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How
Didn’t They Know?
by
Kristen Sharer
From
Marisa Herrera (lovenature@pacificcoast.net)
When
Billy was 6
One fine Easter day,
He received a gift
With which he could play.
It
was a sweet little bunny
With hair to the floor.
What could have happened
When it was found dead by the door?
Accidental,
they said.
Billy’s just a child.
He just played too rough.
He got a little bit wild.
When
Billy was 10
At a neighbor’s house,
He poured some bleach
On a friendly pet mouse.
Boys
will be boys
Is what they said.
Be careful, they added
As they patted his head.
When
Billy turned 12
They found some deep cuts
On the face and the neck
Of the sweet family mutt.
No
harm was done.
The dog’s not hurt bad.
He didn’t mean to do it.
He truly feels sad.
When
Billy was 16,
He took a gun to school.
He fired upon them
While calling them fools.
When
Billy was finished
Having his fun,
He smiled at his carnage
And lay down his gun.
The
town went on weeping
All through the trial.
He showed no remorse.
He showed not a smile.
What
happened, they asked,
To a boy so fine?
How could it be
He showed not a sign?
What
about me?
Said the ghost of the long dead mouse?
And I the rabbit
Who was found dead in his house?
And
the elderly dog
With scars that still showed
Softly whined and wondered,
HOW DIDN’T THEY KNOW?
About
Dogs
A
dog can be introspective or outgoing.
A
dog can look out a window longer than we can.
A
dog does not worry about things he cannot control.
A
dog does not speak.
A
dog does not sweat.
A
dog has better breath than we have.
A
dog keeps up his appearance.
A
dog does not lie or steal.
A dog studies bugs.
A
dog gives us a look we interpret as love,
though we might not look back.
A
dog dies in agony every 12 seconds in a city pound.
—Gardner
McKay
The
Railroad Tracks
I
arrive at the railroad tracks again. It's early in the morning
and already sweltering hot. I am returning this Sunday because
of three brown and tan dogs, one of them very special. A set
of circumstances has brought me back here to search for what
society had thrown away, but I would never find again.
A
few days before I was called by a nearby plant security guard
to try to help him get a cat down from a power line. This
had been the third straight day and night for the cat's balancing
feat way up in the air. No one had responded to the guard's
calls. Camden's animal control warden could not be located,
others had no time for it, they said it didn't involve human
life, which was the power company's identical response. I
imagined if I would attempt to climb the pole it would involve
human life, but by the time I got there the cat was gone.
Baffled
by the whole experience I drove away and in the process made
a wrong turn, which left me in front of railroad tracks. It
was then that I noticed them. Three non-descript brown and
tan dogs, sauntering along slowly in the typical pace of starvation
and hurt. Throw-away dogs; the littlest one with a rope around
the neck dragging along on the ground. My heart sank. With
a feeling of complete inadequacy I got out of the car.
The
dogs stopped in the middle of the tracks; they turned and
watched me as I approached. With a leash in hand, I continued
forward and paused a few feet away from them. I kneeled down,
then sat and, for a while, just stared at the little one's
rope. It was deeply imbedded in her neck; her flesh had already
begun to grow around the rope. Death would come within the
next few weeks, but ever so slowly.
All
three were sitting as I finally began to quietly beg them
to come to me. The little one wagged her tail and for a moment
took a few steps in my direction.
"Come
on, pup, don't stop," I urged, reaching out for her with
shaking hands.
Making
matters worse, I lost my balance and plopped awkwardly forward.
The others got up and scampered away, and the little one came
to a standstill. One final look at me and she turned to join
the others. I followed them for a stretch, considering their
options: the trains, starvation, disease, the little one's
rope, any or all of it. It occurred to me that after years
of trying to reach the folks at Camden's City Hall I have
failed miserably.
I
stood still and noticed the heat rise from the railroad tracks,
making the surrounding trash seem to disappear a bit. I watched
the dogs continue their journey into that cloudy distance,
still on the railroad tracks, shoulder on shoulder, with the
little one in the middle. I watched as her rope dragged along
between her front legs and I couldn't think of anything else
to do but to sit on the tracks and cry.
—Marion
Churchill/President
Top
of Page
Also
Read
In Memory of Chessi
A Dog Sits Waiting
Diary of a dog who survived Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans
Sarah
by Marion Churchill
Sarah’s
Story
Reason
for Surrender by Steve Grunow
Hammer
by Marion Churchill
About
Dogs by Gardner McKay
What
Are You Going to Do About THIS Mayor of Camden?
Ballad
of the Homeless by Unknown Author
The
Railroad Tracks by Marion Churchill
How
Didn't They Know? by Kristen Sharer
Unseen
They Suffer, Unheard They Cry by Marion Churchill
Epitaph
for a Friendship by Laura Moretti
Cry
From a Lonely Dog by Unknown Author |
