The [Inscrutable] Kindness of Strangers

Thursday afternoon she was let loose for her rounds as last-minute departure details were attended to. "I can't find her anywhere," Nancy told me in desperation. I left work about 2:30 pm to round her up. She was nowhere to be found.

We walk and explore. We communicate, and occasionally commiserate.

We follow the leader in a course of random routines. 

Between sniffs and squats, we share stories with neighbors. Most of us are more likely to learn the names of four-legged friends than their human companions.

Though weather can prove a force to be reckoned with, when nature calls a suitable reply is not optional.

Most of us pick up the poop. Then, after the paws pause at the dumpster, it's home again.

When schedules are pressing, Hope can be trusted to take a quick pee on her own. As the years make it harder for her to hear us call on our way out the door, we know we can always catch her at the dumpster looking for forbidden fruits.

Thursday afternoon Hope was let loose for her usual rounds while last-minute departure details were attended to. "I can't find her anywhere," Nancy told me in desperation. I left work about 2:30 pm to round her up. She was nowhere to be found.

Hours of walking through labyrinthine apartment complexes and condos proved fruitless. The irony of growing hoarse from shouting "Hope" was not lost on me. At 10:30 pm, we called it a night.

I was painfully aware that Hope's well-being rested in the hands of strangers who might prove willing to comfort a lost and frightened stray. My cell phone number is engraved on the jingling metal tag that dangles from her collar.

But after eight hours, few hopeful scenarios remained in my troubled mind. If someone had rescued her they surely would have called. By now even a cold-heart would have made contact in search of a reward. She was not a likely candidate for dog-napping by someone desirous of a cuddly puppy.

At best, she was huddling in distress at the Dallas animal shelter; but the likelihood that animal control would have appeared in the few minutes between her being let loose and Nancy's subsequent search seemed astronomically small.

At worst, she was lost and confused in the dark. Or injured and immobile out in the cold. Or...

"Hope" came into my life on December 26, 2001. Traveling from one family Christmas gathering to another, I spotted her on the shoulder of a remote Farm-to-Market road in the deep piney woods of Southeast Texas. When I made a U-turn at the hilltop and returned to investigate, the pitiful puppy retreated into a concrete culvert.

I stooped in the ditch and peered down the dark tunnel where she huddled, shivering. When I rolled a morsel her way, the desperate creature breathed a thankful whiff and ran straight into my lap. At that moment, I learned "skin and bones" is not only a figure of speech. 

"She will be the most faithful dog you've ever known," a wizened elder prophesied. He was right.

I could not have imagined how a puppy in that condition might live a dozen years or more, but she has done well. These days she's getting deaf, and her sweet eyes are a little cloudy. A benign fatty tumor disfigures one hip but neither dampens her spirits nor otherwise impedes what seems to be a reasonably happy dog's life. She would brave the gates of hell were I to be found ensnared there.

It was 11:00 pm when the phone rang. The voice of a cheerful young woman who identified herself as Angelina asked whether I was looking for a dog or had abandoned her. I assured her that I was eager to come pick Hope up immediately. Angelina explained that she and her friend had seen the old dog wandering earlier in the afternoon on the sidewalk around the street where I live. "We live about 30 minutes north of here," she advised, as we arranged for me to reclaim Hope in the parking lot of their apartment.

The young lady and her friend were kind. They recounted with wonder how Hope had played with their sometimes not-so-friendly dog. Angelina did not say why they waited so long and drove such a distance after picking up Hope before giving me a call. It would have been unseemly to press them for an explanation.

I was grateful to have Hope again and they were pleased to have helped. They asked for no reward, and seemed surprised as well as appreciative when I gave them a lovely orchid along with my heartfelt thanks.

Hope hopped in the car and we made it home at midnight. 

We all live by the kindness of strangers.

Whether it is the soul who takes pity at the sight of a harried driver's blinker signal during rush hour, or animal lovers who inexplicably delay but ultimately redeem the Hope that lingers when all seems lost.

We all live by the often inscrutable kindness of strangers.

Yet I remain a stranger to my own heart. For I cannot say why the weeping waited until we were safely home.

Accidental Destiny: Intrepretive Options

FIRST, THE FACTS...

Monday morning after a long Sunday, I missed my usual 8:08 shuttle to SMU, but made it to the bus stop just in time to catch the 8:23. Off my schedule but on our way, the bus stopped for a red light a few blocks later. As our driver prepared to proceed through the intersection, an eager woman in a brown SUV decided she wanted to make a right turn. In front of us. From the center lane. We were in the right lane.

Because I was sitting in the front row, I had a birds-eye view of the impact as the other passengers and I lurched forward together. The bus was moving slowly, and no one was injured.

As might be expected, the SUV definitely got the worst end of the deal in terms of property damage.

I recalled words a Highland Park police officer spoke to me a few months ago when a teenager tried to drive her daddy's pick-up truck into the same space inconveniently occupied by my rear fender: "Any accident you walk away from is a good one."

I asked the other seven passengers collectively and then individually whether they were injured. Thankfully, all were fine. Asked the same of the hapless driver of the SUV, who by then had parked her crumpled vehicle and made her way to confer with the bus driver. She was dazed but apparently otherwise unharmed. Took a dozen pictures, carefully documented details.

Our driver was professional throughout. He reacted quickly and compassionately, went by the book in every respect. After determining no one was injured, he thoughtfully apologized that we would be delayed until the next bus arrived, though the fault clearly resided entirely with the other driver.

The next shuttle arrived right on schedule, 15 minutes behind us. Our journey resumed, and as we prepared to part ways I promised my fellow travelers that my eyewitness report would accurately attest that our driver was in no way at fault. Later that morning I e-mailed a thorough account - along with photographs and other documentation I had collected - to the appropriate authorities.

INTERPRETATION #1

If I had not missed the early shuttle, I would not have been in a position to come to the aid of our faithful bus driver. The passengers, our driver, and the management of "Buses By Bill, Inc." all expressed profuse appreciation for my assistance. The driver of the SUV even e-mailed me with a word of thanks for my concern and a request for some needed information that I was easily able to provide. I honestly feel like I made a real difference for the better because I was there, then.

INTERPRETATION #2

I was the only person at my bus stop when the 8:23 paused to pick me up. Had I been on the 8:08 a.m. bus as usual, this 8:23 shuttle would have been on a slightly but significantly earlier schedule. That 20 or 30 seconds may well have made the difference when it came to the timing of this unfortunate little accident. In a way, I share some responsibility for this accident. 

INTERPRETATION #3-A

Perhaps my little delay actually prevented this bus from being in a more serious accident. Or maybe a passing vehicle unknown to me barely avoided a terrible accident later that morning, because our bus had blocked the right southbound lane of Greenville Avenue at University Drive in Dallas, Texas, for 15 minutes during morning rush hour. Maybe this was a part of some greater Divine plan. (But see #3-B, following...)

INTERPRETATION #3-B

Perhaps a passing vehicle unknown to me was in a terrible accident later that morning, because their schedule was affected by our bus which had blocked the right southbound lane of Greenville Avenue at University Drive in Dallas, Texas, for 15 minutes during morning rush hour. Maybe there will be painful repercussions years from now that we can never know. The universe is full of random events and chaos. It is impossible to draw any conclusions one way or the other.

INTERPRETATION #4

I'm obviously not getting enough sleep, possibly because I spend too much time obsessing about how to interpret events like this.

INTERPRETATION #5

What do you think? Which interpretive option resonates with you? Or do you have other suggestions?

Pondering a Porcelain Pièce de Résistance

On the way to Greenland Hills United Methodist Church Sunday morning, I turned a block too early.

Thus I found myself on Kenwood instead of Penrose.

And thus I saw this... this...

Well, the safest description is probably "art," which at least suggests that the meaning resides as much with the beholder as with the maker.

The questions tumble forth:

Is it a practical planter, proffered in the frugal spirit of a hearty Texan? ("No sense in this perfectly good ceramic 'pot' going to waste, now is there?")

Is it fanciful yard art? ("Let's just see the Joneses top this.")

Is it a shrine of sorts, a premeditated prayer to the porcelain gods? An offering to appease digestive demons, complete with thoughtfully arranged deadwood in the tank and prolific prickly pear in the bowl?

It did not end up in the front yard without expenditure of effort. The cactus seems reasonably healthy. Moreover, apart from this prominently positioned porcelain pièce de résistance there doesn't otherwise appear to be inordinate attention to landscaping on display here.

Who first entertained the idea: "You know, what our front yard really needs is..."