“There are hundreds of them here in the metro area. There are thousands if you extend that radius. These are animals who have become dependent on humans and cannot fend for themselves. It breaks my heart to think about them. Prey to wild animals and even each other. Starving. In pain. Lonely.”
Bessie fussed with some papers on her hall desk. “Here’s the pamphlet I wrote. I don’t have many copies left, but I’ll give you this one. It may be a bit DOG-eared.” I nodded and smiled in acknowledgement of her pun. She was my deceased mother’s, now MY, neighbor, and had always been a bit silly.
This concern about abandoned pets — that was a big part of the silliness. I hadn’t seen a stray dog ONCE since moving back to my childhood home in the city. I’d seen cats sleeping on porches and cruising their front yards or coming up to strangers like me for caressing. That was all. I promised to read the pamphlet, but I was a hard sell already. I didn’t understand why Bessie still worked herself up so.
When I walked the half-block home it was getting dark, and I actually did see what might have been a stray dog at the edge of my property, but it disappeared by the time I’d unlocked my door.
Later that evening I was putting a bookmark in a bestseller, turning out the reading light, and bringing my whisky glass back to the kitchen, when I heard a whining at the front door. I opened it — to find a small gray dog staring up at me. Its hair was long and tangled. Its eyes glittered in the porch light. “Are you one of the hundreds, then?” I asked it.
I reached down to feel for a collar. None. The dog licked my hand. What a beggar! I did not let it in, but got it a bowl of water and a piece of leftover lasagna. It was not cold out; the dog would be alright. Not that I cared that much, really.
I had not necessarily been wanted myself. My parents had been older, were surprised and dismayed by my arrival, and had been mostly absent during my childhood. In fact, after my father died, my mother frequently spent long hours working on various animal rescue projects with Bessie. She had hired a series of substitutes to take care of me, but it was expensive, and so I was on my own after first grade started. I would dress myself, make a crooked ham and cheese sandwich, put it in a bag, and wait outside for the carpool that had been arranged. Yeah, it was “lonely,” just like Bessie said about the unwanted animals. But I didn’t think animals had those feelings, and the idea of paying attention to THEIR “loneliness” while humans like the one I’d ACTUALLY BEEN were ignored — it just made me angry.
But in the morning, the gray dog was still there, looking up at me, whining, but not as insistently as the night before. I could feel something in me shifting; I tried to remain stalwart. There had been reasons why I’d never had a pet. And then, while I lived out of state for college and such, reasons why I’d never WANTED a pet. Now those reasons did not loom as large.
I sat on the one porch chair, not a rocker, to see what the dog would do. I was NOT going to scratch it behind its filthy ears, not right away I wasn’t. The dog simply padded over and lay down beside the chair. I approved of its unobtrusive tactic, but remained wary. Bessie’s opinion would be sought in this matter.
— Macoff
Bessie fussed with some papers on her hall desk. “Here’s the pamphlet I wrote. I don’t have many copies left, but I’ll give you this one. It may be a bit DOG-eared.” I nodded and smiled in acknowledgement of her pun. She was my deceased mother’s, now MY, neighbor, and had always been a bit silly.
This concern about abandoned pets — that was a big part of the silliness. I hadn’t seen a stray dog ONCE since moving back to my childhood home in the city. I’d seen cats sleeping on porches and cruising their front yards or coming up to strangers like me for caressing. That was all. I promised to read the pamphlet, but I was a hard sell already. I didn’t understand why Bessie still worked herself up so.
When I walked the half-block home it was getting dark, and I actually did see what might have been a stray dog at the edge of my property, but it disappeared by the time I’d unlocked my door.
Later that evening I was putting a bookmark in a bestseller, turning out the reading light, and bringing my whisky glass back to the kitchen, when I heard a whining at the front door. I opened it — to find a small gray dog staring up at me. Its hair was long and tangled. Its eyes glittered in the porch light. “Are you one of the hundreds, then?” I asked it.
I reached down to feel for a collar. None. The dog licked my hand. What a beggar! I did not let it in, but got it a bowl of water and a piece of leftover lasagna. It was not cold out; the dog would be alright. Not that I cared that much, really.
I had not necessarily been wanted myself. My parents had been older, were surprised and dismayed by my arrival, and had been mostly absent during my childhood. In fact, after my father died, my mother frequently spent long hours working on various animal rescue projects with Bessie. She had hired a series of substitutes to take care of me, but it was expensive, and so I was on my own after first grade started. I would dress myself, make a crooked ham and cheese sandwich, put it in a bag, and wait outside for the carpool that had been arranged. Yeah, it was “lonely,” just like Bessie said about the unwanted animals. But I didn’t think animals had those feelings, and the idea of paying attention to THEIR “loneliness” while humans like the one I’d ACTUALLY BEEN were ignored — it just made me angry.
But in the morning, the gray dog was still there, looking up at me, whining, but not as insistently as the night before. I could feel something in me shifting; I tried to remain stalwart. There had been reasons why I’d never had a pet. And then, while I lived out of state for college and such, reasons why I’d never WANTED a pet. Now those reasons did not loom as large.
I sat on the one porch chair, not a rocker, to see what the dog would do. I was NOT going to scratch it behind its filthy ears, not right away I wasn’t. The dog simply padded over and lay down beside the chair. I approved of its unobtrusive tactic, but remained wary. Bessie’s opinion would be sought in this matter.
— Macoff
Sometines you choose the dog. Sometimes the dog chooses you. Good story
ReplyDeleteGood intentions just ain't enough, not when you have canine staying power. - opelikakat.
ReplyDelete