I was in a hurry, heading for my Tai Chi class and I was a little stressed about being late (negating the calming attributes of Ta Chi, but welcome to America). I drove on Fold’s road, a cut through that I often take. There are rolling hills and horses and cozy houses. It’s a peaceful place to be and looks like a great spot for a dog to live out a happy ending.
Somebody else thought so too, because they’d put out a little dog out there – solid white with a black ring around her left eye. She was frantic and alone, trotting down the middle of the road. Cars slowed and carefully drove around her but nobody stopped. I slowed and rolled down my window, calling out. “Hey, good girl, where are you going?” She stopped and looked at me for a moment. Even though she was wary, not making eye contact with me, I could see that she had a bad eye- red and weeping puss. But her white fur was clean and dry, even though it had rained the night before. I was pretty sure she was a fresh drop off.
I tried to call her over to the car but she trotted away, into a yard. I thought about trying to catch her but her neck hair was standing up and I didn’t have time to get her settled down. I decided it would be best to leave her. Surely somebody else would help.
Before I left, I took a photo of her on my phone. It was a blurry- she was moving fast. You could clearly see her pointed ears, though, and her curled tail and the saucy black ring around her left eye. I posted the photo on Facebook, hoping that I was wrong about the dog being a drop off, hoping that her family would see the post and come find her on Folds Road. It helped me feel a little less guilty about leaving her there.
After Tai Chi class, I decided to go back and find her. I’d not be able to keep her, but if she got along with Pixie and didn’t chase cows, I would be able to keep her long enough to see about her eye and find a home for her.
We’re pretty used to drop offs in our neighborhood. Easter Sunday, about four years ago, Johnny and I woke to find, instead of colored eggs, a litter of 11 puppies had been deposited in the culvert at the end of our driveway. They came swarming out of the dark hole. Their little ribcages showed through their skin like a dishrag over a dish drainer and they were swarming with fleas.
I didn’t have any dog food, so I mixed up a bowl of milk and cornbread to feed them – not too much at first, because their stomachs couldn’t handle it. The pups inhaled it before I could even set the pan down on the porch. They nipped at my fingers and ankles, desperate for more. I kept an eye on them for a few minutes to make sure they kept it down and fed them a little more and a little more until a quart of milk and an entire pone of cornbread had been devoured.
What to do with 11 puppies? Sometimes I have to let my grandmother Hattie’s mountain practicality take over. I was going to be out of town the following week, so there was no way I could keep them. On Monday, I took them to the pound. At least they’d be safe from traffic and predators and have a chance to find a home. Not end up dead in a ditch.
Back to the white dog. The next day I watched for her as I went back and forth to town. Just in case, I was carrying food and a leash with me. But she had vanished. I hoped that the Facebook posts worked and she’d found her way back to her people. That night though, as it began to grow dark, I saw a white shape in the ditch on Pleasant Hill Road. I knew it was her.
I pulled into my neighbor’s drive and got out. Cars on the road whizzed by at an alarming speed. There on a softly sloping lawn, I found the white dog with the black-ringed eye. She lay beneath the limbs of a magnolia tree. The wind ruffled her clean white fur. Her eyes were shut, almost sleeplike. She was no longer frantic.
I didn’t cry when I picked her up. She was surprisingly heavy, about 30 pounds. I didn’t cry when I put her in the plastic bag so I could transport her in my car. But when I got home, I pulled her out to bury her and I could see her little feet, black pads, pressed against the side of the clear plastic. That paw print, like the faithful ones that have been made through time immemorial alongside our human lives, made me cry.
I wanted to tell the the people that put her out, that little dog did find a peaceful place to be, underneath the spreading boughs of a magnolia tree. But it was not a happy ending.