Write an original short story which elobrates the friendship of a boy and his dog
Answers
The roads were full of snow ,all the streets and shops were decorated ,every colonies were filled with the .mist of bells , off course it was a christmas eve .All people around dressed in heavy clothes moving on the roads ,but no one noticed the boy sitting at a side of post box glaring at the people passing by and shrinking more and more as that cold was enough to pass through his simple dirty shirt , naked head and bare foots.
The boy had a packet of candel ,to be sold which he might have stolen from the shop he was doing work at earlier.He had tried to sell some so he can alteast get something to eat , but its glow was nothing as compared to electronic lights and bulbs. The place he was sitting at wasnt enough to protect him from cold, so he decided to sit in a corner made by intersection of two houses.As he ascended he saw a dog , pretty messed up in dirt with a red collar shivering , he might be a pet dog excluded from the family .Boy went near to him , in starting the dog was scared and closed his eyes expecting he was about to be hitted by the boy.But soon he felt the warm , he was the boy holding him in his arms tightly which kept them warm .
There was a sound of roaring , it was dog and boy was hungry as they havent ate from a few days .It was like the dog understood he escaped from the hands of boy and starting wagging his tail in front of every shop and soon a bakery shop owner gave him a bread.He took that in his mouth and went running to the boy and putted the bread in front of boy .The boy smilied anf they both shared the bread.Hopefully they got enough to escape from one of their problems that was hunger but they wasnt able to escape from their biggest problem that was sevre cold .In the morning mist , the roads were full of snow and in one colony in a corner of intersection of two houses there was freezed bodies of a boy holding a dog with their body covered with a thin layer of ice. But the friendship they had made was still alive .
When I was very young — I must have been about eight or nine — I had an imaginary dog. At least, I’m told it was imaginary. My mother assures me I did not have a real dog until I was fourteen: a black-and-white sort-of-kelpie called Jerry that
I didn’t like very much because he was crazy.
I remember Jerry well because he’d bark a lot and chase the spores that rays of sunlight lit up as they streamed through my bedroom window while I was trying to study in the afternoons. He’d yap at them and jump on my bed and I’d have to take him outside and throw a tennis ball at him until he’d settle. Yeah, I remember him — but this other dog I remember just as well was a different one. A light brown, almost yellow, labrador that was very calm and used to lay his head in my lap while I was reading and smile when I stroked his head. The memory is vivid — but, as I say, my mother assures me we never had a dog apart from Jerry. Now, I know memories are notoriously unreliable but, for a while, I simply couldn’t believe that Tim (that was the dog’s name) had never existed. My mother is quite elderly and I wondered at first whether it was her memory that couldn’t be trusted. But she told me I certainly used to talk to her about Tim when I was young: she thought at the time it must have been a dog I played with on the way home from school; that is, until she found me ‘playing’ with him in the backyard.
Apparently I was running about and laughing and hugging the air and throwing sticks and worrying everybody unnecessarily. I’m not sure who the ‘everybody’ was but the lady from the NHSA didn’t seem too bothered by it when my mother took me in and made me tell her about our adventures. I was quite happy to relay one or two of our more dangerous escapades and, at her request, even draw a picture of the most hair-raising one with the special soft crayons she had called Cray-Pas (a small packet of which I was allowed to keep).
It was the time Tim and I crossed that river. Of course, there was no river at all near my suburban Adelaide home; there was a storm drain and there was a creek up at Brown Hill but nothing that resembled the raging torrent that almost swept Tim and me away.