My master had always been a lonely man.
Though he is helpful and considerate to others, I could tell that he felt that he does not belong anywhere. My mother and father had each other. They were sweet, and they would take walks together.
But no matter how many friends and acquaintances my master has, he walks alone.
I could tell when we take strolls in the little village. Though he smiles at me, there is a sadness in his eyes that he seemed to be born with.
"It's nice out here, isn't it?"
I would respond with an agreement, but I know that it's not nice out here.
My master, like me, has urges and instincts he couldn't control. And that must be why people give him strange looks. But he tries his best to suppress them, even though people don't see that.
