|
|
I could easily get pneumonia - and if I get that, citizens, I'll die of hunger.
When you get pneumonia the only thing to do is to lie up under someone's front doorstep, and then who's going to run round the dustbins looking for food for a sick bachelor dog? I shall get a chill on my lungs, crawl on my belly till I'm so weak that it'll only need one poke of someone's stick to finish me off.
And the dustmen will pick me up by the legs and sling me on to their cart . . . Dustmen are the lowest form of proletarian life.
Humans' rubbish is the filthiest stuff there is.
Cooks vary - for instance, there was Vlas from Prechistenka, who's dead now.
He saved I don't know how many dogs' lives, because when you're sick you've simply got to be able to eat and keep your strength up.
And when Vlas used to throw you a bone there was always a good eighth of an inch of meat on it.
|
|