A boy and A Little Lost Dog, on a Friday Morning

On my walk to the train this morning I came across a young boy, maybe 10 years old or so. He was looking a bit frantic and speaking very seriously on the phone to someone. As I got closer I noticed an older beagle mix pacing up and down the stairs to an empty house. The poor old dog didn’t seem to know what to do with himself and the boy equally seemed concerned about this little dog.


The boy remained at the foot of the stairs, describing the dog to the absent recipient at the other end of the line while his heavy book bag tugged his coat backward. I waited. Not wanting to intrude on this young boy’s attempt at solving the dog’s issue, I stood off to the side to see how the problem would resolve itself. Finally, the boy, determined to make sure the dog was safe, bravely walked up the stairs to the home and rang the door bell. The dog barked in unison.

After a short delay a middle aged man arrived at the door. The boy took in a breath, screwing up his courage to ask the man about the little dog. “Is this your dog, sir?” the brave boy squeaked out. Confused as to how his dog ended up on the porch, the man responded in bewildered agreement. Yes, this was his dog.

The boy let out a sigh, the dog bounded into the house and we were all back on our way to wherever it was that we were originally headed. The boy to school, I to work, the dog to its bed for a rest from the excitement and the man to whatever it was he was doing before the doorbell interruption.

As the boy bounced down the stairs, he held himself taller, the book bag still slightly slipping off his back. I felt proud of the boy. He understood what was more important- school could wait, there was a being in need and he was ready to help. Many adults miss this helping a fellow in need thing, especially when it walks on all fours. Often we can learn a lot from children- how to recognize the right thing to do, how to show compassion and how to summon the courage to do something good for another.

The night of the insomniac

Last night, after the remnants of my husband’s goodnight hug and kiss began to fade and his peaceful snoring commenced, I realized sleep would again elude me and so I ventured out into the night. Walking around after most of the city has gone to sleep provides a certain sense of calm. The warm breeze, the porch lights left on for the stragglers after the “responsibles” have gone to bed, the silence of resting cars lining the neighborhood streets.


I think of the couples snuggling up next to each other while the hum of the air conditioning lulls them into dreams. New mothers taking well deserved cat naps before the next middle of the night feedings commence. The insomniacs, like me, who refuse to leave the confines of their bedrooms and see and experience the nighttime world. I think of all of these characters and more as I walk the streets in silence.

I came across a man sitting in a lawn chair on the roof of a garage. He was wearing headphones- could’ve been listening to a old Joy Division tune, could’ve been Beethoven’s 9th symphony. Who knows? He had his long neck bottle positioned between his legs and a bee bee rifle strung across his lap. I am not sure what he was hunting, but he was definitely focused on the kill. He sat there a long time surveying the area through his site while I looked on. I wonder how he came to the decision to sit up on that garage roof half past midnight in pursuit of whatever it was that he needed to maim or kill. What kind of mission he was on? Was it something internal? Was he just a rat vigilante? I never got my opportunity to ask.

While watching the “Alleyway Hunter,” I was approached by Joshua, an artist from the outskirts of Rockford. He was a bit disheveled wearing a blue and white stripped boating shirt and a Disneyland flower printed hat. He was sweating profusely even in the breezy night air. His hair was a mess and he had been drinking some. His shorts pockets contained various size and colored crayons. Although he was quick to cut the night by speaking, his appearance and demeanor quickly dispelled any initial threat of harm that can come from an unknown.

His plan was to finish the sketch he had started earlier that evening. He proudly showed me the beginnings of the sun god he was drawing. What he lacked in technique he made up in creativity and unabashed ease that he exuded when he plopped himself down on the ground to finish his masterpiece.

He told me he had been politely kicked out of his friend’s apartment while his friend’s roommate spent some alone time with his girlfriend. He talked of his adventures in the city and quickly surveyed his past loves. We parted ways when he tried to turn his bungled charm on me.

“I am married” I explained, “I am not interested.”

He gracefully accepted my rejection to his verbal advances, and I continued on my way into the shadowed quiet streets alone, back home to my sleeping husband.