Chinese’s head, like a ball of snow at the height of winter, gives the impression of a newborn from a princely class. His ears, pinkish with a penchant for birthmarks, lies steadily as he releases his legs for a noontime nap. His paws, juicy, sweet and soft to touch, support his relaxed and carefree profile from the rummages of the dust-filled district. His jet black nose, runny yet delicate, itches at every land of a mosquito and at every laugh from his admirers, giving an impression of the Princess from ‘The Pea’ literally stuck in his sensitive nose.
What strike me most, though, are these black freckles finding concentration on his upper nose. Standing in unison on the left, uneven on the right, they match perfectly with his white whiskers flanking on both sides of his head, and his deep set eyes surrendered in slumber.
On this hot and humid afternoon along the edges of this mountainous arena, the high-ceilinged bamboo-built hut, Chinese, with his head titled and his left paw a reminder of his innocence, the winds calm down as if to frisk with the gaily atmosphere of his youth today—and the indifference of his future.