A skinny, scrubby terrier-type dog is walking down the sidewalk in my direction with his head hanging low, the only sign of life that I’ve seen so far. My heart instantly goes out to him. He has to be freezing his little buns off out here. Where’s his owner? And how long has it been since he’s had a bath? His fur is matted in several spots, exposing skin to the elements.
I look around but see no one else. The diner across the street appears to be open with its neon sign glowing, but as far as I can tell there aren’t any customers inside it. The few other stops nearby are closed, their lights off and shades drawn. This place is a ghost town — a terrible situation for a homeless or lost dog, for sure. It’s not so great for me either, but at least I have the cabin and my painting supplies.
I dig around under the maps splayed out on my passenger seat and find some beef jerky I didn’t finish eating on the road trip part of my adventure. Bracing myself against the cold, I open the door. My breath is stolen from my lungs as the freezing air rushes in and destroys what little body heat I was able to store up on the trip over here.
“Here, puppy, puppy, puppy…” I walk slowly towards the dog, my hand and beef jerky outstretched. I’ve seen this method on all the Hope For Paws videos I’ve watched. It totally works, even on mange-covered pit bulls.
He slows and eyes me warily, his body pressing against the front of the building.
“Do you want some beef jerky?”
He stops, hunches his back up a little, and growls.
I stop too, not sure where to go from here. I guess I was expecting him to be grateful for the attention, but he definitely looks like he’s not that interested. Maybe I should have started with a hamburger like they always do in those videos. I never thought I’d rue the day there wasn’t a McDonald’s in town, but here I am doing it. My life really is turning into an adventure.
The door to the mini-mart opens and an old man walks out with a bag hanging from his fingers. As he crosses the street, he gives out some free advice, not bothering to look at me. “I wouldn’t mess with him if I were you. He’s a mean one.”
“Thanks!” I say automatically. Then I frown, looking first at the man and then the dog. Lowering my voice, I address the canine. “Mean? You’re not mean, are you?”
The dog lifts his upper lip and growls at me, showing some teeth.
“Okay, so you do a convincing job of looking mean, I’ll give you that.” I take a step closer. “But aren’t you cold? Don’t you want to eat and get warm?” I don’t know what I’m offering this guy. It’s not like I can take in a stray right now; I’m a stray myself. Lucky for me, I had Leah.
The thought makes my heart lurch. This situation is way too familiar to ignore. I was out in the cold — figuratively, but whatever — alone, scared, with nowhere to go… and Leah rescued me. She had a heart big enough to let me in, even though I was a shit friend to her.
I am this dog. This dog is me.
This is probably one of those karmic tests where the universe gives you the chance to make the right decision, and the choice you make determines your future happiness. And even if it’s not, what kind of human being would I be if I left this smallish beast out here in the cold? I don’t even have to think about it. No kind of human I want to be, that’s what kind.
I throw the beef jerky at his feet and stand up straight. “You wait right here, little guy. I’ll be right back.” I notice as I grab my purse out of my car and shut the door that he’s ignoring me and sniffing at my offering. It gives me hope that I can help him somehow. I have no real plan. I figure one will come to me when the time is right. Like Leah always says: the Universe will provide.
I ignore him now, not wanting to pressure him into running away, and push the door to the mini-mart open. I smile in greeting at the girl behind the counter. She looks to be in her mid-twenties and very pregnant. Much more pregnant than Leah for sure.
“Hi,” she says, not very enthusiastically, glancing up for only a second.
“Hello.” I pause, not sure which of the four aisles I should start with.
“Can I help you find something particular?” She turns the page of a magazine as she hunches over on her stool, one hand resting on her round belly.
“Ummm, sure.” I pull out the list I made earlier from my pocket. “Garbage bags, some meat, potatoes, onions, garlic powder, bread, peanut butter, jelly, and cereal. Oh, and some milk. And some wine. Oh, and some dog food, too.”