I can’t help but write a story about pictures I see.
This one reads something like this:
It got colder than I expected, something like thirty degrees colder. I hadn’t turned on the heat when I left at six thirty this morning, and when I got home poor Barny was freezing. As a Vizsla, he doesn’t have all that much hair – or fat. I dropped my purse and coat, and gathered him up in his blankee, holding him on my lap until his shivers stopped. When I got up to make dinner, he wanted to stay where he was on the couch, watching me.