face and hides back in the bag.
Oliver sniffs the bag one more time, then yips, loud and demanding.
Slowly, a filthy hand reaches out of the opening of the bag. And gives me the finger.
No one has ever given me the finger before, and here I am getting it twice in one day. I don’t know what that says about me. But I feel like I’ve deserved it.
At least it makes walking away a bit easier.
Maybe Ginny knows that.
Oliver wags his tail stub and slowly follows, only stopping a few times to whimper and look back at the sleeping bag that is hiding Ginny — a life — completely from the outside world. She has started rocking again. And now, I fear, sobbing.
We stop at the corner one more time to turn back. The bag looks small from here. From here, you can’t tell a person is inside. It looks like a pile of garbage someone left on the street.
Oliver sniffs the air.
“You can go back,” I tell him.
But he stays.
“Well, then, we have a long walk, my friend, because I’m pretty sure they won’t let you on the city bus. Probably not even a taxi.”
He yips happily and walks on.
Oliver stops at each block to wait for the white man-shaped image to appear on the walk sign before crossing. Every so often, he brushes against my leg, and I bend down to give him a pat. My hands smell terrible from his stinky fur, but I don’t mind. When we pass a shop owner watering flowers in a window box, I ask if Oliver can have a drink. I look at the water longingly and also regrettably, as it is making me need to pee. I realize I had that stupid coffee drink and forgot to use the bathroom before I left the café. No way can I hold it until we get home.
We.
I smile.
When Oliver has his fill of water, we carry on. Finally, we come to a park where people walk their dogs, jog, and sit on benches to eat during their lunch breaks.
“Should we go in?” I ask.
Oliver shakes and yips. I remember there are porta-potties somewhere near here, so we wander around until we find them.
I hesitate. Will Oliver wait outside for me?
“I’ve gotta go in there for just a sec,” I tell him. I lean down and scratch behind an ear. “Then we’ll go home. OK, boy?”
He barks. It’s not a happy bark. It sounds more like a
Don’t leave me
one.
I step toward the unoccupied cube on the end. “I’ll be right out,” I say reassuringly.
Oliver tilts his head, then growls low.
I open the door and he trots over, frantically rubbing his side against my legs. Then he hops into the foul little room.
“Um,” I say.
He barks again.
I sigh and join him. It smells terrible inside and I pee as quickly as possible while Oliver waits, watching.
Hovering over the black toilet seat in front of a strange little dog in a disgusting city porta-potty, I start to giggle. When I decided to let the bus take me somewhere, this is the last place I thought I’d end up. Oliver pants and turns in a tight circle, poor thing. I quickly finish and we step outside into the glorious city air.
We walk through the park and are about to exit at the other end when someone with a huge long-haired dog on a leash comes toward us. The dog strains against its red leash and barks at Oliver, who gets low to the ground between me and the other dog and growls. His wire hair stands straight up all the way down his back. His mouth pulls away from his teeth viciously. I realize I should have him on a leash and quickly crouch down to hold him, but he doesn’t even have a collar and I don’t have anything to hold on to except his scrawny body. I wrap my arms around him protectively and feel how truly skinny he is. He’s trembling. I hold tighter.
The other owner struggles as his dog pulls against the leash, clearly intent on tearing Oliver to bits. I hold Oliver tight and wait until the man and his dog pass.
“That’s what leashes are for!” the man yells over his shoulder.
He stomps off angrily, and I give Oliver another reassuring squeeze.
“Don’t pay attention to
Oliver sniffs the bag one more time, then yips, loud and demanding.
Slowly, a filthy hand reaches out of the opening of the bag. And gives me the finger.
No one has ever given me the finger before, and here I am getting it twice in one day. I don’t know what that says about me. But I feel like I’ve deserved it.
At least it makes walking away a bit easier.
Maybe Ginny knows that.
Oliver wags his tail stub and slowly follows, only stopping a few times to whimper and look back at the sleeping bag that is hiding Ginny — a life — completely from the outside world. She has started rocking again. And now, I fear, sobbing.
We stop at the corner one more time to turn back. The bag looks small from here. From here, you can’t tell a person is inside. It looks like a pile of garbage someone left on the street.
Oliver sniffs the air.
“You can go back,” I tell him.
But he stays.
“Well, then, we have a long walk, my friend, because I’m pretty sure they won’t let you on the city bus. Probably not even a taxi.”
He yips happily and walks on.
Oliver stops at each block to wait for the white man-shaped image to appear on the walk sign before crossing. Every so often, he brushes against my leg, and I bend down to give him a pat. My hands smell terrible from his stinky fur, but I don’t mind. When we pass a shop owner watering flowers in a window box, I ask if Oliver can have a drink. I look at the water longingly and also regrettably, as it is making me need to pee. I realize I had that stupid coffee drink and forgot to use the bathroom before I left the café. No way can I hold it until we get home.
We.
I smile.
When Oliver has his fill of water, we carry on. Finally, we come to a park where people walk their dogs, jog, and sit on benches to eat during their lunch breaks.
“Should we go in?” I ask.
Oliver shakes and yips. I remember there are porta-potties somewhere near here, so we wander around until we find them.
I hesitate. Will Oliver wait outside for me?
“I’ve gotta go in there for just a sec,” I tell him. I lean down and scratch behind an ear. “Then we’ll go home. OK, boy?”
He barks. It’s not a happy bark. It sounds more like a
Don’t leave me
one.
I step toward the unoccupied cube on the end. “I’ll be right out,” I say reassuringly.
Oliver tilts his head, then growls low.
I open the door and he trots over, frantically rubbing his side against my legs. Then he hops into the foul little room.
“Um,” I say.
He barks again.
I sigh and join him. It smells terrible inside and I pee as quickly as possible while Oliver waits, watching.
Hovering over the black toilet seat in front of a strange little dog in a disgusting city porta-potty, I start to giggle. When I decided to let the bus take me somewhere, this is the last place I thought I’d end up. Oliver pants and turns in a tight circle, poor thing. I quickly finish and we step outside into the glorious city air.
We walk through the park and are about to exit at the other end when someone with a huge long-haired dog on a leash comes toward us. The dog strains against its red leash and barks at Oliver, who gets low to the ground between me and the other dog and growls. His wire hair stands straight up all the way down his back. His mouth pulls away from his teeth viciously. I realize I should have him on a leash and quickly crouch down to hold him, but he doesn’t even have a collar and I don’t have anything to hold on to except his scrawny body. I wrap my arms around him protectively and feel how truly skinny he is. He’s trembling. I hold tighter.
The other owner struggles as his dog pulls against the leash, clearly intent on tearing Oliver to bits. I hold Oliver tight and wait until the man and his dog pass.
“That’s what leashes are for!” the man yells over his shoulder.
He stomps off angrily, and I give Oliver another reassuring squeeze.
“Don’t pay attention to
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