Help Came Too Late



I know the sounds of the cars and trucks of my friends, and my enemies, too. Some are kind, some are unkind, but this is where I live. Once I had a home. I remember being safe. I remember being fed. Now I live here.

I have some friends who come and give me food. I am appreciative of these people, but cannot understand why they won’t take me somewhere safe.

I have bad skin. I haven’t always had bad skin and itches, but now I do. Perhaps that is why some people are mean to me. Perhaps that is why no one will take me home.

I am called Louis. I am called GB. I am called mean names, too, but I cannot listen to that. I am happy when my friends come, and I am frightened when the mean people come.

The mornings are busy, many cars, many people coming to walk the track. Some people bring me food. One lady gives me pills. She says the pills are to help my skin. It helps for a while.

Some people are frightened by the way I look. I try not to scare them. I am quiet and gentle, but many never see that, all they see is my skin.