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Order this writing in the collection book Life on the Edge this huge volume is available for only $2395 |
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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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Homeless
Sarah Deckard
I was born on the street. After my mother left me, I had to fend for myself. I rummage through garbage cans and beg for scraps to get food each day. I get into a lot of fights to protect my territory, but we all have to learn to get along here to survive. I sleep out in the open even on the coldest nights. I have no name for I have never had a family to name me or to love me.
It is a family I wish for more than anything in the world. I see them walking by on the streets, so happy together. They avoid me. Sometimes they even cross the street to stay away from me. Every once in a while a child will come over and start to play with me. But as soon as his parents notice, they rush over and pull the kid away as though they are frightened. They whisper things like, “He’s dirty. There’s no telling where he’s been.” or “He might be dangerous.”
Some children are not so kind. They throw stones at me. Grown men kick at me with their boots. I cower and scurry back to my dumpster. Sometimes when I am digging through a trash can, a man will open the door next to it and come out yelling at me and pushing me away with a broom. People use harsh voices and words to scare me away. I am so hungry and lonely but they won’t even spare some scraps for me or take time to be kind.
They treat me badly but I never growl. I have never learned to grow mean. Some of the other dogs are harder than I am. They snarl at people and snap. I think they give us all a bad name. “Never, never go near stray dogs,” I hear parents say to their children when they come near me. I just wag my tail as they pull the child away. I never bark. I did that once and found that it scared the people even more.
I might think all people were cruel to dogs if I didn’t see them with their own pets. But all the time people come by walking their dogs. They never let the dogs get near us even though the dogs seem to want to. I see the dogs with their shiny coat. Their ribs don’t show through their skin, so they must eat well. Sometimes they even have human clothes on them to protect them against the cold. I know they are loved. I see their children playing with them. I see the old people give their dogs biscuits. I see many of their owners stop and pet them. I am happy for those dogs because their lives are not hard like mine. But I cannot help feeling sad. No one has ever petted me.
I want more than anything to have a family. I especially want children to play with. The children seem to love the dogs most of all the people. Plus they have lots of energy to play. I am young too—only a year and a half old—and I would love to play. Sometimes I wish someone would stop to pet me and feed me biscuits. Then they would see how nice I am and take me home with them. I would be so loyal! I would try to be the best dog in the world. I would love my person more than anything because he saved me and took a chance on a street dog. Sometimes I dream about this at night. My dreams are all that keep me going. Someday, maybe, it will happen.
I don’t know why no one wants me. No one has ever said I am ugly. I have short, dark brown fur, with a little white on the tips of my toes. My ears are long and floppy. I am medium sized and have a good disposition. I have seen other dogs that look a lot like me walk by on leashes. Their owners seem proud of them. None of them have white on their toes though. Could that be why no one wants me? My mother looked a lot like me. I’ve never seen my father though. I wish that people could look through my fur and see my heart. All I want to do is make someone happy.
Today, two men came with a big truck. A lot of the dogs here ran away because people have been so mean to them. These men looked interested in dogs though, so I stayed. I thought they might want to take me home. Each of the men had a long pole with a loop on the end of it. The sticks were kind of intimidating but I did not run away. Then one of the men talked in a low voice to me while the other ran after another dog. I wriggled with excitement. He did want me! All of a sudden the loop was around my neck and it was choking me. I whimpered and tried to get closer to the man but the long pole kept me away. He didn’t want me near him after all. This was some kind of cruel trick. He dragged me to the back of the truck and pulled me up into a small confined place with bars. Then he let the loop off and slammed the door in my face. I listened to the cries of other dogs as they caught them and loaded them up. What were they going to do with all of us?
They took us to a place with lots of dogs. They were in bigger holding places but they were all behind bars. The man who had caught me put me into one of these places and then left. I noticed there was fresh water and food in here. I ate ravenously. Was this what a home was like? I didn’t think so. There were too many dogs and no people around. I asked the dog next to me where we were. He was street tough looking. He said, “This is a place where they take and put all the unwanted dogs from the street. Sometimes someone’s pet gets loose and they bring them here. In a few days though, his family comes and takes him home. Sometimes people come and pick out a street dog they like and take him home with them. But most of those like us just stay.”
“Forever?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “If no one picks you out after three weeks, the people here come and get you. They walk you down that long hall there and no one ever sees you again.”
“Maybe, they take you to a nice home,” I said excitedly.
“Maybe,” he grumbled. “I don’t know what they do with them. But I’ll tell you something strange. All the people who take dogs home . . . go the other way down the hall. I’ve seen a few dogs taken home and a lot go down that hall. In fact, it happened to the dog who was in where you are just the other day. I tell ya, as soon as one of these things gets empty, they bring in another dog.”
“You seem to know a lot about this place. How long have you been here?”
“Two weeks.”
Now, I lay here in the dark and dream of a family coming and picking me out. Me! I am so happy. I lick their hands and faces. The children crowd around me, petting me. They say I am the best dog in the whole world. They tell their parents, “We want this one.” The parents nod and smile. Then we all leave together. My dream ends there because I do not know what a home is like. But I am sure it is wonderful.
The next few days I spend waiting and watching. People come in and look at all the dogs. Most of them leave without one. I am determined to be on my best behavior. I will wag my tail and whimper at everyone. I will jump up on the bars and try to lick them. But very few people come by to look at me. They stop down the hall to look at the puppies. People must love puppies. When someone does leave with a dog, it is usually a puppy. I wish I was a puppy. Inside, I am scared that I am too old for anyone to love me.
A few people wander by to look at me and my new friend. Their eyes seem distant as they glance over me. I am not the one they are looking for. I do my best to get their attention. Apparently, I am not the only one who has thought of this. Most of the dogs jump up on the bars and whine when people come by. I am just one of a great number of dogs. I try to stand out, be special. I double my efforts. A lady comes by and sees me. I am bounding everywhere to get her attention. She steps back. “Too hyper,” she mumbles, and shakes her head. She moves on. My tail droops. I begin to see why some dogs have given up and no longer get excited when people come by. My friend is one of those. He says he’s been here so long he has no more hope of ever being chosen. He’s just waiting for the three week mark. He says he’s scared. I try to cheer him up by saying the hallway probably leads to a nice home. But I am not sure. I am very confused about this whole place.
One day a man walks by and I jump up to do my act. He doesn’t notice me. He is looking at my friend who sees him but stays lying where he is. The man bends down and begins to call to him softly. At first my friend is hesitant. I bark at him. He gets up slowly and with slumped head goes to the man. The man holds out his hand and my friend begins to lick it. The man says kind sounding words and begins to pet him on the head. I feel a pang in my chest. No one who has looked at me has ever petted me. I see my friend perk up. He begins to lick the man’s fingers with fervor. He wags his tail and mumbles to me. “This might be my last chance.”
Just now, one of the men who is here all the time comes up and begins talking to the new man. “You like this one?”
“Yeah,” says the man, smiling. “He reminds me of a dog I had when I was a kid. He’s got the same scruffy coat and bristly face, same cream color. He even acts as laid back as Cody used to.”
“You decide you want him?”
The man’s face looks all remorseful. He looks back at my friend. “He seems like a great dog, but I already have a male. I don’t think they’d get along. I am looking for a female. I just had to stop to pet him. Poor old thing.”
“That’s too bad. He only has a few days left. He’s been here almost three weeks.”
“Aww,” says the man sincerely, “That’s a shame. But I’ve had two male dogs before and all they did is fight. I really want a female. Too bad though. He seems like a good dog.”
“Well, come this way then. I’ll show you some females.”
Before the man walks away he leans down and pats my friend on the head one last time. “Don’t worry boy. I’m sure you will find a good home.” He stands up and walks away.
My friend slumps to the ground. “That was my last chance,” he says sorrowfully. He doesn’t speak to me for the rest of the night. He doesn’t try anymore when people walk by. It’s like he has given up on life. I think the words about the three week mark being a “shame” and the fact that he’s a poor fella made us both very scared.
Two days later they come to get him. As they lead him off I yell at him to be hopeful. I tell him they are probably taking him to a good home. I don’t really believe it anymore. If he were going to a home they would take him out the other way. But I want to believe. I need to. He doesn’t even look back at me, just hangs his head and keeps walking. He disappears behind some doors. I never see him again.
The sight of his empty cage is depressing. I howl for him at night. I have no one to talk to. Three days later they bring another dog into his cage. She is smaller than me and scared. I have to tell her all about how this place works, including the walk down the hallway. She trembles, and inside so do I.
I have been her for about two weeks. My ribs don’t show through nearly as much. I can’t complain about the food or the company but I do miss running. Still, no one has petted me. I am less enthusiastic now when people stop to look at me. The hallway gives me nightmares.
I am laying in the far corner of my cage dozing peaceful. Suddenly, I am jerked awake. I see a little girl running down the hallway straight for my cage. She is smiling and excited. She is yelling joyfully. “Oh Cocoa, Cocoa, it’s you it’s really you. I missed you so much!” I run to the bars more excited than I’ve ever been in my life. I get there whimpering and licking before she falls to her knees. She wants me. She really wants me! She’s even given me a name already. Cocoa. That’s me now. I like it. She’s missed me all of her life. I am licking her frantically through the bars. I am yelping with delight. This is the first time someone has ever really wanted me. She is sticking her little hands through the bars and petting me. I am writhing with joy. She seems to be too. She keeps saying, “I love you. I love you so much!”
“I love you too!” I bark triumphantly. “I have missed you too. I have waited my whole life for you.” I lose myself in the bliss of the ensuing moments. I am not even thinking about going home with her. I am not even imagining family life. I am so caught up in the wonderful now. The first time I have ever been petted, and with such enthusiasm. I never imagined anything could be this good. In all my dreaming, I never knew it would feel this good to be loved.
She kisses me on the nose. I tremble with delight and keep licking her in a frenzy. I see now two grown ups and an older boy coming down the hall slower. They are smiling. This must be my new family. The thought excites me but in a distant way. Right now all I can concentrate on are her hands in my fur. The others eventually reach my cage. The man bends down and says, “How you doing boy? You sure had us worried.”
“Oh, I was worried too,” I bark. “I thought I might never find you.”
The man laughs gently as he stands back up. From the other side of the hall and down a few cages I hear whimpering and a bark. A lot of dogs get jealous when they see someone else find a family. The man and woman start talking and call for one of the men who is here all the time. I am so excited. I am about to be let out. I can go home with my new family. The boy bends down to pet me. Then his face looks confused. Before he reaches out for me to lick him, he stands up and starts saying something.
“That’s not Cocoa! That dog has white on his paws. Cocoa’s a pure bred chocolate lab. Real labs don’t have any white on them. This is just some mutt.”
All of the people look in confusion. I am startled still. The little girl looks at my paws. “You’re right. This isn’t my dog.” My heart stops.
They all look around. “Well, where is he? He has to be here somewhere?” I hear the bark from across the row again. “There he is. Oh poor baby, we were ignoring you. He must feel so bad.”
One by one they start to leave to go to the other dog’s cage. I get frantic. I start licking the girl even more. She pulls away and gets up. I bark wildly, “No, please don’t leave me.” But it’s too late.
I hear them cooing and talking to the dog over there. I hear the little girl say, “I’m sorry Cocoa. I thought that other dog was you.”
I watch as a man comes to get the other dog out. The people talk. I hear the father say, “Who knew you’d have another dog that looked so much like ours. We almost took the wrong dog home.”
I watch them gather Cocoa’s things and march merrily down the hall. The little girl is so absorbed in her own dog that she doesn’t even look back at me. I lay down heavily on the floor. I am the wrong dog. They hadn’t wanted me at all. I am “just some mutt,” whatever that means. It means I am alone again. It means I am unwanted and unloved. She thought I was some other dog but that doesn’t change the fact that for one moment, even if it was just a moment, she loved me.
I am depressed for the next several days. My neighbor is worried about me. She tells me there will be other people. But I have given up hope. She gently reminds me that my three weeks are almost up. That brings back the fear. I start acknowledging people when they come by. I jump up and whine, but it is a half hearted effort. I keep thinking about the little girl—the only person who has ever petted me. I want someone to look at me that way again. I try to get people’s attention but now it is mainly because I am afraid. I do not think anyone will want me like that again. And I don’t want to walk down the hall. Days pass. No one else ever stops to look at me.
Finally, the day comes. They open my door and start hooking a rope to this thing which is around my neck. My neighbor is trembling. I am resigned. I hear her say, “Goodbye . . .”
“Cocoa,” I say. “Call me Cocoa. That is what she called me. It’s the only name I’ve ever had.”
“Goodbye, Cocoa. Remember what you said. Maybe they are taking you to a nice home.”
I look in her eyes. She doesn’t believe it either. “Maybe,” I mutter.
I do not know what to expect as they walk me down the hall. Perhaps they are going to put me back out on the street. An outcast. They tried their best to find me a good home. They took me to where there was good food and lots of people to look at me. Lots of chances. But nobody wanted me after all. Now, it would be back to the street. Back to the cold and hunger. Back to the territorial fighting and cruel people. Back to the loneliness.
They open the door and walk me in to a very small room. Immediately, I smell death. Finally, I know what this room is for. So this is what they do with dogs who are unwanted. A dog not worth loving isn’t worth living I guess. My eyes water. Well, I guess this will be better than being alone.
They chain me to the wall and leave. I lie down, waiting. Slowly, a gas starts to fill up the tiny room. It makes my eyes water and I can’t breathe. I am choking. Slowly, through the smoky room, a face begins to waver before me. It is the little girl. She is smiling and saying, “I love you.”
“And I love you,” I try to bark, but choke. Everything is very hazy and a darkness starts to creep up on me. I feel my heartbeat slowing. I can still see the little girl’s face. My final thought is of her—the first and last person to ever love me.
