The bitch

She was there stumbling over stones,
on the road.
Shivering in cold,
Feeling my hold,
lids half closed,
so frail and tiny.
She dined milk,
a longing lick
for the boned and bogged
tum of hers.
She was blind,
I didn't know.
Her stumbling legs
pawing in air,
Tiny thin tail
Swirling around
to play.
The next morning
All I heard was her scream
somewhere.
She was there,
her lightless eyes
reflecting them,
She was there,
No blood,
No wounds,
No scars,
And no breath.