White.
White's what you saw when you looked at that dog, running away from it's home.
Maybe because the dog was white or maybe because the dog didn't have any color.
A home has colors.
When your mom does the laundry after she tucks you in at night
There's a rainbow.
Green grass stains on your new white pants and
Blue for the marker you accidentally got on your sheets that you
Kinda forgot to mention until she put you to bed that night
Red for the blood stains from when you tripped fleeing from your angry father on your way out the door
So now you're a dog because
You don't have any more colors or
Because your mom is gone and you ran away from home or
You've just always been white and that's just what you saw, right?
I don't know anymore.