San Diego

A couple years ago Caroline Hasse and I were walking past Trinity Bellwoods park at around 11pm. We were probably talking about boys, or complaining about the shitty tips we made that day at the Lakeview Lunch Diner. Whatever the case may have been, we were interrupted by a gleeful Shepard/border collie mix who had obviously just taken himself to the park. He acted like he knew us. He ran right up to us, flipped on his back and waited for a tummy rub, which he got. I think that it was love at first sight for all of us.

San Diego (a name we chose for the dog) got up, took about 5 paces away from us and ran. For some reason, when the dog got up, I felt absolutely no concern. I didn’t feel the urge to go for his collar or even to follow. I was positive that he was going to turn around and head back into the park. I was wrong. San Diego headed toward the street and ran wholeheartedly into the oncoming traffic. I saw the trace of a yellow taxi cab, heard a simultaneous thump and yelp, then Caroline’s high pitched scream.

San Diego pounced to his feet and ran away. Caroline and I sprinted across, asked the cabbie the direction the dog took, I ditched the bike I was walking at Cocktail Molotov (a bar), and then I ran. I ran hard down alley way after alley way after alley way. My entire world was the heart beat in my ears, the blood on my tongue, and that dog.
I don’t know how I caught up to him but I did. I didn’t yell for him. I actually yelled at Caroline to shut up because she was on some street close by yelling something like “puppy, puppy” at the top of her lungs and I was sure it’d only drive our poor San Diego away.

While I was running I looked over my left shoulder, and saw him running parallel to me. If I ran down the street to cross his path, I would lose him, so I just kept running along side him catching his image in every connecting street, and then, I didn’t see him anymore and everything was silent. Toronto was gone. There was only my echoing footsteps and my breath in the air. I knew that he wasn’t running anymore. I found him in the backyard of a house. I assumed it was his. The gate was open. I closed it. He sat there dazed. To touch him seemed like an unwise thing to do. He had been touched enough that night.

I walked around the house to the front door and rang the bell. A huge 20 something Portuguese guy answered it.
“Do you have a dog?”
“Huh.”
“A dog, do you have one?”
“What?”
He was either a very stupid guy, or a very stoned guy, or both and at that point I was convinced he was both, and I was mean. Openly stupid people annoy the hell out of me. If they can’t hid it like the rest of us, it does make them more honest, I just wish it’d make them less mobile as well...which he was, he was slow..and in his home – so I shouldn’t have been so candid. Wouldn’t it be great if there was a city wide curfew for all those suffering from immense dim wit.? Or if we could as least use them to weigh things down? Wouldn’t that be funny! From loud speaker number 2017 “Will Mr. John Moron please report to the closest dummy check in? There is a big freight boat coming in, they lost their anchor. Bring your compressed air tank. It is the silver thing in the corner with the “this is your’s John” sign on it.”

Again, “There is a dog in your backyard. Does he happen to be yours?”
“oh…---….the d-o-g……, that’s Manny’s. He’s out right now.”
“Can I have Manny’s number? His dog just got hit by a car and might be suffering from internal bleeding (that means that bad stuff might be happening to the dog, you stupid mother fucker)”.

I was actually that hostile. Of course, the words contained in the brackets were also contained in my head, but the tone wasn’t. I couldn’t help it. I am generally very mean to very stupid people. I know that that is wrong, because I myself am not particularly intelligent. And maybe that whole “it takes one to know one” deal is my own little slice of hell, because I certainly do bump into a good amount of people that I personally identify as being extremely and insufferably stupid.

“Oh…..- - - - - - * * * * * * * I d—o—n’—t know if I can do that. He’s out for a walk. He should be back soon.”

Isn’t that ironic?

I waited. I saw Caroline walking down the street. We discussed the situation, and planned to steal the dog. But then Manny showed up. Manny and two Manny look-a-likes. I will refer to them as – the stupid pack-.

I won’t get into the conversation we had because it was just as painful as the stupid stoner guy dialogue. I told him the facts. He felt proud of his dog for being so tough. I regretted the absence of sharp objects. I regretted that he lived in my neighbourhood because if I stole the dog he would inevitably find out. I contemplated moving. But did not. I went home and cried about San Diego. Neither Caroline nor myself ever walked past that house again. However I often see it in my mind and I wonder if he’s alive. And I wish I held that damn collar.

It’d be great if I was simply a morose person who enjoyed making up depressing stories about lowly waitresses and misplaced house pets. But I am not. I am an urban cliché who works hard to make money, and then spends most of it on attempting to create some music that will hopefully mean something someday, even if it’s not a day I’ll ever see.

I had a long 13 hour day at work today. A long walk followed. Sometimes I dream about how cool it’d be to herald a victory while pushing the pavement home. Today I did not.
The emotion stirred from the yelp of that dog has burnt his image and short introduction into my brain forever.
Forever is now. Now is forever.
I think of him often.