One evening, a dog trotted along the edge of a village, carefully holding a piece of meat in his mouth. It was not a large piece, but it was good, and he carried it with his head held high so the dust would not touch it.
He had found it near a butcher’s block as the day’s trade was ending, and now he wanted a quiet place of his own, where he could lie down under a willow root and eat in peace. Ahead of him ran a narrow river, crossed by a plank bridge worn smooth by carts, shoes, and many small feet.
As the dog stepped onto the bridge, the water moved between the reeds below, carrying pale bits of the sky. At first, he looked down only once, just to place his paws carefully on the boards.
But there, in the river, another dog seemed to be walking beneath him. That dog also held a piece of meat in its mouth, and in the water it looked broad and dark. For a moment, it even seemed larger than his own.
The dog stopped in the middle of the bridge. His paws stayed still, but his eyes did not, and he bent his neck lower. If he could take that piece as well, he would have two: one for now and one for later. The thought came quickly, as such thoughts do.
He gave a short, muffled sound through his closed jaws, as if to warn the other …
6 chapters
