When I was sixteen years old, I lived in Bangkok, Thailand, in a twelve-story building. The building was spacious, with one apartment per floor, and was occupied exclusively by ex-pats. One Saturday afternoon, I came downstairs to the lobby of the apartment. I saw a few guards playing with a small street puppy outside. The puppy was trying to make friends with them, so I went up to the puppy and started playing with him too. Then, I took him up into my apartment and tried to give him some milk. The puppy was so excited to be in my apartment that he was not eating and wanted to kiss me and get close to me. He thought I was adopting him. After an hour or two inside my apartment playing with him, my stepmother made me put him outside and back with the guards. When I left, he looked distraught.
On Monday morning, when I went to school, the puppy was waiting for me outside. He ran up to me and tried to follow me to school, but the guards kept the puppy and did not let him follow me. When I came home from school, the puppy was waiting as well, and when he tried to follow me to the elevator, the guards help him back again. He continued doing this for a few days until he finally realized he was not coming with me. A day or so later, I noticed another family getting friendly with the puppy. They started to play with him, and the puppy started playing with them too.