Next to his little house, tied to a short chain, the dog is digging a hole with his front paws.

It’s the end of June, about 35 degrees Celsius outside.

The house, built in a slapdash manner, with the roof lined with aluminum graphic boards, is completely exposed to the sun.



It’s hellishly hot inside.

The house is casting a shade, a slight shade.

Right there, in the shade, the dog is digging a hole for himself.

He stops for a moment, his slimy tongue dangling from his mouth as he breathes quickly.

He rests briefly, and then resumes his work.

The chain forbids him from going further from the house, further from the thin shade.

During the break between two rounds of digging, our eyes meet.

We look at each other, and we know, we feel that we are in the same position…

That we’re both digging, searching for a bit of shade, both scorched by a hot sun, both of us with a chain stifling our neck.

I sit in my car at a traffic light and I look at the chained dog in the fenced backyard.

He’s neither angry nor sad, he looks as if it’s all the same to him, he doesn’t care. Only that hole… If only he could dig the hole a little deeper and lie down, because it’s little fresher down inside the ground. That’s the only thing on his mind. That’s the only thing on both of our minds now; if only we had a slightly deeper hole in the ground.

The green light switches on, I hit the accelerator and start driving, and at the same moment, I think -what if we tore the chains off?