The Dog in the Alleyway

There is a wounded dog in the alleyway. It walks with a limp and its hair is matted. 

I met it when I was a different boy, on the every-boring walk home from school. I heard it using its paws to dig at a thorned bush, pain searing through its eyes in the process

And I pulled the dog from the bush. Or tried, at least. It turned its attention to me and bit the hand I used to pull it from danger. It limped away from me, and I could see dried blood on the nape of its right hind leg.  

The wounded dog stayed in the alleyway, attempting to nurse to the limp itself. But I was taught to be curious. 

So another day I went back to the alleyway, and the dog was there. And in my bag was a stick of jerky I had taken from a pantry hardly used. 

And with my bandaged hand I opened my bag. Or tried, at least. The dog caught a whiff of the smell and pounced on me. In its scramble for the prize it slashed me in the face with its claws. And once it had what it wanted, it limped away from me.

The wounded dog stayed in the alleyway, attempting to nurse to the limp itself. But I was taught to be compassionate.

So one more day, I arrived at that alleyway and took notice of the dog. And on that day, with my gauze wrapped around my hand and face from our previous encounters, the dog seemed to eye me with a different expression. 

Perhaps the dog was not used to those it hurt coming back to the alley. 

Perhaps it saw my injuries and was finally comfortable. 

Whatever the case, it treated me with kindness. Not hopping around, but a gentle, noncommittal kindness. The mutt let me sit near it. And for a few hours, I spoke with it, gave it rubs, and let it rest its head on my knee. 

And for a moment, I looked at this dog. It was tired and hurt. The brambles of bushes were not a stranger to the mutt. And I pitied the dog in the alleyway, for all it had to go through to find its home here. 

And then I turned to go home.

Or tried, at least. 

Seeing me leave it for the day the dog rushed to have me stay with it. And in order to pull me back to stay, its barred teeth laid into the right side of my ankle.

And for the first time, I screamed. 

The noise startled the mutt, and it limped away from me, deep into the shadows of its home. And I stood up, and began to walk. But the pain the dog had inflicted had gone deeper than it ever had before, and so, I limped home for the last time. 

To this day, I still favor my left leg. And to this day, I think about the eyes of the dog, the one who didn’t mean to hurt me, but didn’t know anything else. 

I hope one day, we both can learn to nurse our wounds.