Wednesday, August 14, 2013
beacon of the mongrel
I won't lie. My instinct is to say, Go away. No, you can't stay. In the giving going I sure didn't ask for this our first meeting. But. He's here and his nose and long legs and gangly and awkward and he begins to speak in a pleading high pitch low growl, Please help. I need. Food. Water. I have fleas.
No. Another mouth to feed? You have to be kidding me.
He's not. He moves closer and closer and at my shoes and soon with the steady whine of pretty, pretty please. He obviously wasn't mistreated. He knows what love looks like, knows he needs it.
The cats hide.
Billy Sue barks from inside.
Welcome, number seven. Hope that's your lucky number. The three remaining say they hope you don't make it, but me, I'm willing to see. I think I have to be.
Today I am grateful for the opportunity to test my resolve, to be accepting of what this world offers me.