Some breeds are born that way

The fat glossy stray faces away from us and towards the sun

So we both glimpse the tiny jeweled bow

Attached to her neck by a ribbon

We giggle together but then think two different things

I think people adorn the street animals

So they’re cuter and more likely

To garner scraps of meat

She says the poor thing doesnt have a tail

Which means someone psychotic

Must’ve cut or burned it off

I grab her hand and say

Hey, maybe not

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