I’m not sure whether I was more stunned and annoyed by the pain I felt as my knee hit the concrete, or if it was from the sound of my suit trousers tearing.
The furry mound over which I had tripped scampered away quickly, which surprised me even more.
Turning on the porch light revealed a rather, large, long-haired canine specimen which was covered with cockle burs and matted hair. His shaggy appearance, coupled with his cowering manner, made neglect and abuse immediately come to my mind.
Although the hour was late and the whole family was tired from several hours on the road, we felt sorry for this creature. A discussion ensued. Should this poor dog be fed and watered?
Knowing full well that we would probably have to accept it as a potential long-term guest if we did, we began to list other obstacles. Number one, we have no fenced-in yard. Number two, we already have an indoor cat.
There must be a better solution. As we went to bed, we all agreed we would try to locate the dog’s owner the next morning. He wore a collar and tag, but the information was difficult to read in the dim porch light. Still another solution, we said as we went through our problem solving steps, was to call the animal control shelter.
Lights out. Problem solved for my wife and me. But not for our daughter who had quickly bonded with this uninvited guest. She came into our bedroom as we were almost asleep and asked if she could keep the dog, with the understanding, of course, that we would build a fence.
The discussion began again. Bottom line, we didn’t need another pet. My scraped knee, torn trousers and lack of sleep were beginning to build into resentment and impatience at this point.
But our feelings didn’t offset my daughter’s desire to keep this animal. Several times during the night she turned on the porch light and checked to see if DOG was still there. Of course he was.
Awakenings seem to evoke memories of other events in one’s life. This one brought to mind the years when our sons were small and we went through the colored Easter chicken routine and the goldfish won at the school’s spring festival.
While a pet may “belong” to the child, parents are usually the ones who end up taking care of it. Which isn’t too bad, if there is just one pet. That settled in my mind, I returned to slumber.
The next morning we felt justice had prevailed. The dog was gone. My daughter searched the neighborhood, then looked in the newspaper hoping to find someone’s plea for a lost dog. With a sigh of relief, I said to myself that torn trousers and a sore knee were a small price to pay for what could have been a trying time for the family.
My wife and I wanted to end all discussions on an uplifting thought and used the whole scenario as a chance to talk with our daughter about the homeless, about the need for compassion, charity and love. She agreed with all we said, but managed to inject a point for further pondering.
Since the dog left of its own, we weren’t faced with the need to, as she described it, walk the talk.
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