![]() ![]() Every wet nose in the window is alleged to be searching for its FOREVER HOME. ![]() The sentences underneath use words like NEUTERED, VACCINATED, MICROCHIPPED, CRATETRAINED. Altogether they form a hotchpotch of pleading eyes, foreheads worried into furry folds, tails frozen to a hopeful wag. There are several, each with a few lines of text beneath a hazy photograph. But I’ve never noticed the notices before. I always stop to gawp at the window display and it always makes me feel a little less horrible, less strange. I like how it’s a tiny refuge of imperfection. There’s something sad about the jumble shop, but I like it. The wigeon’s trickling sawdust and the calligraphy set’s likely to be missing inks or nibs or paper, almost certainly the instruction leaflet. The overcoat’s sagged and the tambourine’s punctured. The notice shares street-facing space with a sheepskin overcoat, a rubberwood tambourine, a stuffed wigeon and a calligraphy set. A PERSON WITHOUT OTHER PETS & WITHOUT CHILDREN UNDER FOUR. A photograph of your mangled face and underneath an appeal for a COMPASSIONATE & TOLERANT OWNER. You’re sellotaped to the inside pane of the jumble shop window. You find me on a Tuesday, on my Tuesday trip to town. ![]()
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