And you could call it a Gamble,
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g a m b l e
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But I call it life.
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g a m b l e
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But I call it life.
- Shaking his head of his thoughts, the young brute called Gamble couldn't believe what was going on in front of him. He had been quiet since he was planning an escape from the pound, but never this serious. The humans were working over time to reduce the dog population. It was such a waste to kill a cute little petite poodle mix, but that was life. His red nose sniffed the air, but it was the usual: human sweat, urine, food, and, of course, an array of medication.
You could say it was by chance, but it was mostly just the poor young brute's luck that he was next to be taken to the nice woman in the lab coat who's scent contained only the smell of the mysterious liquids and chemicals. Any dog knew what that smell meant, and of course it would be a fight for your life. It was possible, though.
As the golden-pelted retriever was dragged, litterally, down the isle, his only thought was on one word: run. He made a chance for it. He growled, turning his head so the man loosened his grip and bit down on whatever he could, which happened to be the man's wrist. He screamed and the brute had no time to think of the first taste of blood he was just enflicted with. He made a go for it, darting for the door, but more humans entered the room and it was all over. A steel rope was wrapped around his neck and he was put back in the wired cage marked as "DANGEROUS" in capital letters along the adoption paper.