Читать книгу Considerations on the Death of a Dog - Jean Grenier - Страница 13

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I’m writing in the room where Taïaut died. He knew it well: several of our summers were spent here. Once in a while, at night, he would sleep on the rug. It was with a sense of joy that he returned to a place he knew so well. When we arrived, after a grueling three-day trip, he was so happy that, although prostrate with weakness until then, he stood up, walked around, and went to eat some grass in what had always been his corner. The end of his journey had arrived. And it was also the end of his life.