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	Her mother had let on that her grandmother had lost her life. A few weeks later, the little girl went to the house of the deceased, her parents had to get back various kind of things the old women owned. Alone in the attic, the little girl was nosing around, among a lot of dusty old things. She ferreted out a small painting, she dusted it carefully and watched it : it was the portrait of a dog. The little girl sat down and, while taking the painting in front of her eyes, she began to enter into the realm of fantasy. It was beyond doubt for her, this dog had really existed, and someone who loved him very much had wanted to immortalize him by painting him. When did he live ? Did the deceased know him ? Who had painted him ? Who had loved him ? And she began do dream. She saw him frisking in a grassland where some trees were lining a small river ; lambs were gambolling all around. A little girl was aglow with happiness in this peaceful scene. It happened so many years ago in the past that nothing was like nowadays. The stone-built houses were devoid of everything, just some kitchen utensils on a table and some beds on the ground could be found. In the barns, the harvest was waiting for someone to transform it into food. In the cowsheds, the animals were staying in the warmth while the cold winter wind was bringing snow all around. Some people were lighting a fire while moaning about the hardness of their life. Someone had to brave the wind and the snow to go to the well somewhere in the yard in front of the house. And in a corner of the only room of the small house, seated on straw set on the ground, the little girl was holding the little dog on her knee ; their eyes were meeting with so much tenderness that neither winter nor destitution could lessen the happiness in their both minds. Suddenly a voice woke up the little girl in the attic, time had come to leave.
		20/01/10 Isabelle Coquinot