by La Vonda R. Staples
I saw it. I had no idea if it was a boy or a girl. That didn't
matter because I saw the condition of the creature's life and I was
touched. Deeply touched. I had to show that beast love. It was
obvious that it hadn't seen goodness in such a long time. The coat
was tattered even though the fur was magnificent. The eyes were
beautiful even though they held no shine. This poor disregarded life
held my stare and he recognized me. I stood still. Not knowing if
the cur would advance to attack or knowingly wait for the caress of my
hand.
He came to me. I couldn't go to him. I had too much fear for that.
He came to me. Tentatively. Furtively. He took my hand (using his
dog nose as a guide) and let me know how our first moments would be.
I was to rub him. His belly. His head. I was to continue until he
finally got tired of being pleased and gave me a stingy lick on the
cheek. I don't know why but it seemed like winning the lottery for
me. He hadn't selected anyone else. He picked me out from all of the
people who walked back and forth in his view every day.
He stayed with me. Or rather, he allowed me to stay with him. I
couldn't see it happening but I was absolutely being led by his
slightest inclination. I wanted to be the recipient of his
affection. Not his need. His wants or most accurately, his desires.
I would see peeks of this, here and there, and that was enough for me
to stay in the fight to win him. It seemed that he had some type of
perception or intuition for the moment my lips were about to form into
submission. And that's when he would bring me a favourite toy. He
would sit longer than usual. He would open his heart to me and all my
fears of failure would be undone. I just had to try harder.
But all of this winning and losing, again I didn't know and I must
plead complete and total ignorance, was changing my "me." I had
ceased to cry when he looked me in the eyes and turned away from my
call. I no longer had the sorry feeling in the pit of my stomach when
he didn't consume the treats I had taken special care to choose just
for him. Only for him. I was becoming, more and more, a creature in
synthesis with him.
I've been to school. I know what the word "feral" means. But he
wasn't that! He never snarled. Almost never, ever barked. At heart,
he was a good dog, wasn't he? I had also listened to my grandmother's
stories. She told me the tales of the animals who came to life when
humans were nowhere to be found. She'd told me about the bears who
couldn't be brought indoors. She'd told me about the lions and the
wolves and they also couldn't be brought indoors. But dogs? Weren't
they domestic? Isn't it every dog's life long goal to be safe,
secure, inside, well-fed and warm? No. There were some dogs who
loved cold freedom more than confined warmth. I just couldn't believe
it because I hadn't seen it before. I had never met a dog who
couldn't be brought in doors. I still haven't. I came to know that
there are dogs who won't be brought indoors and I don't believe I
wasted my time in learning this lesson.
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http://lavondastaples.blogspot.com/2011/10/dog-who-could-not-be-brought-indoors.html
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