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It was 5:30 on a Tuesday morning. The air was quivering and the sunlight was yet to throb. By the time I was just about to arrive at the entrance of the joggers park ahead of a colony of dilapidated bare brick labor houses where the smell of hamaan took my by surprise, over a turn downhill, I saw a light brown (or whatever the exact colour is) dog (a labrador) run towards me. I normally get super scared at the sight of a dog starting to run towards me, and run for my life and paving way to a phenomenon known a chase.

But I didn’t. I was flabbergasted at myself. The dog leapt over me, with his forelegs reaching my upper abdomen. Then I heard his owner callout his name.

Casper!

He said.

We’d given Casper to father’s former driver, Bobby uncle, for the reason that my parents were living separately and we were moving a lot for multiple reasons, so we couldn’t take care of him properly. I felt embarrassed to not have recognized such a lovely dog with whom, though I’d spent only a couple of months, I’d started belonging to him. Perhaps it was because I was sleepy.

Bobby Uncle didn’t recognize me either, Casper kept playing with me and I with him. I’ve never had a friend like this, who had recognized me so quickly and leapt over me with so much happiness. Casper had taken care of both my father and mother in separate times. I wish I could spend more time playing with him but I can’t, he’s gone. I’ll keep bumping him from time to time I guess. I just want to keep my hand on his head and be grateful for his existence.

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On rare occasions when he’s tired after jumping around

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