Dog's Eyes Look at People

Inside and outside the window, there are just two kinds of cages. My name is Ah Huang, and I am a wandering native dog. I once had a home, but later only my name remained on my body, like the crooked telegraph pole at the entrance of the alley, weathered by wind and rain, but kept standing. I don't have a home, but I know best what "home" looks like - it's not a warm nest, it's someone calling your name at dusk and touching your ears. So I arranged a job for myself: I would use my own eyes to record the ninety-nine windows and ninety-nine dogs, and record their love, neglect, joy and grievances. They have names, collars, nests, and invisible cages. I have no fixed place, but I have the whole wind and freedom.