who belonged to a little boy. The puppy would watch the little boy and bring him toys, and share its bones, and try to sleep at his feet. But the little boy would turn away, and walk away, and shut his door at night. It hurt the puppy like a fist... And the little boy knew. II. Most days, the puppy kept coming back for the beatings. 'Till it wasn't canine anymore, wasn't the little boy's puppy anymore, wasn't even alive. Just a punching bag with droopey ears and a tail between its legs. After the beatings, the little boy would tiptoe around the puppy, regretting what he had done, but unable to extend his arm to carress the puppy's soft belly... to make it all better again. And the puppy knew. I. On the last day, the puppy, bruised under all its fur, dragged its body out from behind the sofa, under the coffee table, and across the living room floor to where the boy sat playing with his toys. A soft whimper and the puppy laid its head down by the little boy's feet. Finally the little boy reached down, and with the last of its life, the puppy licked the little boy's hand. The little boy cried. The puppy died. And everything was right with the world...