A flashy red color was an attempt at sophistication. You could see it clearly by looking at the mutts accessories his owners was attempting the high-class life with very little education of the customs.

The dogs fur was hard to describe, so was his color. He was just… average. His watercolor fur varied in splotches of grey and tan, his fur was long and scruffy despite how much grooming he received. He could shake that lower-class feel off of him, no matter how hard he tried.

Maybe it was better that way. Maybe it was better to stick to his roots as a thieving scoundrel. The one everyone cared about, but no one knew.

Then again, it was better to be known for something more than a few pieces of bread. Something extraordinary. But it was too late for that, wasn’t it? He already held a reputation on his shoulders that he so desperately wanted to get rid of, but couldn’t.

This was the kind of puzzle that went through his head, should he try and erase the past and look to the future, or give up on this good for nothing world and resume what he was before.

It’s a hard decision really, because it can alter his reality so much.

All the mutt could do was shake his fur and watch the pretty groomed dogs strut by him, reeking the thing he wished he could be.

After all, he was just a dog meant for the streets.