The Big Black Dog

"I think we are drawn to dogs because they are the uninhibited creatures we might be if we weren't certain we knew better." -- George Bird Evans

On my way to work one day...

I noticed a large black dog inside a chain-link-fenced yard. I would have missed him if I hadn't been on foot. He was laying in a flower bed next to the front of the house, close under a bare rose bush, in the mud. It was a little cold and wet outside and he was muddy and unkept looking. Hello, puppy dog, I said to him in my that's-a-good-boy voice, the one I always use when talking to dogs. He raised his big head up and looked at me. His eyes were sad and dejected. Then he laid his head back down so I went on. I was disturbed by the sight of him. Clearly uncared for and dirty. He didn't appear to be starving... just neglected and ignored. On my way home I stopped to talk to him again. Again he raised his head. I told him he was a good boy... who's a good boy? Then he laid his head back down and I went on my way.

This continued for about a week. Twice a day, I'd stop to talk to the big black dirty dog. Always he would raise his head up and look at me like he wanted to come over, then wouldn't. But I was persistent, stopping to and from work, Hello puppy dog... good doggy doggy... hello good boy. Then one day as I walked past the chain link fence and went to say hi to the big black dog, I was surprised to find he wasn't laying in the muddy flower bed under the bare rose bush. I looked hurriedly around the leaf-strewn yard. Was he gone? Had they finally taken him inside to be with the family? But, then I spotted him, laying in the worn path he'd made along the fence, between the sidewalk and the house, and he was looking at me. Was he waiting for me? Hello, puppy dog, I said to him, and to my amazement he got up and approached the fence! I stuck my fingers through the chain links to scratch his nose, talking to him all the while. Then he raised up and put his big muddy paws on the fence (which was easily fout feet high) and stuck his head over so I could pet him. I petted him, scratched his ears and rubbed his nose, still happily talking to him. He then got back down and walked across the yard. OK, we're done, I thought. But then he picked up something from the yard and brought it back over to the fence. He raised up again with the object in his mouth and I could see that it was a piece of what was once a thick rubber ball. Oh, sweet puppy, I said to him as I took the muddy piece of thick rubber from his mouth and tossed it across the yard. He lumbered after it and quickly brought it back. There was happiness in his eyes and he panted contentedly as I scratched his ears before throwing the "ball" again. We did this four or five more times - nine or ten at the most - before I had to cut it short and get on my way to work. But, on my way back home, I stopped and tried to play as long as he wanted.

Ever try to outlast a dog playing fetch?

This went on for months, through the rainy season and well into Spring. He was never laying in the muddy flower bed under the rose bush any more. He always waited halfway between the fence and the house and wouldn't approach the fence until I stopped and called to him. And there was always something for me to throw and him to fetch: A good-sized rock, a piece of wood, and one thing he brought to me, something which I still, to this day, do not know what it was. But we played with it. I didn't care what it was. He didn't care what it was. He just wanted to play fetch, to be scratched on the head and to be told he was a good boy.

The first time he wasn't in the yard I just stood there looking. I walked back to look around the far end of the yard to see if maybe he was laying somewhere else in the shade, but he wasn't. I called to him a couple of times, but nothing. As I walked away I was sad. I missed him and our game terribly. Was he alright? Had something happened to him? But then I thought, maybe the owner had seen me petting him and playing with him and guilt had overcome him and he'd taken the big black dog inside to clean him up and care for him. I hoped for this to be the case. For four days he was gone, then suddenly he was there again, and our game resumed as if nothing had happened. But, he did appear to be a little cleaner this time.

It became a regular occurrence that the big dog would be gone when I walked by, but then would suddenly be in the yard again and our game would resume. So frequent had his disappearances become that sometimes, wrapped up in an audio book, I'd forget to look for him and wouldn't realize it until I was three of four blocks past. The first time this happened I hurried back to see if he was there. I was not able to bear the thought of him waiting with "ball" in mouth only to have me walk right past without stopping. But when I got back to his yard, he wasn't there.

Then, he was never there.

I check everyday for him, to and from work, but the yard is always empty. The path he'd worn by the fence is starting to fill-in and the muddy flower bed where he once spent long days in sad loneliness is overgrown.

It's been five months since I've seen or played with the big black dog.

_______________________________________________________

Most of the comments below (and thank you all for reading and I'm grateful you were touched by this story) have been about what a sad story this is. But, it didn't feel that way to me at the time, and it certainly didn't seem to feel that way to the big black dog. He had something to look forward to everyday.

It has occurred to me that maybe this story, this chapter in the big dog's life, was the happy ending to an otherwise sad tale.

Story and layout: LemonadeMultimedia