A Different Day, A Different Dog

For a number of reasons, I am going to keep tonight's post very short. I will not be writing 750 words.

On the one hand, I had a wonderful day today. I spent it with an old friend and the three oldest of our four amazing girls. We drove to a dock, took a fifteen minute boat ride to a much tinier island, and drove around in a golf cart, winding up and down sun-bleached streets lined with coral- and mint green-colored houses and churchs, the ocean visible from almost every angle. I got to drive the golf cart. We ate lobster quesadillas at a little hidden restaurant overlooking a pink sand beach, and after lunch, we went down to the beach and lay in the sand.

We were driving up a hill, Lily and Violet, the older girls, beside me in the front, when I spotted a dog on the side of the road, where a scrubby dried out lawn met the crumbly pavement. This was not unusual in and of itself. Eleuthera, where we've been staying, is full of dogs: We see them everywhere, tails wagging in friendly packs down at the beach, sprawled under trees and on porches. Many of them are clearly strays, but they all seem happy and fed, friendly, clean.

Until this one. As I drove closer, I held my breath. I almost said something I would have regretted, as Lily and Violet at this age are such sponges, so alert to any sign of dismay in us, so quick to pick up on anxiety or distress. But I didn't. Instead, I slowed just enough to get a better look. He was lying on his side; it was a he. His ribs were visible from quite far off, up close they stretched the fur. His shoulder blades and pelvis looked sharp to the touch, jutted out alarmingly. His fur was toffee-colored, a rich light brown, and his chest just barely rose and fell with every breath. His eyes were open. I met them. I kept driving.

Later, before we went back to the dock to get the boat to take us back to Eleuthera, I drove past the spot where the dog was still lying, of course. I'm just going to give that dog a little food, I said, trying to make eye contact with Caitlin. I think the owners are home, she said, carefully, implying, I knew, that I should be careful, both because I wasn't sure how the dog would react to me and because I wasn't sure how the "owners" would.

I set a hot dog and some pieces of bread on the dirt in front of him. He looked up at me, then back down at the food. Up close, his face was gentle, his eyes flat. His nails were long and cracked, as though he hadn't walked in a while. He didn't appear to have moved since we'd passed the first time. I'd expected him to pounce on the food, in spite of his obvious weakness. Instead, he didn't seem to know what to do with it. I almost couldn't bear it. I couldn't look at Lily, who was thrilled I was feeding a new dog, even though I'd told her she had to stay in the cart. As I was standing there, a woman emerged from the house. She glanced at me, didn't even seem to notice the dog. Hey, she said. I nodded.

As we drove away, I watched as he did eat the hot dog. He seemed to enjoy it. I looked straight ahead, then, focused on the road. Aim? Caitlin said, a few seconds later. He's definitely eating the bread.

I realized later, as the spray from the water hit my face, as I looked back in the direction from which we'd come so as not to show my face to the others, that I had never before seen a starving dog, seen anybody starving, literally starving.

What kind of life have I had, what kind of luck have I had, that this can be so?

I will never, ever forget that dog. I will never forget the way I'd imagined him chomping the hot dog, gratefully, hungrily. I will never forget that at first he didn't seem even to recognize it as food.

I wrote more than I planned. There are many things I want to say about this, but I will leave it at that.