Kibbles And Donuts

“I SAW YOU KICK THAT DOG!”

My hand froze on the open door of “Feel Good,” a bakery shop that my wife and dog and I had walked to with happy expectations.

“You should be ashamed!”

I turned to see the glaring face of my accuser, a white-haired woman standing next to the passenger side of a black truck. Instantly, I knew what she thought she had seen. My poor dog – tortured by rich odors pouring from the bakery into his nostrils – had lunged as the door opened. I barely had time to swing my leg around and catch him with the foot.

As Others Stared

“I didn’t kick him, lady. Let me show you what I…”

“I don’t want to see you kick him again!” she cried.

A number of people were looking at us.

“I didn’t kick him.”

“YES, YOU DID!”

“I didn’t!”

“You did!”

“I DIDN’T KICK THE DAMN DOG

She Gets Support

At my loud retort, the driver door flung open and a man with long hair and wearing peace symbols like those on the car, got out and yelled.

“My wife loves animals and spends a lot of time volunteering to protect them. If she says you kicked the dog, then you kicked the dog.”

My gut felt like it had been kicked. Eyeballs drilled me from all points of the parking lot and from inside the bakery. This was out of control and I felt embarrassed, frustrated and – what? – a twinge of shame, fercrissakes. I lowered my voice.

“I didn’t kick the dog.”

“Yes, you did!”

“And I believe her,” the man said.

They turned and went across the lot into a store as I stood like a statue plastered with pigeon droppings. Then all those staring eyeballs went about their business and I sat down outside at a small table with Laura and the drooling dog.

“I didn’t kick the dog.”

“I know you didn’t, honey.”

The Other Dog

But the woman, her husband and God-knows-who-else thought I did. I felt terrible; much worse than what the moment called for. I sank deep into the metal chair, deep into my thoughts, deep in the past – to a time nearly 40 years ago and another dog named Life.

It was the morning after I stood up at my first AA meeting and announced, “I am an alcoholic.” In such a moment, your life takes a hairpin turn. It’s not just about giving up alcohol, it’s about making amends for what led you to quit drinking – especially the bruised relationships. Life was tops on my list. In the final weeks of my drinking, I had virtually abandoned this steadfast pal of mine. And she had vanished from the country home we shared.

After looking for her all morning, I finally found Life in a pile of logs at a local lumber mill. There were bowls of kibbles and water nearby. She had found a more reliable pal and wouldn’t let me near her. The rejection stabbed me and, now, all these years later, I relived the feeling as I sat in front of “Feel Good” bakery, stroking the head of the only dog I had since Life. His name is Poka. We rescued him from Taiwan.

Your Reflection

Poka, like most dogs, is a good mirror. They react to your intent and teach you about yourself with a cringe or a lick. They teach you what’s in your heart when you raise your voice or hand or leg. I could say “No” a dozen times to Poka but unless I mean it he just laughs with his tongue hanging out. The same with my hand. He knows the difference between a pet and a threat. If I raise it in anger, he winces and so do I – and melt. As for the leg, it’s a trick I learned from “The Dog Whisperer” to control canine impulse reactions. Use your leg to block – not kick – your dog when his psycho switch is thrown by the presence of a cat or a squirrel or a donut.

“Let’s go,” my wife said.

“Let’s wait until the couple returns. I want to talk with them”

“What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know.”

They Return

Meanwhile, Poka had continued to stare at the bakery door with his nose. Dogs’ noses are 12 times more powerful than ours. A drool spot wet the sidewalk at his feet.

The couple came back across the parking lot, and I rose to my feet.

“I want apologize for raising my voice…”

“Oh, no,” the woman instantly responded. “We overreacted and your apology tells me you are a good person and, well, we are sorry.”

I wish all the previously staring eyeballs and their attached ears could have been around for the next few minutes as we all shook hands and hugged and traded names and exchanged life-story-snippets. We laughed at the foolishness of our encounter and agreed that it typifies the false divisions that separate our country into angry camps. If we could just get past what we think we see in others…

The couple drove off with their hands waving out the windows. We got up and walked home, where Laura laid out treats from “Feel Good” on the table and I poured out kibbles and water into bowls on the floor.

(The full story about Life the dog is part of Terry’s memoir, “Tule Town”.)