She was a street waif, only 8 years old. Had been abandoned by a drug crazed mom. Never knew her dad. Was taken in by other street kids and eventually learned where to get a free meal, how to wash in restrooms and steal from department stores. She owned nothing but the clothes on her back.

It was summer. She slept outside, in a back alley, on cardboard, behind the trash bins. That’s where they found each other. A small orange and white puppy. Hungry. He licked her face. Instant love. For three days she cared for him. Fed him. Shared her scraps. Rain water in an old plastic bowl. Toilet paper tissues for bandages, she cleaned his wounds. Called him “Brick”, the color of his orange fur.

And then the woman came. Spotted them on the street, the waif carrying an orange and white puppy. Breaks shrieked. The lady jumped from the car and ran to them. It was her pup. A rare breed. Expensive. Lost thorough a trainer’s negligence. The lady looked at the pup. The lady looked at the girl. And took them both home.