ok, so i went to the shelter early, to avoid the searing heat of afternoon. chose wee Mr. Banks for the first walk cause i'm thinking about getting him for my mother. i worry about her, at 86, living alone and far away. she needs something to obsess over and complain about and Mr. B is just the kind of dog she hates to love...
the shelter shares a wide lawn with the iconic Sunshine Home and Rehab. Most of the trees and therefore most of the shade is on their side, forcing me, as the day goes on, closer to their Sunshiney actual building. Today, i met Walter there. I'd watched him roll up and park and then i'd seen him watching me and Mr Banks as we sniffed our way through the shady grass. Of course i took his looking for longing and marched Mr B right up to the wheelchair and introduced ourselves. Walter seemed pleased to be petting a dog, again and he told me how he used to raise beagles. how he taught them to hunt and how they kept a pack so tight when they were moving that you could throw a blanket and cover 8 of them at once. i promised to return with beagles. but before i left, he pointed out a tiny blonde dog, standing under a car across the parking lot.
for the next 4 hours, i courted the little three pound stray. he was very interested in other dogs but wanted nothing to do with two-leggeds. approaching made him run toward the busy street, so there was no question of trying to chase him and he was too smart for the humane trap they set out, baited with a fragrant bowl of dog food stew. but he was curious about Mr. B and the succession of dogs that followed him. each time i emerged with a new dog he'd appear and march right up and introduce himself. i liked that about him. He met Chipper the chihauhua, Sharon, the beagle (who made Walter wonder if they let folks have dogs there at the Sunshine place), Frank, the other beagle (who Walt felt certain could be taught to hunt) and the exquisite, intimidatingly beautiful Jackson. The little stray liked all of them. and I could tell he was warming to me when he came over and pretend-peed on my shoes.
He wasn't as impressed with Iris or Mazie. Who he loved was Sissy. I brought her out and found a high spot of ground where we could sit and lean against a tree and Sis, who is, i'm sorry, hell on wheels inside the shelter and who, when she gets outside becomes very subdued, threw herself down beside me to gnaw on a stick. Before long, the little guy approached. There was the usual sniffing and wagging and then, in the most casual way, he walked very close to where i sat. i held my hand just above him, letting him decide if he wanted to be touched...which he did. he kept going till he was a few feet away where he found something very interesting that he needed to study for a bit. then he came back, passing close, allowing me to hold my hand above him, barely touching. finally, he lay down beside me and i gently stroked his head.
i waited a respectable time before i picked him up and carried him under one arm, back to the shelter. I told him he'd made a good choice and i believe that. His toe nails, the ones that aren't broken and dangling, curl in tendrils around his feet. His fur is matted and filthy. Something must be wrong with his mouth because he wouldn't eat, though he is barely more than bones. No telling what all might be wrong with such a one. The odds weigh heavily against his ever making it to adoptions because the shelter doesn't have the resources to nurse dogs back to health if they have a serious issue.
So i left him there and headed home. but the overwhelming image i can't shake is of his sweet, round head...the way it fit so well into the cup of my palm. and the feeling i can't ignore is that i was profoundly blessed in that moment when he surrendered...in that moment when nothing else mattered...nothing else existed...in that small and tender moment.
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