There's this dog that greets me at the trashcan. Been going on for weeks now, I walk around back to toss in the garbage and he sits there staring at me. Was a scrawny old thing when I first saw him - some kind of black lab mix - gray at the muzzle and ribs available for counting. So I did what you're not supposed to do, I fed the mutt. Just gave me bad mojo, looking at that starving animal and remembering southeast asia when the Army wouldn't let Marines in the chow hall and we had to wait until dark and rummage through their garbage dumpsters for chow.
Anyway, whenever I'd head outside I took something fresh and edible for the hound, and the hell with garbage, I figure, here's an animal down on his luck and a square meal every now and again can't hurt. Days went by he'd trot in closer, and that was all it took for me to bring him even more food so who says they're dumb animals. Then came yesterday. Hauled out the hefty bag and there he was but this time there was no, hey pal, what's-up look about him. Took one look at me and his hair stands straight up, the snarl shows sharpened pearly whites, and he growls.
Now what's up with this. For close to three weeks I'm probably the only person keeping him alive and this is the thanks I get. Calm your ass down, I tell myself while backing away a step or two, he's a dog, you're a man, and who knows what hells this poor thing lived through before you came along. Now, I've owned dogs so the species isn't an alien one, but his attitude is, so I put on my best thats-a-good-boy voice and demeanor, and take a step towards him and the can that he seems to guarding with his life.
Snap. Startled me that he could move that fast and I bet he was thinking the same thing. I jumped back and dropped the trashbag, his eyes flickered to the canine treasure chest of unimaginable goodies, then came back to mine. Don't try and stare an animal down they tell you, but that's bullshit. This is my backyard and my trash and he KNOWS that. I make like Mary Poppins and he's on me like white on rice, so I stare right back at him and the voice goes from tickling the infant in the crib to 260 pounds of asskicking death and destruction. Marines under my command would politely ask if it was time to shit or go blind when they heard that voice, an enemy bad guy would drop the I-know-nothing routine and begin jotting down his mothers' address, and damned if it didn't work with the pooch.
He sat back on his haunches, the growl turned to half a whine and you can tell when you've forced your will upon another animal because they all get the urge to lick their chops just as he was doing now. What? I growled at you? - they offer while feigning a coolness that isn't there, and wouldn't be honest not to admit that I wanted to lick my lips too. Instead, I took the lid off the can, dropped the bag in, and walked back inside the house.
About an hour later the better half gives a holler she's heading out back to toss some flower cuttings. Now, this whole time I've not mentioned anything to her about me and the dog. She doesn't even know he's out there or has ever BEEN out there. Yeah, stupid overgrown kid hiding his special friend from Mommy, but that's that. I catapult from the comfiest chair I've ever owned, offer to take the stuff out myself, get a kiss on the cheek for being such a good boy and suddenly find myself on the other side of the door.
Now how stupid is this. A grown man hesitant to walk around back and fling some stems into a compost heap. Gotta do what you gotta do and all that crap so I head back, drop off the stuff and not hide nor hair of the grumpy old pooch.
But why'd he growl at me like that. Did I smell different, are his eyes so far gone he didn't realize it was me, was it a one-time startle-reflex, sweet christ on a crutch was he sick, those were the thoughts that slipped in and out of my head, but the fact that he did what he did changed everything. Wouldn't do for the better half to come upon a large snarling dog, wouldn't do at all. If I called the humane society they'd send some retired old cop and if the dog wasn't around he'd tell me to give him a ring if it came back. And gods-honest truth, it was all my fault for feeding him in the first place.
One way or another it was time to earn my keep. Men never get the luxury of putting their feet up with the thought they can actually STAY up, especially not stupid old men, and that's not a bitch and moan just the truth, so this morning I headed around back with a hefty filled with nothing more than a couple paper plates, some junk mail, and a soaked and sloppy filter from the AM coffee.
And a Ruger GP-100 .357 magnum.
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