“Hey Mister, “ he said, “ could you take my dog? He don’t eat much, just feed him whenever you can. We been together a long time but I’m not gonna be here much more, much longer, you know? He’s not ready to go, it’s not his time yet.”
Though I had never actually been homeless like the old man I had been close enough to know that when all your stuff was gone, when you carried everything you owed on you all the time, your dog could be your best friend.
It was obvious he had been on the streets a long time.
“He’s a good dog Mister. See, he don’t even run off. He just sits in the cart til I call him. He’ll go with you if I tell him to. Could you take him Mister? He really needs someone kind. You look like you’d take care of my Charlie, he’s a good ol boy, aren’tcha Charlie?”
Charlie responded with a desultory wag of his tail and the saddest look I have ever seen. That dog loved that old man and that dog knew the old man was dying. It was also obvious that Charlie wanted to be no place that didn’t have the old man in it too.
From his cough it was evident that the old man had some serious issues. The bloody rag he used to wipe his mouth after every coughing fit just sealed the deal. Under the grime of street life his skin was grey, pallid and dry. It reminded my of a goatskin drumhead but on him it was not a good thing. His nails were long and yellow and hard and he picked at the buttons of his duster incessantly with his left hand. Picking and picking and picking, clicking and clicking his nails on the buttons, cracked and yellow on black and plastic.
With his head permanently fixed slight angle that made him look down instead of forward, he looked up at me and asked again, “Mister, do you think you could? I know I’m not much, don’t have much, but he’s been good to me and deserves better. I’m not sure I can….well I’m not sure I can make it much longer and I don’t want him getting picked up and put in the pound. He’s not a cage kinda dog, he’s used to being free. He don’t need much Mister, could you take him?”
All the while the old man was talking the dog never looked away from his face. These two had been through some rough times and their bond was not the usual one seen between dog and master. The tear sliding from the old man’s one good eye told a story of commitment that would touch the heart of a glacier. The dog laying his head on the old man’s hand and looking up at him with a look of total adoration and love would have melted that glacier. It was that strong. The one would not long survive the other.
“Couldja Mister? I’ve asked around but no one wants an old man’s old mutt. He deserves better Mister, he’s a good boy Charlie is. Could you,” and here he paused to cough then wipe the blood off his chin, “couldja do an old man a favor?”
“I ain’t no drunk you know. Dint do no drugs neither. Just got down on my luck and never got it back. I just never got it back. Had me a wife and a kid. Even a house. Gone. Lost it all. All but Charlie here, he’s stuck by me. He’s a good dog Mister, he deserves better. I just never could… I just couldn’t make it. But it’s not his fault and I know I’m sick and he needs someone to make sure they don’t get him and put him in a cage.”
The old man and his dog wondered off, moving slowing, the man pushing the cart, Charlie riding in it was if he were in the center of a Royal Procession, surveying all that was good in the land until he looked upon the old man, his friend for whom death was a constant and soon to be only companion.
That dog was sad, every sagging wrinkle said so, the droopy eyes whispered it, he knew. He knew too that even though they may be parted soon in the here and now it wouldn’t be for long. A partnership like theirs, a love so strong, death could not separate them long.
Charlie looked at me and I know he was thanking me. I could have given him a place to live but I couldn’t have replaced his home or fixed his broken heart if I had tried.
Not one word had I uttered. Never saw them again.
Though I had never actually been homeless like the old man I had been close enough to know that when all your stuff was gone, when you carried everything you owed on you all the time, your dog could be your best friend.
It was obvious he had been on the streets a long time.
“He’s a good dog Mister. See, he don’t even run off. He just sits in the cart til I call him. He’ll go with you if I tell him to. Could you take him Mister? He really needs someone kind. You look like you’d take care of my Charlie, he’s a good ol boy, aren’tcha Charlie?”
Charlie responded with a desultory wag of his tail and the saddest look I have ever seen. That dog loved that old man and that dog knew the old man was dying. It was also obvious that Charlie wanted to be no place that didn’t have the old man in it too.
From his cough it was evident that the old man had some serious issues. The bloody rag he used to wipe his mouth after every coughing fit just sealed the deal. Under the grime of street life his skin was grey, pallid and dry. It reminded my of a goatskin drumhead but on him it was not a good thing. His nails were long and yellow and hard and he picked at the buttons of his duster incessantly with his left hand. Picking and picking and picking, clicking and clicking his nails on the buttons, cracked and yellow on black and plastic.
With his head permanently fixed slight angle that made him look down instead of forward, he looked up at me and asked again, “Mister, do you think you could? I know I’m not much, don’t have much, but he’s been good to me and deserves better. I’m not sure I can….well I’m not sure I can make it much longer and I don’t want him getting picked up and put in the pound. He’s not a cage kinda dog, he’s used to being free. He don’t need much Mister, could you take him?”
All the while the old man was talking the dog never looked away from his face. These two had been through some rough times and their bond was not the usual one seen between dog and master. The tear sliding from the old man’s one good eye told a story of commitment that would touch the heart of a glacier. The dog laying his head on the old man’s hand and looking up at him with a look of total adoration and love would have melted that glacier. It was that strong. The one would not long survive the other.
“Couldja Mister? I’ve asked around but no one wants an old man’s old mutt. He deserves better Mister, he’s a good boy Charlie is. Could you,” and here he paused to cough then wipe the blood off his chin, “couldja do an old man a favor?”
“I ain’t no drunk you know. Dint do no drugs neither. Just got down on my luck and never got it back. I just never got it back. Had me a wife and a kid. Even a house. Gone. Lost it all. All but Charlie here, he’s stuck by me. He’s a good dog Mister, he deserves better. I just never could… I just couldn’t make it. But it’s not his fault and I know I’m sick and he needs someone to make sure they don’t get him and put him in a cage.”
The old man and his dog wondered off, moving slowing, the man pushing the cart, Charlie riding in it was if he were in the center of a Royal Procession, surveying all that was good in the land until he looked upon the old man, his friend for whom death was a constant and soon to be only companion.
That dog was sad, every sagging wrinkle said so, the droopy eyes whispered it, he knew. He knew too that even though they may be parted soon in the here and now it wouldn’t be for long. A partnership like theirs, a love so strong, death could not separate them long.
Charlie looked at me and I know he was thanking me. I could have given him a place to live but I couldn’t have replaced his home or fixed his broken heart if I had tried.
Not one word had I uttered. Never saw them again.
