Yesterday I tried to hitchhike out of Phoenix going north to Flagstaff and failed miserably. This is a city full of indifferent people, and some that are cruel. But this is only incidentally about me not getting out of Phoenix. It is more about indifference and cruelty, with some compassion thrown in to make the story more palatable.
At about 2:00am, I was hiding behind some bushes near an on-ramp to I17, my chosen path to get to Flagstaff. I was tired and needed to rest briefly and it is illegal in Phoenix to stand or sit on a feeder road, hence the bushes. About thirty minutes later, I heard a shuffling in the nearby shrub. Immediately followed a whining. Being cautious I sprung to a crouch and went to investigate. It's hips broken and stuck in an angle forty five degrees wrong, a young dog dragged its broken body through the rocks and sand to get away from me. It was scared and alone, unable to defend itself from anyone; I would have run (as best I could) from me, too.
My heart dropped. Memories of a dog called Peanut me and my sisters had as a child came to mind briefly, except this time I was broke and without resources and couldn't beg my Mom to make it better. Peanut healed; I was certain this new dog wouldn't. Inspiration sprang to me! I would use my brand new prepay cell phone to call 911 and they could send animal control. Maybe a kind hearted worker would take pity on the dog and have the vet heal it. At the least it would find a fast and less painful death than the one I saw approaching.
After the call to 911, I tried approaching the dog (hereafter referred to as puppy because of the look of confusion in its eyes). At first the puppy tried to move, but I think gave that up out of pain. I sat down a couple of feet from the puppy and did what I could to show it I meant no harm. After a few moments and looks from the puppy that just pleaded me not to hurt it I moved closer, almost touching it with my leg, and my heart clinched tight. The damage was extensive. The hips were broken at an angle that only allowed her to drag her rear with her front legs, a trail left behind caused by her right leg dragging on the ground. Her right rear leg was broken in a couple of places, the bones protruding against skin that should have been soft, and her front left paw was broken and bent in toward her chest. There were countless scrapes on her body where her fur had torn off, and the outside of the rear right flank had a gash that looked like it could have been recieved in a knife fight.
We were sitting not twelve inches from the curb, and she tremble not only from the passing cars, but from spasms caused by the pain. Helpless; that is the only way to descibe what I felt at that moment. And I prayed for a miracle for that puppy. I lightly stroked her head and lied to her and said that she would be okay soon. In my heart I hoped that she would just go to sleep and not wake up; that would be the most merciful and likely outcome for her.
About two hours later she gathered her resolve and dragged her whimpering body to the bushes behind us. Not knowing what was going on I followed her into the bushes and sat beside her; I kissed the top of her head and told her I loved her. She looked up at me, directly in my face, and in those golden eyes I saw thanks; then she struggled to move closer to me and stretched her body against my leg. Then she moved away once more and curled up and started whimpering. I tried once more to move toward her, to stay with her till help arrived, but once again she moved away. I knew then what was happening, or sensed it anyway. She wanted to be alone while she died. I didn't want to leave her, but I sensed it was the right thing to do. I got to my feet and threw my backpack on; then she looked at me again. I knew what was coming, and so did she. I left with a sense that I'd been given a chance to make her death less lonely and more bearable...maybe. The final look I got from the puppy was one of recognition.
I walked away, and walked. And walked. People's indifference is so maddening to me. After all, indifference is the opposite of love, and cruelty is only a form of hate. Was this a precursor to what life has in store for me? Will I be damaged with no hope of salvation? One thing I have a feeling about: there is always Someone there stroking my head, telling me it will be okay, and telling me I'm loved. I just have to stop playing in traffic before it's too late.
FYI: this is a true story. It took place 03-16-09.
