Today,
Christmas Day, 2015, I was driving through what we, as children of the 60’s,
used to call the “quarters,” or “colored town” when I noticed a little tan,
non-descript dog on the side of the road. Not being sure whether he (or she)
was standing in a front yard, or simply along the right of way, I turned back,
and pulled into a grassy area.
Getting out
of my car, I summoned the pooch with a “click click” of my tongue and cheek,
and a beckoning hand.
… To no
avail.
The unkempt
pup walked into the middle of the road, barked a couple of times, and straggled
away. I could see my attempt to corral the dog, and put him in my car would be
an exercise of futility.
Getting back
in my car I “set my compass” for my original destination; the town where I grew
up, and where my hospitalized, elderly mother awaited my arrival.
I simply
hate when my path and that of a homeless dog intersect. Since it has occurred
several times in the past several years, and, sadly, only once have I been
fortunate (or quick) enough to retrieve the animal, and “farm it out” to the
local animal shelter. Content that any and every small dog is quickly adopted.
Perhaps some
may think it strange, but after my current failure to rescue that precious
pooch, I prayed God would give him the best Christmas gift of all
… the gift
of a loving home.
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 20. Copyright pending
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