Solomon liked to walk by the sea every evening. The seaside promenade was his favorite place. It was long and wide, and it had a lovely view of the water. There were benches along the path, and Solomon often sat on one. He could hear the waves and smell the salty air. Sometimes he bought an ice cream from a small stall near the water. He always felt happy there. One evening, Solomon was walking slowly along the promenade. The sun was going down, and the sky was orange and pink. There were not many people around. Solomon had his hands in his pockets. He was thinking about his day. Suddenly, he heard a small sound behind him. He turned around and looked down at the ground. A small brown dog was standing there. The dog was looking up at Solomon with big, round eyes. Solomon stopped walking. He looked at the dog carefully. The dog had no collar on its neck.

It looked thin and a little bit dirty. Solomon felt sorry for the dog. "Hello, little one," he said softly. "Where is your home?" The dog wagged its tail. It made a small, quiet sound. Solomon looked around, but he could not see any owner. There were a few people sitting on benches, but nobody was calling for a dog. Solomon sat down on a nearby bench. The dog came over and sat near his feet. Solomon did not touch the dog at first. He just talked to it gently. "Are you lost?" he asked. The dog wagged its tail again. Solomon smiled. He waited for a while, but still nobody came. It was getting dark now. The lights along the promenade turned on one by one. Solomon stood up and started to walk home. He looked back, and the dog was following him.

He stopped, and the dog stopped too. He walked, and the dog walked too. "You are following me!" Solomon said. He did not know what to do. He was not sure about having a dog at home. But the dog looked at him with those big eyes, and Solomon felt his heart go soft. He kept walking. The dog stayed close to him all the way. When Solomon reached his door, he looked at the dog one more time. The dog sat down and waited quietly. Solomon opened the door. He went inside and came back with a small bowl of water. He put it down for the dog. "Just for tonight," he said. But Solomon was already smiling. He looked at the dog and said, "Maybe I will call you Pip." The dog drank the water and wagged its tail. Solomon laughed softly. He had a feeling that Pip was going to stay.

Solomon had a habit of walking the seaside promenade each evening, particularly when he needed to clear his head. The long, open path stretched beside the water, and the rhythm of the waves had a way of settling his thoughts. One evening, as the sun melted into the horizon and turned the sky a deep amber, he set off at his usual unhurried pace. There were few people around, and the air carried that familiar mixture of salt and cool breeze that he had always found comforting. He had just passed the row of painted benches near the old fountain when he heard something behind him. It was a soft, uncertain sound, just one short note repeated at careful intervals, like a question being asked. He stopped and turned to find a small, sandy-colored dog sitting on the path, watching him with an expression of cautious hope. The dog had no collar and looked as though it had not eaten a proper meal in some time.

Its ribs were faintly visible beneath its coat, and its fur was matted in places from spending time outdoors. Solomon crouched down slowly so as not to startle it, and the dog tilted its head to one side. "Where have you come from, then?" Solomon asked quietly. He scanned the promenade in both directions, but there was nobody searching or calling out, and the few people nearby seemed entirely unaware of the dog's presence. He waited for several minutes, sitting on a nearby bench while the dog gradually edged closer, until eventually it was resting its chin on his shoe. Solomon felt an unexpected warmth spread through him. He had not been looking for company that evening, but it seemed that company had found him. When Solomon finally stood up to leave, the dog rose with him, matching his pace step for step along the promenade as if they had always walked together.

He tried stopping abruptly to discourage it, but the dog simply stopped too and waited, tail moving in slow, hopeful arcs. By the time he reached his front door, Solomon had run out of reasons to send it away. He brought out a bowl of water and set it down on the step, telling himself it was nothing more than a temporary arrangement. The dog lapped the water gratefully and then sat back, looking up at him with patient, trusting eyes. Solomon leaned against the doorframe and studied the dog for a long moment. "I suppose," he said at last, "that you will need a name." He thought for a second and then nodded to himself. "Pip," he decided. Pip's tail swept the ground once, as if sealing the agreement.