He shovelled through the trash pile, throwing garbage to the side as he sifted for any piece of food that had been thrown away. He snarled as a strange brown liquid pooled at the bottom of a container spilled onto him. He gagged at the smell of it and shook his arm, though it did nothing to get the liquid off.

He eventually gave up, making his way carefully down the trash pile as his stomach grumbled. He had had to search through the landfill for food on several occasions before this, but after being away from it for much longer than he was used to, he had forgotten just how disappointing the yields were.

As he winded his way through the hills of trash, he realized that he was in awful condition. He could barely walk in a straight line, he had gotten so skinny that he was little more than a skeleton, and his hair was matted and dirty. He almost headed back to his makeshift home of a few cardboard boxes and an old blanket before he realized that the last time he ate was three days. Great. At this rate, I'll be dead by the weekend. He hated the idea of begging for food—it never ended well when he did it before. But he had no choice.

After walking back into the busy city, he found a empty sidewalk spot where crowds of people floated by, their purses hanging off of their shoulders and their scarves wrapped around their shivering necks. He watched as a group of young women bounced past him, giggling at something one of them said. They looked so carefree, so happy.

Most of the people walking past didn't even look at him. A few glanced his way, but quickly turned their attention back to the sidewalk when they saw how disgusting he looked—his hair was clumped together, he was covered in filth and grime from head to toe and looked so thin that it was almost scary. For the next hour he sat patiently and managed to only get a single half eaten donut from a kind looking old man.

He was close to giving up, his hunger hardly curbed by the donut, when someone approached him. It was a young man, probably in his early 20's. He had a green beanie pulled over the blond tendrils of his hair, which were slightly darker than the small beard he was growing out. He looked rugged, as if he had been struggling to find a proper bed, too. His clothes were in dire need of a wash, and you couldn't tell his shoes used to be white instead of brown unless you looked at them from up close.

The strange man knelt before the starving being and smiled. "Hey bud, you okay? What happened? You don't look so good." He patted his head and gave him a piece of the bread he was eating, and when it was accepted, he offered to take him home. The skinny one was reluctant, afraid of his past repeating—it always began just like this, after all. But in the end, he couldn't resist. He never could. He followed the man to his car and jumped into the passenger's seat.

He leaned out of the window as they pulled away from the curb, sticking his tongue out to everyone who had ignored him earlier. "Now what's a beautiful dog like you doing out on the street?" The man asked, holding out a granola bar, which the dog bit from his hand and scarfed down. "Well, let's not worry about that. Important thing is, I'll see to it you become healthy and well again. But for now, what should I name you?" The dog has had many names before, ranging from people naming him Spot to him being called something as bizarre as Serafina. "Well, I found you on was Cliff Street, so I guess we could call you that from now on. Cliff."

On the drive, Cliff learned that the man's name was Thomas, but he liked being called Tommy. He was a college dropout and was living with his parents until last year when they found out about his drug problems—exactly what the problem was, Cliff wasn't sure, but it was obviously bad if Tommy was kicked out for it. Tommy's girlfriend of three years had just broken up with him for the same reason, Tommy said. He also said that meant that he found Cliff at the right moment- it was almost like fate that he found a dog that needed him when he needed someone as well. "Guess I don't need her anymore, right?" Tommy said.

By the time they got to his house, Cliff thought he knew about everything there was to know about Tommy. He hadn't stopped talking once during the drive. But it helped Cliff understand Tommy better. Over the next few months, Cliff learned even more about Tommy—about his favorite foods, his habit of sleeping around 3 am every night no matter how early he had to wake. He learned about what made him angry, what made him sad, what he likes to talk about and what he never wants to hear from anyone.

Cliff was happy, too. He wanted to stay hopeful. He wanted to believe that he would live a long, happy life with Tommy. And that's what scared him most. Every time he got to this point with his new owner, they would give him away for being too much of a burden, they would move and leave him behind. One of his owners even died in front of Cliff. Once Cliff starts loving someone, it hurts much worse when he loses them.

Cliff's fear didn't stay just a fear. It had, once again, become a reality. After just more than half a year of them living together, Tommy never came home. Cliff felt the paranoia, the anxiety, but told himself that he was being ridiculous. He could have easily been caught in traffic or distracted with other work. But the feeling in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise.

Cliff ran out through the dog door and down Tommy's path home from work. He was panicking now, pounding down the sidewalk, weaving through people and barking viciously at them if they didn't move, and as he flew down the street, a crowd of people on the other side of the road caught his eye. There was a body under a white sheet, surrounded by police and an ambulance. The medics didn't try to help anymore. Cliff overheard them talking. It was a hit and run.

After Cliff decided he couldn't stand staying in Tommy's house without him anymore, he made his way back to the landfill. He despised the sight of this place—he only came here after losing another owner. He wondered what the world had against him to have to take away every good thing that ever happened to him. Or maybe it was his fault; maybe he messed up every one of his owner's lives.

He heard a rustle behind him as he was digging through the trash and turned to see a young lady watching him; her eyes lit up at the sight of him and a smile widened across her face. She slowly reached her arm out for Cliff to smell her; she wanted him to come to her. He looked at the happy smile on her face, and imagined how nice it would be to be her friend, to possibly find a home with her. Maybe she was the one, maybe she was his family. But before she could take another step towards him, he turned his back to her and run further into the landfill.