rivers

i thought it might have been snowmelt, or a leaking water main; those happen a lot in the spring. but when we got closer, the smell rose from the cold earth and signaled a sewage leak. i looked down at the dog, his short, fluffy white legs scrabbling on the pavement as he strained to inspect the thing that repelled me.

this smell brings me back to summers at my grandmother's; for my daily lessons, i crossed a small bridge that spanned a canal. it was an open sewage channel, where butchers dumped their slop, tenants dumped their chamber pots, pedestrians chucked their cigarettes. in the baking dry beijing july, not only would my cousins and i cover our faces and mouths, but sometimes closed our eyes. the smell clung to our clothes and hair.

one year, that i spent at home, i heard that the sewer had finally been covered. i looked forward to crossing campus without the stench during my next visit. in my dismay, though, i saw that there was a constant low trickle of sludge over the covered channel; rather than getting access to the underground sewage system, people continued to heave their refuse over the railings of the bridges, down along the concrete canal sides. there was a second, new sewage channel now, several feet closer to the footbridge than before.

i tightened my grip on the leash, dragging the dog back out into the street, rather than trying to lift him over the brown rivulet flowing from my neighbor's front yard to the nearest stormdrain seven houses away.

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08 April 2018 22:42

dogwalking stories

in one hand, i held a leash to a small nervous terrier. we approached a dark red minivan, parked wildly against the curb, the engine still idling. i could see a large dog pressing its face against the driver side window. i expected to approach and see the dog sitting on someone's lap, but instead, it was just a dog sitting in the front seat, and a second dog sitting in the passenger seat. when i made eye contact with the driver dog, he immediately started chewing on the door. a chorus of barks exploded from the van, and i realized there were dogs in the back, as well.

a large person descended from the house, laughing.

'i'm sorry,' i stammered, backing up from where i was peering into the tinted windows. 'it's just kinda weird, to see this one dog sitting there like it's driving, and this other dog next to it, and a third dog in the back.'

'hahahaha, there's five dogs!'

'are they all yours?'

'yep, and they're craaaaaaaazy!'

after the dog-human got into the van, it peeled away. the dog on the end of my leash didn't acknowledge this exchange.

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06 April 2018 21:34

doggy naptime

at one point, the shelter realized that the dogs were chronically sleep-deprived. constant challenges from unseen bodies, expectations of performance, and artificial light cycles stressed them out; they were getting sick, tired, high-strung. so, they instituted doggy naptime.

right after my morning walking shift, the lights in the main room were dimmed, and a cart full of frozen peanut butter kongs traveled down the aisle. each dog was given one to gnaw, silencing the howls for a few minutes each, enough to work our way across the entire floor and tuck them in for a good nap.

at the end of the distribution, half the dogs would be asleep, while the other half sat quietly with their treats, finding a space where they were challenged less by the pressures of their circumstances.

sometimes, i'd crawl into a kennel and doze with one.

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05 April 2018 20:32

bruce

bruce understands some words, and some expectations, sometimes. he barks when i carry my bike the dozen or so steps to his porch; the barks quell when he hears a key slip into the lock. 'place,' i say, as he starts to nose toward me. he turns and sits in his bed, just out of reach of the door. 'stay, bruce.'

i've taught him over the half dozen meetings we've had that it's not fun if he jumps on me immediately on greeting. he sits quietly in front of me, though he's twitching with the effort of containing his enthusiasm. 'good. gooood, bruce.' once he receives a pat on the head, he bounds away, taking a lap around the living room. we've completed the meeting, so he jumps on me. i turn and sidestep, and he crashes to the floor behind me. he's learning, here, that jumping on me after we've already met is also not fun. next time, maybe he'll accept a second compliment before jumping on me again. how high can a dog count?

when i walk with a dog, an entire channel of thought drops out of my head. i know that for the dog to behave its best, my head must stay quiet; there are too many distractions already, smells and sounds and threats. bruce doesn't need to feel my tension when i anticipate what the dog three blocks down might say to us. bruce doesn't need to second-guess my hesitation for dashing across the street on a yellow light. bruce doesn't need me to look down whenever his head whips aside to catch a scent.

bruce needs me to show him how we carefully, quietly, calmly walk to campus. i can do that. i can't not do that.

my mind is never as quiet as it is when i'm holding one end of a leash and the other end is attached to a dog. i fantasize about having a dog of my own, one i can teach to be a good dog in the world, one that will follow me and trust me and respond to me; i wonder what the long term effects of such a quiet brain might have on me.

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22 January 2018 20:52

Or is this just Fantasy

A pair of Apaches circle overhead in formation, passing so close I can hear the thwokthwokthwok of their four blades cutting through the clouds.

A woman is pushing a baby stroller awkwardly through the door of the post office, a stack of packages balanced on top of it. She makes it through before I get close enough to grab the door for her, and she stops to hold it open for me. I smile and thank her.

The dog strains at its leash, tethered to the backseat of a badly-parked car, yelling through the open window with a look of absolute despair and worry. "Sit," I instruct it as I approach, and it does, snapping its mouth shut to face me. "Good dog. What a good dog." I offer it a gloved hand for inspection.

A stream of elderly people with senior center ID badges and a variety of mobility aids flow along the sidewalk. One of them is wishing everyone a wonderful day. In the middle of them is a young woman wearing a baby sling, and a blanket draped over the sling. The sling looked empty.

A block away, a man who does not acknowledge the existence of other people in his vicinity is pedaling his wheelchair backwards, up the middle of the busy business district street. Many people encourage him to come to the sidewalk; he only drifts closer to the center of the road. He doesn't look at me as I pass him.

The block next to my house is surrounded with orange cones, and at every corner of the intersection sits a truck with a crane dangling a claw full of rotting vegetation. All the storm drains are uncovered.

And when I wave to the landscapers cleaning up my neighbor's yard for the spring, one of them shows me a palm in response and hollers, "Rasta!"

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02 May 2014 14:02