“I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.” – D.H.Lawrence
The dog, though living among misery for men, is a feast for him. Walking on three legs and gorging himself all day on the dead. One man’s famine is another’s bounty. It’s all relative. This is what Karataev’s story of the wrongly accused merchant is about.