It was a nice afternoon Friday and I was enjoying my 20-minute walk home from work, happy with the end of another week and satisfied that “things” seemed to be fairly well under control in my life.
But as I am beginning to understand, control is a very elusive commodity nowadays. It might even be considered an illusion.
The dog I passed on the sidewalk shortly after I started my walk home, however, was no illusion. It stood there, unleashed, panting at me and looking friendly enough. And being in a “good mood”, I just had to acknowledge its approachability.
“Hello there, doggie,” I said to the mutt in my happiest voice.
To me, that little exchange was the beginning and the end of our relationship – just one of those bright little moments that seem to happen so frequently when you’re having a good day.
But the dog, I realize now, saw my comment in a totally different light. What it appeared to have heard when I greeted it that day was, “Hello there, doggie. How about comin’ home with me? I’ll feed and look after you for the rest of your life.”
Before I had walked very far, I realized I was being followed. I looked behind to see the dog, cheerfully padding along in my footsteps, eager to get to its new home. At first I thought that it would stop eventually, perhaps when it got to the edge of its “territory.” But soon, it became apparent that its territory and my territory were about to be one and the same.
From then on, the scene was like something out of The Twilight Zone. This big, off-white dog with the floppy ears and paws ran into everybody’s backyard on my way home but always returned to the sidewalk and me before I got too far away. Not needing a dog, I offered this one absolutely no encouragement, beyond my initial greeting, but I guess my dog greeting packs a heck of punch.
So, five minutes after I had been commenting to myself about what a nice day it was and what a wonderful life I have, I was a mess of nervous tension, fretting about what I was going to do with this Littlest Hobo that was following me home. Had I lured it away from some lonely senior citizen who would forever mourn the loss of his closest pal? Had I robbed some poor little boy of his most reliable source of nonending, unconditional love? What would I do if it wouldn’t leave my place?Would I have the heart to take it to the animal shelter? Would it eat my cats?
But all these concerns were overshadowed by a more immediate one. I was coming up to Romeo Street during the afternoon rush hour when a lot of Stratford’s factories change shifts, making this road one of the busiest in the city. Would the dog try to follow me across? Would I be luring it to serious injury or its death if I crossed the street?
Those questions were soon answered. Anticipating where I was headed, the dog weaved its way through the busy four lanes of traffic like Wayne Gretzky skating around a bunch of hapless defencemen. In fact, it waited on the other side for me and it was me who, in the confusion, almost got run down by a van.
Somehow, between Waterloo Street and Romeo Street – five short city blocks – my sunny skies had developed considerable overcast. As I continued on my way, neighbours close to my home noticed my new companion.
“Nice dog,” said one.
“Where’d you get the dog?” said another.
I didn’t “get” the dog anywhere. The dog “got” me.
When we made it home, I walked into my back yard. Pardon, me – “our” back yard. The dog ran through the gate in the fence like it had spent half its life there. I sat down at the picnic table in complete frustration. It parked itself on the patio in front of me with an expression that said: ‘Well, pop, what’s it gonna be? Beef or chicken for supper?”
It was neither.
I went in the house, shut the door and spent a half hour reflecting on the fickleness of life.
When I came out, the dog was gone.
And so was my carefree day.
©1992 Jim Hagarty
