About a Man and His Dog

I pulled into the handicap parking space beside the bank in the little downtown mall that we call The Mews. I have a handicap permit; sometimes I use it, and sometimes I don't. This stop would be very quick, so I invoked my privilege.

There was a man standing opposite with a couple of bags at his feet, one a duffle bag. He was clean but dressed in an old, green coat that suggested that to me that his life was probably not an easy one. He was not a young man, and when he talked, later, I could see that he was missing teeth.

Lying just in front of him was one of the most beautiful big dogs imaginable. As is the way with most dogs, he was friendly and accepted my petting. I praised him to the man who smiled a happy, toothless smile and acknowledged that his dog was very friendly and beautiful indeed.

The dog was very well groomed and cared for. One of the bags that the man had at his feet was from the nearby pet store, so I was sure that doggy would receive his rations for the day. I wasn't so sure about the almost toothless man in the green coat.

I went into the bank to use the cash machine to withdraw a small sum to add to the little birthday present that had already purchased for my granddaughter's eighteenth birthday.

When I came back out, I was touched to see the man still lingering there in the cold wind and huddling in his green coat with his meagre possessions ant his feet and his beautiful fur-friend at his side. Here was a fellow human who surely must endure a difficult life. 

I, unobtrusively, made my way to the back of our CRV, reached under my coat toward my back pocket, pulled out my wallet, and extricated a twenty dollar bill. I thought that I might offer it to the man, but I sure didn't want to make a grand show of pulling out my wallet in front of him.

Being socially awkward at times, all I could think of saying as I came back around to the front of the car was to ask him: "Are you alright, sir?"

I am not sure what he said, so I had him repeat it, and I was still not sure, but it seemed to be something about waiting for a “grant” to come in. He mentioned the letters of an organization, probably governmental, that didn't make any sense to me, but I did catch that he was expecting some funds to be deposited shortly. I guessed that it was a disability allowance that he was awaiting, but that is just a guess.

I don't know what I said next exactly, but it would have been something banal like, "I  think I want you to have this," as I pressed the bill into his hand.

He blessed me, but again, I can't tell you the exact words.

He began to fumble with his belongings as I began to pull out of the parking space. As I drove away, I confess that my old eyes were leaking a little bit. I opined to Sue how lucky we are. We sure don't have riches, but we have always had our needs met. We've had food aplenty and shelter and raiment. 

I hope the man has his material needs met too, and also his dog's, of course, but I bet that dog is his pride and joy and his needs will be put first. It did seem highly likely, however, that both man and beast must live on the edge. 

The next day on our walk through the park on quite a nice day for a change, Sue and I took a moment to sit on the new bench by the pond and watch several pairs of geese paddling about, some lowering their necks threateningly and muttering imprecations at the others.

It was then, or maybe shortly afterward as our walk resumed, that I said to Sue that perhaps I should have emptied my wallet, for I had a couple more twenties in there. I had been carrying them around for a long time because I hardly ever pay cash, so I wouldn't have missed them a whole lot.

I am not sure why I was so touched by this man and his dog. Maybe it's because we don't have many needy people in this town and that he and his dog really stuck out in the midst of our plenty. Let me be clear; he wasn't begging, but the pair sure seemed to me that they could use a helping hand. I think all of us deserve a decent life with a modicum of comfort, and I worried that this seemed not to be his lot.

In my very small way, I helped, or tried to, but maybe I didn't do enough. I could have done more, not a ton more but more never the less.