Larry was used to being picked on. He'd always been a bit on the heavy side, and his pale skin burned easily in the sun. This was his secret place, where he could come to escape others' judgment for a few hours.
He was sure he'd done the right thing today. The moral thing. But still, if they found out he was the one who'd squealed, they'd rip into him good. The whole business stank to high heaven, but at least now his conscience was clean. He'd hole up here till the uproar died down. No one else knew about this spot. Here, he was safe.
Now try this: Read the story again, but this time ignore the photo. That is, think of the characters as people, not animals. (It's interesting how much a single image can change your perception of a story, isn't it?)