Unexpected

I buried the doll behind a tree.  Just as I was arranging some sticks and dead branches to camouflage the grave, a small, champagne-colored mass of fur appeared from behind a bush.  

Either it had no legs, or its legs were camouflaged by its fluff, because it barely cleared the ground as it walked over to me.  It was impossible to feel afraid of the creature, though: something about it was strangely appealing, even if its head seemed too large for its body, and its face was so flat that it almost curved inward.  

The creature considered me with dark, globular eyes.   I just stood there, uncertain, until it barked in a friendly sort of way.  Only then did I realize it was a dog.  “Hello,” I said. 

The dog bared crooked teeth at me in a comical attempt at a smile.

“What are you doing here?” I asked it.

The dog snorted.

When I then sniffled, drying the last of my tears with my sweater sleeve, the dog shuffled over and gently head-butted my ankle.  I leaned over to pet it, which the dog seemed to like very much.  Suddenly grateful, I kissed its head.  It smelled like vanilla cake.