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.