On a different day, outside the same Tessco Metro I watched an older man with a sheep dog mutt soliciting people for change. He wore a puffy jacket and baseball cap that sat high up on his head. My roommates were grabbing grocery essentials: water bottles, ramen, cereal, milk, that kind of stuff. I was sitting back in the corner of the doorway smoking a cigarette and watching this man’s technique. His deep-set wrinkles left his face cracked and brittle, looking like dry earth. He would pace a square in front of the store trying to make eye contact with pedestrians.
“Please, any change to help feed my dog?” He’d throw a hand down toward the dog who sat nervously looking back and forth from his master to the crowds. If he taught the dog its skittishness he did a damn good job at it. He caught the attention of a woman who dug into her purse for a paper note. The charity of a dog lover’s heart knows no bounds. She knelt down and gave the dog a few pats while the man thanked her. The dog flinched at every one of her touches. He whistled to the dog and they disappeared into the crowd. He headed in the direction of the nearby alleyway the led to Gloucester Greene taxi rank and bus station.
I turned toward the Tessco looking for my roommates. I had underestimated how long it takes to grab the essentials when you don’t have a clue where anything is in the store. I turned back to the road and lit another cigarette. I’m not much of a smoker, but if I’m bored enough and have time to kill it’s better than being glued to my cellphone. You miss a lot when you’re perpetually looking down. I sit on the ledge that juts out from the building and lean my back against the cool glass.
Half-way through my second cigarette the man returns with the same pitch. He paces his square while making his claim. His voice has slowed. There is more of a tin can rasp in his throat. I can feel my lips clenching on my cigarette. I’m working up the courage to tell him if he hasn’t fed the dog he should get fucking lost. Earlier I had trouble deciding who needed who in their outdoor duo, but it has become clear to me. He’s exploiting the dog, and the stray could do better. My friends come out of the sliding doors arms laden with bags and keep me from becoming the defender of homeless canines everywhere.
I see him a few days later while on a walking tour of Oxford. He’s having it out with a woman I assume he gets the occasional scratch from. They’re cussing each other out loud enough that it’s echoing off the cobblestones. Their quarrel is carrying over the voice of our tour guide and she does her best not to acknowledge it. The mutt follows a good five paces behind. The man cuts the woman off, walking ahead of her to end the conversation, while throwing the scrap of a sandwich down on the pavement. The dog stops and scarfs it hungrily.
The man yells back at the mutt to keep up. It swallows the last few bites whole and takes off after him at a trot.
Word Slurpee 